Bewitched by Their Mate [Feral 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove)

by Scarlet Hyacinth

  Just as he thought this, the door to the club opened, and a handsome human appeared in the doorway. He looked irritated. “What do I have to do for you people to get the message? You’re not welcome here.”

  Mason froze. His muscles and his vocal chords simply refused to work in the face of his mate. The man was everything Mason had yearned for once upon a time, and still wanted now. Sure, he seemed a bit upset at the moment, but surely, if Mason mentioned the bouncers’ hostility toward him, his mate would understand.

  However, things didn’t happen the way he predicted. The human said something Mason didn’t understand, and he found himself propelled ten feet away by an unseen force. He shook himself and got up, finally grasping his predicament. It seemed fate had a way of toying with him. Hewitt Moore was his mate.

  “Well, hello to you, too, little witch,” he said, grinning. “My apologies for the slight…rudeness. It seems you just can’t find good help these days, and I may have lost my temper.”

  A vein twitched in Hewitt’s temple. “Right. Well, I didn’t ask for your approval. Please leave, or I’ll find myself forced to do something truly unpleasant.”

  “I very much doubt I could dislike anything you did,” Mason answered. It was so strange. He’d come here to kick Hewitt’s ass, and now he was flirting. What in the world was wrong with him? He should be swooping in and taking what belonging to him, exchanging pleasure not words. True, the banter did feel kind of nice, but that was beside the point.

  But there was something else not immediately apparent bothering him. Even with Hewitt right there in front of him, the beast felt restless. The intensity of the pull seemed to be amplified by a factor other than Hewitt.

  Just as Mason wondered what this could be about, he felt it, the presence of another feral. It was a testament to Mason’s distraction that he’d only noticed now. He or she was closing in fast, approaching Hewitt. Mason frowned, the wolf’s hackles rising. Mine, it roared. Stay away.

  In a flash, Mason reached Hewitt’s side. The witch’s eyes widened, and he seemed moments away from casting another spell, but Mason moved too fast. He placed himself between Hewitt and whatever feral came his way, ready to take on the threat.

  Unfortunately, the wolf felt both angry and puzzled. The aggression that always appeared when he faced one of his own reared its ugly head just like he expected, but there was something else, a heat that he couldn’t comprehend.

  Seconds later, another man joined them in front of the club. He glowered at Mason, his blue eyes seemingly throwing daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from him.”

  Hewitt drew an irritated breath and stepped out of Mason’s reach, although Mason was fairly certain the man’s order had been directed at him, not at Hewitt. “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?” Hewitt asked.

  “I’m not your puppy.” The second feral growled. “Who is this guy?”

  “Mason Kale, at your disposal.”

  Before the other man could say anything else, Mason attacked. He could sense hostility, and he knew he had to establish dominance now. The wolf within howled as their bodies came into contact. He shifted into his animal form just as his enemy did the same.

  Jaws snapped at fur-covered flesh, claws scratched, looking for vulnerable spots. Mason didn’t know who drew first blood, but he couldn’t care less. Angry satisfaction coursed through him as he battled his opponent. He was stronger. He knew. He could feel it, and he sensed the other feral acknowledged it as well. And yet, the man didn’t give up. He struggled with a despair Mason admired, the same one Mason himself experienced at the thought of his mate in danger.

  All of Mason’s primal instincts rose inside of him. He was an Alpha. He wanted to dominate, to have the other wolf bare his neck and raise his tail for him. The desire to fight and to couple mixed together. Mate, his wolf howled again. My mate. Surrender.

  Not giving the other feral a chance to keep fighting, Mason moved faster than lightning and pinned his opponent down, fangs at his jugular. He snarled, sending a clear message. Yield.

  A few tense seconds later, his opponent shifted into his two-legged form. “All right,” he said between gritted teeth. “You win. Do whatever you want to me. Just don’t hurt my mate.”

