by Terry Spear
Devlyn moved his hands to her buttocks and lifted, pressing her harder against his arousal. She moaned as his leg massaged her more intensely.
“He’d ordered me to bring you back. But as soon as I saw you, I knew I couldn’t. Not to him, not as his mate, but as mine.”
She lifted a brow, amused. “You thought I’d agree? What if I hadn’t?”
He kissed her mouth, pressuring her to part her lips. When she leaned her head back and opened herself to him, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and squeezed her buttocks. Her hands stilled on his hips, her senses overwhelmed with his bold erotic moves. Barely able to stand, she trembled with excitement.
Her reaction to him spurred him on. His hands shifted to the small of her back and pressed her against his leg, strategically rocking between her legs to the music.
The increased tempo of the melody matched his more aggressive actions, stimulating her further. The crescendo drew her higher, toward the sun, the moon, and the planets in the far distant galaxy, to the stars that clung to the black velvet night, well beyond the earth and the gravity that held them captive. Her hand shifted to capture his leg and increased the pace.
“Ah, Bella,” he groaned.
She moaned his name.
A smile stirred on his lips, and he hugged her tightly.
The influx of the orgasm rippled through her like a never-ending tumultuous waterfall. She kissed his mouth with enthusiasm, loving him for bringing her to climax without concern for his own cravings. She desired to transport him to the top as well but hoped they could continue the action for much longer, ensuring that her plan to keep him from sending her to his cousin would succeed.
Yet, loving each other like this, whether they left her home or not, proved more important to her than anything now. He released her body and yanked off his jeans, his own mouth kissing her back, not wanting to part from her, she imagined, as she didn’t want to separate from him, not even for a second.
Bella’s moves against Devlyn’s body couldn’t have been any more erotic, and when she came with just the rubbing of his thigh against her nub, he nearly spilled his seed. Even now, he fumbled to ditch his jeans so that he could penetrate her slick, wet folds before he lost it.
She wasn’t just any lupus garou, but the best part of his life growing up. Fond memories of the good times of their youth still lingered in his mind, even now as he maneuvered Bella to the velour couch.
He tried to take it gradually, moving to the slower pace of the music again. He danced her toward the couch, his leg still deeply entrenched between hers, keeping her warm for the follow-up play.
Their hips swayed to the music, their greedy fingers exploring each other’s backs. The notion of moving her faded away. The only thing that concerned him now was filling her again.
“Bella, I want you like a wolf does.”
She nodded.
Did she feel the pull of the moon? Did she want to mate with him in the wild like a male wolf committed himself to a female? He could barely wait to breathe in the pine scent blowing in the breeze, mixed with the musky smell of her, or feel the cool air against their fur-covered skin, their noses touched in greeting, or tackle her in playful fun and then mate with her among the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor.
Climbing onto the couch on hands and knees, she wiggled her tight little butt suggestively and then grinned over her shoulder at him. He nearly laughed. Yeah, she was ready all right.
He ran his fingers between her firm buttocks and dipped them between her honeyed folds. Her body still shuddered from her orgasm, sending a streak of urgency into his overheated system. He leaned his pelvis against her smooth round bottom and pressed his erection into her channel, driving deeply, and then slowly pulled out.
Her breath nearly ceased when he reached underneath her and pressed his fingers against her abdomen, moving down to her curly hairs, and then her swollen nub. Stroking with renewed focus, he urged her to come again as he sought to give her pleasure. He thrust into her tight sheath, clutching him like a warm, wet, velvet glove.
He’d never imagined how good life could be with Bella at the center of it. The pack was important, but Bella was everything.
When he penetrated her deepest chasm, the music heightened the rhythm. Her pelvic muscles tightened. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the way she squeezed him tight, grasping him, as he pulled back, regaining her hold, when he thrust forward. The sensation heated his sweaty body and, with a final plunge, he released his seed. But his fingers still fondled her nub until her inner muscles shuddered, convulsing around him in orgasmic delight.
Turning her over, he lay down on top of her to feel her warm, soft body beneath him. Her eyes had darkened, and her body was glossy and lightly flushed. She was the most beautiful creature in the whole world, and all his. She felt so right to him, fitting perfectly against his body, moving in sync, every part of her exciting him beyond belief. But it wasn’t just the lovemaking that hooked him. It was everything about her…the way she acted so agreeable and yet so aggravating at the same time. The way she’d wanted him but denied her love for him, fearing for his safety. The way she’d lived in silent terror under Volan’s threat but never once told Devlyn, in an effort to keep him safe.
He’d wished he’d been stronger then, more able to protect her, more of a hero to her, but he couldn’t continue to regret the past. The future stretched out before them. Taking it one day at a time had to suffice for now. Although he wanted to take her away from here, safe from all the evils of the world, he couldn’t ruin the special moments they shared. Sleeping with her was as much a pleasure as any other moment he spent with her. Wrapping his arms around her for a few hours in blissful rest was the only plan he had for now.
Later, after they were well rested, he’d insist that she go to his cousin’s place.
She raked her fingers through his hair, no doubt tangled and a mess. Her lips turned up. Seductive minx.
