Her Billionaire, Her Wolf--The Novel (A Paranormal Alpha Werewolf Romance)

by Aames, Aimélie

A perfect darkness in which Sara could see nothing. But, she could hear him. Very close, his breathing heavy.

  Then he spoke, "What now, little slave? What to do?"

  She did not reply. She was not sure he was posing her a question as much as thinking aloud.

  Silence followed. Sara strained her ears, listening for something...anything.

  It was though he had abandoned her, then Sara smelled an odor she had noted twice before.

  There, deep under the château, a forest opened all around her. The scents of pine in the darkness, rich soil redolent in the air. The odor surrounded her whispering of savage truths in a ruthless, natural world. A world of which men had forgotten.

  Then, next to her ear, a voice growled in the darkness.

  "Can the little slave accept a beast for her master?"

  It should have been too much. Some few simple words that veered into the rough lands of madness and of creatures that could not possibly exist. She heard his voice echoing with the story of the beast of Gévaudan. Too horrible, too far-fetched to be believed.

  Except that Sara had come to know that the impossible walked in the world and in its long fingers it carried a battered derby hat and contracts written in human blood.

  She knew the man. To her he was beautiful in more ways than she could have described. A simple fact remained. She wanted him...all of him.

  Unaware of how she found the courage, Sara whispered a single word.

  "Yes."

  There was nothing more for a moment. All hung in delicate balance as Sara waited for the moment to tip over to whatever destiny meant for her.

  Then she felt the bed sag under the weight of her master.

  Roughly, he pushed her legs wide, flattening her back against the bed, and without prelude, his cock slid deeply inside her.

  Together they rocked against one another. Like wild animals, the two of them rutted in bestial heat.

  Sara heaved herself up against Braze. He followed suit, plunging in and out of her relentlessly. Sara wanted to bring her hands to his back, to feel him under her fingertips, perhaps to rake her nails down his sides.

  Chains held her and instead, she had to content herself with wrapping her legs around him, desperately clasping him between her thighs.

  Braze rode her until Sara cried out one last time, then she felt her abdomen tighten in hard, just behind her navel, as pleasure burst like a nova behind her eyes.

  She knew he could feel her clenching around him and running him to the razor's edge. Braze slipped a hand down against Sara's mound, then forced the heel of his hand against her apex.

  The effect was immediate as Sara bucked like a wild horse in the throes of climax and pain.

  And with a roar, Braze came hard, blowing like a storm bred demon deep, deep inside her.

  Long muscles trembled then clenched to let go once again. Echoes of fire licked along nerves as they sagged against one another, their breaths coming raggedly while sweat rolled down both their bodies.

  Then, with a loud crack that could have been a bolt of lightning, Sara was blinded by a burst of light.

  White, argent fire filled the dungeon room, all of it coming from the hand of a haggard man standing at the doorway. A long trench coat billowed about his legs and in the hand opposite that which held the electric lamp was a shining sword.

  Sara struggled against the brightness, straining to open her eyes, and as she did, she felt the bed rebound as a half man half wolf leapt to face the newcomer.

  The beast roared, revealing a mouth bristling with long fangs that looked capable of shearing solid bone.

  But the man stood where he was and his eyes shone with the light of a righteous man. One who knew that he held the strength of the divine in his hands as he readied himself to strike the monster down.

  In a flash of recognition, Sara remembered his steel grey eyes. The look of manic zeal that she had taken for insanity.

  And she screamed as she watched the homeless man who had mysteriously followed her home the night before advance upon the wolf she had chosen for her own.

  "Prepare yourself, beast," he said, as he circled toward the werewolf, "Oblivion is a far better home for you than this world."

  He held himself ready, feeling the calm wind of his sworn purpose bring his weapon to bear. The hackles of the creature rose further, its eyes red rimmed with hatred for what he was about to do.

  The motion was minuscule, but the grey eyed man saw it all the same. The wolf had shifted a foot just a fraction, the muscles of one thigh drawing tight.

  Here it comes, he thought. That my sacred task guide my hand.

  But, with a scream loud enough to wake the dead, the woman who had been chained to the bed just a moment before appeared between them.

  She was stark naked and blood ran down both her arms as she threw herself between his weapon and the beast.

  "No!" she screamed as she placed a hand upon the creature's chest. It's great jaws opened wide, then snapped down upon empty air.

  She looked at the grey eyed man and with a voice that cracked with strain, she said, "Don't you dare. Don't you dare even think of trying to hurt him."

  She turned to face him more squarely, then said, "Because if you do, you had better come for me next. Otherwise, I'll kill you myself...I swear it."

  The tip of the sword wavered as the man hesitated. He could not strike with the woman in his way. Then, he looked past her and his eyes went wide as the sword clattered to the floor.

  Sara looked behind her to see that the wolf had left the man, leaving Braze standing there, his own eyes stunned as he looked beyond her.

  "But, this is not possible. Father told me...." said Braze in a rasping voice before trailing off.

  The grey eyed man appeared to sway, the very foundations of all that he believed crumbling beneath his feet as he replied.

  "He told me the same thing about you."