  For whatever reason, Mason had not expected the man to say that, but even so, it didn’t surprise him. His wolf had known about this before Mason himself found out. He shifted as well, but didn’t get up, grinning as the current position made their naked bodies come into contact. “Oh, I plan to hurt Hewitt,” he murmured. “I’ll hurt him real good—and I’ll do the same to you.”

  His cock throbbed between his legs, and he rubbed against the other feral. Yes, it was strange. Yes, he shouldn’t be in the situation in the first place. But who gave a fuck? Certainly not Mason. He was too lost in his instincts to care. He’d claim his mate and get rid of anyone who stood in his way.

  “You should at least ask my name before you suggest fucking me,” the other feral commented sarcastically. His eyes, however, were glazed with lust and suppressed aggression. Oh, yeah, Mason would very much enjoy taming the bastard. He would enjoy it a lot, indeed.

  He reached for his mate’s prick, smirking when he found it hard and leaking. “I might not know your name, but I know something more important.” He moved his hand up and down the man’s shaft. What need did they have of social conventions like names when they had this?

  The only other thing they needed was Hewitt’s acceptance. But just as Mason thought this, Hewitt’s angry words echoed in his ears. “What in the world are you doing? Get off him.”

  Mason felt Hewitt’s power accumulate a second before it threw him off the other man. Like before, he landed on his feet, and he glanced at his witch mate. Hewitt looked furious, and it occurred to Mason that he and the other feral were brawling naked in front of a famous nightclub in central London. They’d even shape-shifted, for fuck’s sake. Sure, it was early, and no customers were around, but such carelessness could be a death warrant for a feral. What a mess.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, knowing he sounded anything but honest. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

  “I’ll say,” Hewitt grumbled. “Get the fuck out of here, both of you. I don’t need this.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Hewitt sent the unconscious bouncers floating inside. Looking furious, he stalked inside the club and shut the door behind him.

  For a few seconds, the fact that he’d been essentially shut out by his mate didn’t really compute for Mason. He shared a look with the other feral and asked, “Is he serious?”

  His second mate sighed. “Apparently. So, what do we do now, smart-ass?”

  Mason considered the question and decided the first order of business was to dress up. Thankfully, he still had his bag, although he’d dropped it when he’d first attacked the bouncers. His mate was a little slimmer than him, but even so, he would be able to fill out Mason’s clothing quite nicely. Then, they’d camp out in front of the club until Hewitt finally let them inside. It wasn’t like the witch could keep the ward up forever. He had a business to run.

  Perhaps Hewitt realized this as well, because a few seconds later, the door opened once again, and the witch appeared. “Just get in here before I change my mind,” Hewitt said tiredly. “We need to talk.”

  * * * *

  Devon followed Mason and entered the club once again. He felt more than a little confused at the appearance of this man. He was an enigma, and he only worsened the already problematic situation.

  Devon’s wolf answered with additional restlessness, wanting to both claw Mason’s eyes out and bare his throat at the man. And when Mason stepped into Hewitt’s personal space, Devon was torn between being aroused as hell and wanting to pull them apart.

  He couldn’t be happier when the door to the club closed again, but this time, after allowing him inside the building. Thankfully, the staff—or what little of it remained to man the club during the day—had made themselves scarce
. It was a good thing, too, because Devon didn’t think he could face anyone else without snapping.

  There was no sign of the bouncers Mason had taken out. Devon frowned. Even if he disliked the arrogant fuckers, they were only humans and could be seriously hurt in the fight against a feral. “Where are your men?”

  “They’re fine. They’re recovering, and I told them to get some rest in the staff room.” Hewitt scowled. “Now you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  Devon resisted the urge to fidget. He knew it was a bad idea to stay with Hewitt. This could be his chance to leave, to allow his mate a normal existence—insofar as a witch could live normally, at least. But he’d been running away for so long, from hunters, from Roarke, from civilization itself. He needed to face this head-on, if only because Hewitt had given him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, he’d regret it forever.