“Let’s go to bed for a while, Bella.” His voice was still husky, but tired, too. He climbed off her, but before she could rise, he slipped his arms under her and lifted her from the couch.
“I could have walked, Devlyn. You must be worn out.”
He growled. “You’re talking to a gray, Bella.” She didn’t mean any insult, but the idea still gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to best Volan yet. Any comment about his stamina remained a sore spot with him for now. He’d tried to remark with a lighthearted air, but Volan—damn him—angered him even more as the news of Bella’s past was revealed. He kissed her cheek and carried her into the bedroom. Before long, he was folded around her under the covers.
Bella snuggled with Devlyn, her head on his chest, listening to his steady breathing and heartbeat that lulled her toward sleep. One hand lightly stroked her back and the other touched her hair. She couldn’t have been any happier now that she rested with the lupus garou she’d always loved. Wild and single-minded when it came to pleasing her. On the other hand, she couldn’t deal with the cold truth that she’d killed Volan, and Devlyn would probably never forgive her. Or maybe knowing that Volan had tried to rape her as a juvenile would change his mind. She kissed his chest and then cuddled her cheek against it.
Living among the humans, she’d become only a shell of what she was. She gripped Devlyn tighter, not wanting to lose him again, ever, but feeling the ugly truth would come out sometime or another. He was bound to hear that someone had shot Volan outside the dance club. Oh, man, and Thompson would place Devlyn and her at the club. They had the biggest gripe against Volan.
The situation couldn’t get any worse. The police would consider Devlyn the most likely suspect. Hell, he said he’d kill Volan himself, right in front of Thompson.
She could leave a note, explaining to the police and Devlyn that she was the one who killed Volan for his attempting to rape her. The best scenario would be if she left Devlyn, ran somewhere else, lived the miserable life of a loner—anything to keep the police
from arresting her mate.
“What are you thinking about, Bella?” Devlyn whispered, dreamily, half asleep.
“About how much I miss the pack, of being with them, of running wild as the wolf with them. Being on my own hasn’t been the same. Running as a loner is…lonely, to say the least.”
“You felt you had no choice.” His fingers stroked her shoulder.
She nodded against his chest. “But…”
“What, Bella?” Already his voice sounded darker, more awake, wary.
“I think we need to make a stand, don’t you?”
She meant against the reds—then she would be history—but she realized at once she should have said it differently. She wasn’t used to playing alpha male games—let the male think he’s making up all of the important plays, agree sweetly like the good mate she should be, and then ensure somehow that she got her own way.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion.
“After we’ve had a good rest, my cousin will come for you and take you to California for safekeeping.”
She clenched her teeth against speaking her mind and saying something hurtful. She reminded herself they both were exhausted, and she kept her lips sealed.
One thing he’d learn about her, he might be the alpha male, or at least was attempting to take on that role, but she was a lone wolf…a rogue, and had been for years. She played by her own rules, and until now—well, until she got thrown in the zoo—she’d done well enough on her own.
“Bella?” He waited for her agreement, but she couldn’t give it.
“Sleep, Devlyn. I’m exhausted.”
He continued to stroke her hair and back. “I’m calling my cousin when it’s light out. I want you to stay with him while I take care of the reds.”
No way was he going to tell her what to do. Yet, from his definitive tone, he expected to do just that, and she’d obey.
She glanced at her alarm clock. Dawn would break in another three hours or so. He thought she’d go along with him, just like that.
Wait until she woke up later. Once she had some sleep…she’d…
She yawned. She’d do something about it.
When Devlyn began to snore, she lay awake for another half hour, aggravated that she couldn’t quiet her mind and sleep. Finally, she slipped out of his arms and left the room.
In her office, she turned on the computer and checked her email. Argos was asking for an update. She clicked on his message but hesitated to answer. She wanted to ask his advice, but she couldn’t. Despite being like a father to her, he had been a pack leader. He was sure to think she’d done the wrong thing in killing Volan the way she had.
Not bothering to send a reply, she checked the rest of her email. Alfred, Nicol, and Ross had all sent her messages.
She ignored them and stared at the subject of the last one.
Wicked Bella.
Her heart raced. The reds knew her real name now. Was it the murdering red who had learned her name from the others? The sender used her own email address, so no clue there. The other reds always used their real names so she’d know it was them.
She poised her finger on the mouse, took a deep breath, and clicked. The message opened up and the breath caught in her throat.
I’m invincible, don’t you know, sweet Bella? Invincible. Volan
A photo finished loading, a picture of the devil wolf himself, his unkempt black hair straddling his shoulders, his eyes and lips smiling without humor, his skin pale, not ruddy like it had been when she first spied him at the club.
How…how could he have survived?
“Bella?” Devlyn called out from the bedroom.
She turned off the computer, her heart racing. When had Volan sent the email? Before or after she killed him? How could he be alive? No, no, he wasn’t alive. He’d sent the email to her before she met him at the club, angered that Devlyn wasn’t bringing her home to him right away. That’s why he called her wicked Bella. But the invincible part threw her.
Invincible because he could survive silver bullets?