  Sara swung from one man to the other, then back again, and not sure of just who she addressed, she asked, "What is this? What's going on?"

  Braze answered, "Sara Renardine, allow me to introduce you to a dead man...my brother, Clement."

  3

  Blood Will Tell

  The man stood there, his hands upon his hips, and watched as she swung slowly in the air.

  Her feet did not quite reach to the straw covered floor, and he noticed with disgust that there was urine dripping from one of her big toes.

  There was a large drop that slowly grew larger, pregnant even and faintly yellow, before the pendulum of the woman's motion forced it to fall and lose itself among the floorboards sprinkled over with straw.

  That had been his idea. A good idea. So much easier to clean up afterward.

  And, even bloody straw burns with enough gasoline thrown on it. He supposed the same would hold true for pissed on straw, too.

  The man lifted his arms only to feel his pants start to slip down. It was because he was no longer wearing his belt and the standard issue beige pants did not fit him the way they should have.

  Nothing ever fit him the way it should have.

  Not the boring job that droned on day after day, never anything worth noting in his little flip open notebook. Not in the long night hours when he patrolled from one end of the county to the other, always favoring desolate back roads.

  One never knew when someone alone and in need of protection would present themselves.

  Except that they never fit, either.

  On a whim, his aimless wandering this past evening had taken him down the road running not far from a local bar...a sort of club. The kind of place kept to the boonies because town folk, respectable folk, would not have it in the city limits. Just close enough to keep it on the municipal tax registers, but far enough away to keep their consciences clear.

  It had been very late, or very early, depending on how one looked at it, and the man had spied her stumbling, alone, along the shoulder of the road not far away.

  Her skirt had bee
n far too short. Her color far too high. And her confidence in a uniformed man far too trusting.

  She had laughed at his pleasantries as they rolled through the night and it took her a long while to notice that he was not taking her into town.

  It did not matter, though. She had trusted a familiar face. A good old, local boy that would see a lady home, safe and sound.

  He chuckled, then stooped to retrieve his belt. It was lying at his feet and as he picked it up, he noticed that the buckle was strangely thicker than it should have been.

  He turned it in the dim moonlight trying to get a better look.

  It was crusted in blood, and in places, there was hair stuck to the heavy metal buckle.

  But, he had given her a real lesson. That was for sure. Drunken slut had it coming.

  It had only been a couple months since he had first taken it to the next level. And for that he blamed her. She had run off one evening while he was hard at work doing all he could to put bread on the table and keep the bill collectors away from their front door.

  Miserable, ungrateful bitches. Every one of them.

  Never a good fit for him.

  That first time, he had been scared, real scared. It was only a few days after she up and took off before he found himself standing in exactly the same place, looking down at the exact same belt.

  Then, he had remembered the old well back behind the barn. The one his father had forbidden him when he was just a kid. The well that had been the source of inspiration for a lesson directed at a seven year old who had dared to go look in that well anyway.

  That particular lesson had kept him out of school for nearly a month before his father would let him go back. Before the black and blue welts had faded enough.

  Now that old forbidden well was home to a few drunken sluts who had had their own lessons.

  Hard lessons. But, necessary.

  The man sighed. There was work to do before the night was over.

  An old pair of overalls was tucked into a corner of the old barn and as he turned to get them, he heard a sound.

  Someone was clapping their hands. Softly at first, then louder and louder. Until the racket of the sound must have left those hands burning like fire for as loud as the applause was.

  He froze, listening, then began to ease down into a crouch. His service revolver was lying on the floor, in its holster, just beside where his belt had been.

  Then, someone spoke.

  "That...was...mahvelouuuus," said the voice in a drawn out, exaggerated ringmaster's way.

  "No. Truly. Rarely have I been witness to such a spectacle."

  There was the sound of sliding steps coming toward him. Someone who sounded as though they were limping.

  "In fact, you have given me such new hope in the potential of mankind, dear sir..."

  Pinstriped pants shifted in the shadows and the man had his target. He just needed to get both hands on the holster and flip the leather safety strap clear.

  "...that I can only applaud with the admiration I have for your work. Well done, sir...well done, indeed."

  Pale hands slipped in and out of a shaft of moonlight that filtered down through a roof in dire need of repair. They came together and clapped with a hollow, dead sound while the owner of the voice's face remained hidden.

  The holster was in his hands, forgotten, as he registered the words in the darkness.

  Appreciation for his work....

  The man cleared his throat and said, "And who in the hell are you?"

  He hoped he sounded authoritative. He wanted to sound that way...very much.

  There was faint laughter. Then, the voice said, "Why I am he who will point the way to your wayward girl, Deputy Woodard."

  Jackson's throat went dry, but he managed to croak out, "What do you know about that?"

  A derby hat appeared in the pale hands and began to twirl. The old fashioned thing spun between long fingered hands in a whirl that quickly became a dark blur. The movement was stunning and fascinating all at once and soon the man could not look away.

  "I know everything, Deputy," said the voice as it took a shambling step forward, "And I'm here to explain it to you."