  “You wanted an explanation? Well, here it is. You’re my mate, but so is he.” He nodded toward Mason, who just stood there, looking smug and completely comfortable in his nudity. Not that Devon blamed him. The bastard was fucking gorgeous, and he knew it, all hard muscle, not one inch of fat on that godlike body. Devon wanted to lick him, suck the thick cock protruding from between the man’s thighs, bury his face in Mason’s brown hair and just inhale. It was fucking strange, and he hated it.

  Shaking himself, Devon did his best to focus less on the sexual awareness and more on the seriousness of the situation. It wasn’t easy with both his mates there, and the lingering arousal from his little roll around with Devon. But ferals weren’t exactly known for their resistance to their impulses, so Devon found himself taking a step forward toward Mason, almost against his own will.

  “He’s right,” Mason said, “although I suppose these conditions are far from ideal. Like hunk-alicious there said, we are mates. Personally, I came here on account of a missing feral who was supposedly intent on coming here to pay you a visit. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

  Hewitt groaned. “He attacked me. I was going to alert Dietrich…”

  He trailed off, as if realizing what he was saying to whom. “You’re putting me in a very difficult position here.”

  Anyone reasonable would have understood all the reasons why Hewitt should be on the phone with Dietrich now. Even with the few things Devon knew about his mate, he’d still come here with the clear knowledge that the witch was very close to the Magistrate’s mate. But again, Devon was not a reasonable man.

  “I’ve heard enough about Dietrich.” He growled low in his throat. “You’re supposed to be focusing on this. Didn’t you say you would not let me leave? Where is that determination? Do you need Dietrich to hold your hand?”

  Mason narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Why do I have the feeling I’m missing something here?” His green gaze seemed to reach out to Devon’s very soul. “And why would you ever want to leave our mate?”

  “News flash, Mason. We’re feral. If we claim him, we’ll drive him insane, remember?”

  Mason looked thoughtful. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he finally said, “but running away is not the solution.”

  “Yeah, I already figured that out.” Devon stared at Hewitt. “But neither is turning to the spirit wolves. I don’t trust them.”

  Hewitt threw his hands in the air. “So what do you propose we do, Devon? It’s not like I can just up and leave my business and start a secret liaison with you. And besides, we hardly know each other. How would that even work?”

  “You’re our mate,” Mason said practically. “Of course it would work.”

  Hewitt passed a hand through his hair, and Devon could sense the witch’s agitation within him. “Well, that might be enough in your world, but in mine, I’d prefer to know a man for at least twenty-four hours before deciding I want to spend forever with him.”

  Devon’s wolf cowered in front of what it perceived to be his mate’s rejection. He shared a look with Mason. Everything Hewitt said was true. The witch lived in a world different from theirs, and he could not be expected to accept them just like that.

  Still, Devon might not know how to woo their mate the human way, but he could do it the wolf way. After all, both he and Mason were beasts at heart, and Hewitt seemed to acknowledge it just fine. It stood to reason that anything they’d share together would be under the mark of that beast. It still scared him, and the memory of what he’d nearly done to Hewitt made him reluctant to try. But he encouraged himself with the thought that the witch could clearly take care of himself and, if either Mason or Devon lost it again, could push them away.

  With that thought in mind, Devon went with his instinct and slowly approached his mate. At first, the witch looked curious, confused, and somewhat frustrated. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Pleased that his mate didn’t seem frightened, Devon pressed their bodies together and rubbed his face against Hewitt’s cheek. His mate smelled so good, like moonlight would if it had any scent, so addictive that the beast inside Devon awoke fully, demanding that he claim his mate. Instead, when he saw Hewitt didn’t shy away, Devon shifted into his animal form.

  He felt the moment when Mason did the same, the awareness of the second feral shifting slightly. Devon playfully nudged Hewitt’s leg with his snout, while Mason joined them and did the same. Hewitt blinked, but reached down to pet them. “So you’re suggesting we bond like this?” Hewitt laughed lightly. He had a beautiful laugh, Devon noted, crystal clear, yet all male. “It might be a good idea.”