“Bella!”
“Coming.” She strode back to the bedroom, her skin prickling with fear.
Volan couldn’t be alive. According to the legend, silver bullets that penetrated the brain or heart or were left elsewhere in the body and not removed right away could cause death. But what if the legend were just that—a made-up legend and not really true? Think, think—had she ever known of a case where a silver bullet killed a lupus garou?
No, death because of fire, a cousin broke his neck when he was in his human form and jumped into a shallow river bed, but no one she actually knew had ever been killed by a silver bullet.
Reluctantly, she climbed back into bed, and Devlyn wrapped his arms around her, tightening his grip. His touch should have warmed her, but she was chilled to the center of her being. She was so stiff, Devlyn whispered into her ear, “Sleep, Bella honey.”
But she couldn’t. She tried to relax, tried to let Devlyn think everything was all right. But her mind wouldn’t shut down.
Volan had to be dead. Otherwise, she’d made love to Devlyn thinking Volan was dead. She’d given herself freely to the man she’d wanted forever, only to get him killed. She didn’t have to worry about Devlyn being arrested for Volan’s murder, but now she fretted over her original fear—Volan was indomitable, as she’d always known, and he would terminate Devlyn.
Unless, Volan was really dead. He had to be.
She thought back to the dance club and the events that led up to her killing him and afterward. He went down like a felled redwood. And he didn’t move again. For several minutes, he didn’t move. But she hadn’t checked his pulse, either. Did he have a pulse? She groaned inwardly.
But…but what if he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest?
No. Why in the world would he have done that? He was an alpha male pack leader. He could control her, he’d think. And she was certain he’d never believe she’d shoot him with silver bullets.
So what in the hell had gone wrong?
Devlyn took a heavy breath, and she sensed he’d fallen asleep again.
Then another distressing thought hit her. What if silver bullets did work as the legend stated, but the old-time blacksmith who’d made them for her had taken her silver and kept it? What if he’d used some other compound and the bullets weren’t really silver at all?
She considered what had happened that day so long ago when she’d thought Volan was close on her trail and she’d found a smithy working at his anvil, his large, sinewy hands pumping the bellows to heat the fire. The sign hanging above the blacksmith’s shop in the Arizona town proudly advertised his skills: wrought iron work, horse shoeing, wagon fixing, wagon wheels, pulling teeth.
But all she’d cared about was whether or not he could make bullets. Silver bullets.
She could still envision the way the big man stared back at her, his muscular arms bulging under his linen shirt, his bushy black brows raised, his mouth embedded in black whiskers and partially opened.
“Silver bullets,” he’d repeated, like a parrot.
Bella had offered her most winsome smile. “My brother collects old bullets from the American Revolution, Civil War period, various types. A collector. Anyway, he was saying how he had about every size, shape, and kind of bullet known to man except for one.”
“Silver bullets.”
“Yes, sir. He’s turning twenty-five and I wanted to give him a real keepsake. Will these be enough silver spoons for the job?”
The smithy wiped his sweaty hands on his apron and considered the silverware. Looking back up at her with eyes as black as the coal in his fire, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Come back in three hours. I have several other jobs before yours, miss.”
“Yes, yes, thank you.”
And then she’d left to spend time in the mercantile, purchasing some dried meat and other items for the trip she�
�d have to make. The widow MacNeil that she’d lived with had died the month before. Bella had stayed there long enough and needed to move on, especially if Volan had learned she was there. After buying her stagecoach passage for Idaho, she returned to the smithy’s shop. He had already gone, but a note was left on a table with six silver bullets: for Bella MacNeil.
Then she’d left with her treasure, her protection against Volan. For the first time ever, she wasn’t afraid.
Which made her wonder again, did the smithy keep the silver for himself and give her regular bullets?
If so, she had one more chance to protect herself. The gun at her cabin. Different smithy, this one at Donley’s Wild West Town a few years ago in Chicago, when Bella thought it might be prudent to have two guns, one at each residence, both filled with silver bullets. Or at least she hoped.
Devlyn’s arm twitched, and she breathed in his masculine scent.
God, how she loved her big gray, and how she hated having to leave him. But if Volan was truly alive, the nightmare would never end. As soon as they found out who the red killer was, she would run again.
An hour into her slumber, Bella woke. What was the sound she’d heard? A grinding of metal against metal? A key slipping into the front door lock?
Chapter Fifteen
BELLA LISTENED BUT DIDN’T HEAR ANY FURTHER sounds. Slipping out of Devlyn’s arms, she was surprised he didn’t wake. Her heart beating hard sent the blood rushing into her ears.
Maybe she’d dreamed she heard something. Maybe a branch scratched at the window out back. So why had it sounded like a key in the front door?
She pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt and then seized the 9 mm from her bedside table drawer where she’d hidden it again, minus two bullets. Silver or regular? She growled low under her breath but reminded herself that Volan could be dead.
Taking a step out of the bedroom, she listened with her fine-tuned hearing and sniffed the air for any sign of an intruder. Nothing. She turned in the direction of the kitchen. The house remained dark, although she could see like a wolf in the middle of the blackest night.