  Moonlight ran up its body and Deputy Jackson Woodard was frozen like a deer in the headlights. The thing stepped free of the darkness and all Jackson wanted was for it to go back in....way back in.

  His face seized tight as muscles readied themselves to wrap around a scream meant to wake the dead. But, the sound was a stillborn thing and all that slipped from between the man's lips was a thin line of saliva tracking down his chin.

  His pupils were blown wide and black. What his father would have called two piss holes in a snow bank.

  "That's right, Jacky boy. The Journeyman has come to tell you a tale about your darling Sara."

  The man did not move, then whimpered in the darkness, "Please, Papa...don't hurt me...."

  The Journeyman laughed at the man upon his knees before him.

  "Oh, but I will, Jacky. I will hurt you. Sooooo, tell me..."

  The thing set the derby hat upon Jackson's head, then gave it a light tap to settle it in place.

  "...who's your daddy now?"

  ~~~

  Sara looked down to the arms that encircled her. Hard, like iron, they held her in a grasp that seemed to promise they would never let go. They spoke of security as her lover bent to take her earlobe between his lips.

  He tugged back, then released her before moving lower, along her neckline, searching for more of her to savor.

  She slipped her fingers into the grooves of his knuckles, following the hills and valleys of his hand. Her own seemed so small and pale by comparison. With his under hers, her hand looked like that of a child.

  Raised veins ran like branches of a tree under her fingertips, and Sara knew that the man who held her was as strong as an oak, as unyielding as steel.

  She also knew this because she had seen the fangs lining his mouth as these same powerful hands had become enormous black paws. The beast within him had shown itself in all its indomitable power and was the perfect mirror of the enigmatic man. Possessed of secrets that went far beyond the impossible, this was a man with one foot firmly in the realm of myth and legend.

  And it was her that he held in his powerful arms as he bent to gently kiss her bare shoulder.

  Sara smiled even though she knew he could not see her. Like giant balls of cotton, white clouds rolled by the rounded window of the bedroom cabin as his personal jet carried them towards another continent. For some reason, they reminded her of cotton candy.

  “I like flying,” she said, then sighed as she felt his teeth upon her skin.

  “And I like biting,” he replied before returning to her shoulder, nipping along its outline before he shifted his grip and took her hand in his own.

  He brought it to his face, then turned her hand so that the palm faced him. Then, he held his lips to the few lines running across its surface, kissing her like a gentleman would a fair lady.

  She felt ridiculous, but loved that he did it all the same.

  “I want you, Sara.”

  They turned to face one another. Fingers interlaced as hungry lips did the same. Warm tongues flickered in a humid dance before they were falling back upon the bed with sweat breaking upon their bodies.

  Braze eased lower upon Sara and took a nipple that stiffened between his teeth. Her breath came more deeply as he pulled back before releasing her. The brown aureola took on a rosy hue as it puckered in tight and stiff. Then he came back but instead of seizing Sara once more in his teeth, he blew against the damp his mouth had left behind.

  Sara moaned and opened her legs for him. An invitation to plunder her at twenty thousand feet.

  “Please," she breathed, then finished with "...Master.”

  Braze pulled back to stare deeply into Sara’s eyes.

  “I have something in mind for us once we get back. However, I admit the temptation that you represent, little slave, l
eaves me hungry for an hors d’oeuvre before the main course.”

  She breathed deeply. The look in his eyes was so intense. As always, she wanted to look away, but fought the impulse and let herself drown in his amber color flecked with green and gold.

  “Oh yes...please, Master.”

  Braze nodded then abruptly got up from the bed to pad barefooted over to a chest of drawers in the relatively limited confines of the sleeping compartment.

  From within, he withdrew a series of objects, each still in their clear plastic wrappings.

  “I think you’re ready,” he murmured then began to unwrap the cellophane away from something that reminded Sara of a children’s toy. Except that it’s color was ominously black and that it was much larger than a plaything for small hands.

  One end was shaped like the top of a bowling pin, relatively narrow in form. Then it grew thicker in a series of stepped diameters, each one larger than the last.

  The thing caught the light as Braze turned it in his hands, then he was climbing back across the bed.

  “On your hands and knees, slave,” he commanded.

  Sara did as she was told, then smiled despite the serious tone of Braze’s voice. She had just heard an intake of his breath as she had brought her bottom up to present herself plainly to him.

  “There are no words,” he whispered, but she heard him continue just the same, “Your shape beckons to me the way that it must have been for Botticelli or Raphael. Such exquisite curves, darling girl.”

  She felt him moving behind her, then something cold and wet touched her back opening.

  It made her shiver and it was not only because of the strange sensation but because she understood that it was but a prelude to other things of which she had yet to learn.

  Illicit things. Wrong things.

  The thought of it made Sara flush. It might have been with some embarrassment, but the heat she felt was also one that centered itself between her legs and she knew that she was glistening wet with juices that she was helpless to control.

  Oh, how she wanted whatever Braze meant to do.

  Then she felt something warm and hard press against her. It felt like it could be the thing Braze had in his hands a moment before and it rolled through the lubricant that he had just applied to her back entry, spreading it around with a feeling that quickly had Sara panting.