  Satisfied with Hewitt’s acceptance, Devon jumped on his mate, paying close attention not to send the witch falling to the ground. For a few moments, the three of them simply enjoyed each other’s presence. It was very strange, with Devon and Mason in wolf form and Hewitt still a human, but somehow, it worked.

  At last, Hewitt seemed to take a decision. “Give me a moment, all right? I think we need a different space if we’re going to do this.”

  Devon watched as his mate padded toward the back, where he assumed the staff room would be. He hadn’t actually explored the entire club, and he mentally shrugged as he followed after Hewitt. As he approached, he overheard Hewitt talking to one of the bouncers from before. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I appreciate you staying to watch over the club.”

  “It’s not a problem,” the bouncer replied, “but I’m still concerned about those wolves.”

  Devon peeked into the room and bared his fangs when he saw the bouncer far too close to his mate. A low growl from behind him alerted him Mason had seen the same thing and was not pleased, either.

  It seemed that Hewitt heard them, because he turned away from the bouncer and toward the door. “Like I said, I’ll be fine. Thanks again.”

  Thankfully, Hewitt said his good-byes and left the room. He didn’t look surprised when he saw them outside. Instead, he just arched a brow, but made no comment. “Come on,” he said instead. “We’re going on a field trip. But first…”

  Hewitt went up the stairs. “What do we do with this guy?”

  Mason shifted, his playful demeanor gone. “He attacked you, didn’t he?” When Hewitt nodded, Mason continued. “Well, he’s better off with the spirit wolves now.” Claws emerged from his fingers. “If I get him, he might not live to tell the tale.”

  Devon nudged Mason’s leg with his snout. It wouldn’t do to scare Hewitt, to freak him out more than he already was. Hewitt didn’t acknowledge the latter words, however. He probably felt relieved that he could hand in the feral to Dietrich. “I’ll contact them now to send someone. I do believe they have people in the vicinity, so it shouldn’t take them long to get here. In the meantime, he’ll be safe under my wards.”

  Half an hour or so later, Hewitt, Devon, and Mason left The Witching Hour, after the witch bound the imprisoned feral with several strong wards. Devon didn’t know where they were headed, but he didn’t care, as long as he had his mates with him.

  Chapter Four

  Hewitt had seen a l
ot in his life and gotten used to the oddities of living a life among paranormal creatures. Even if his people generally kept out of trouble, he’d still come into contact with all sorts of beings. But none of what he’d seen had prepared him for this day, for the day he met his mates.

  By his side, Devon yipped happily, taking hold of Hewitt’s pants and pulling at them playfully. Mason watched them with undisguised amusement and occasionally joined in. At one point, he jumped on Devon, and they rolled on the grass together in a sort of mockery of the battle before.

  It was surreal, and Hewitt had no idea what he was doing. He’d brought them to Epping Forest, on the basis that here, they would at least be in the middle of nature. If anyone asked what wolves were doing here, Hewitt could claim they were his pets. Of course, given their size and their aggressive behavior, he’d also have to use some magic to make it plausible.

  “Hey, careful now,” he shouted. “Don’t hurt each other.”

  He didn’t actually believe they would, at least not now. They seemed to be completely focused on a sort of courtship ritual Hewitt only knew about because he watched the Discovery Channel. Hewitt had never felt stranger. Still, as the minutes passed, he found himself relaxing. He sat under a tree, feeling safe in the presence of his mates. His mates…Could he get used to this? What would it be like if he belonged to them? Could they truly make it work?

  Their warm bodies cuddled closer to him, and Hewitt absently petted the silky fur. It was definitely not like having a pet, he decided. Devon and Mason could kill—had killed, most likely. But who could judge them? Hewitt had been involved in some pretty questionable things throughout his life. As a young witch, he’d been forced to do so if he wanted to survive in a world full of suspicion. Now, he’d managed to become free of all that, but ferals still bore the same stigma.