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

by Aames, Aimélie

  With a voice that had become weak, the thing said, "But, I love my son...."

  "What you think you feel for him is not love," she said, as she held the sword's haft in both hands, "It's a corruption of love and it...is...wrong."

  There was a momentary flare in the creature's eyes, then Sara heard its voice one last time.

  There were no words, only a howl, a sound that echoed as it dwindled like a stone cast down a well without end.

  "Take it out, Sara. Quickly…before it finishes the job." Braze's voice was weak but it was his voice and his alone.

  With a quick tug, the sword came free of his flesh and Braze staggered to his feet, one hand clasped tightly to the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and pattered to the floor.

  Sara let the sword fall to the floor, then rushed to her man.

  "We need to get you to a hospital," she said.

  Braze chuckled gently and pulled his hand away from his side. There where just a moment before an open wound bled, a wrinkled line of pink flesh was all that remained to mark the sword's passage.

  He reached out to Sara, pulling her close to him, and with infinite care he rubbed his nose against hers.

  "Being a werewolf has its advantages, my love."

  Sara smiled and replied, "It looks like I have a lot to learn on the subject."

  Braze smiled back at her as she held his body in her hands. And everywhere her hands wandered, there was only clean, vibrant skin, with no trace of shadow to be found.

  "I shall be only too happy to teach you."

  Lips upon lips, the world around them ceased to exist as they lost themselves in a kiss that went on and on and on....

  The End

  Afterword

  “Ewww...it’s just so gross,” Agate said, wrinkling her nose.

  Opal shrugged and moved one of the pieces closer to another then sat back upon her haunches to survey the result.

  “Could’a been worse,” Opal replied, at last, “He could’a made us go out and pick up trash along the highway or something.”

  Agate stood up and tried to brush the wrinkles out of the jumpsuit she was wearing. It was much too large for her, made of a thin nylon meant to be disposable, exactly the sort of thing professional painters wear and throw away at the end of each day.

  “Well, whatever,” she said then paused as she reconsidered, “But, did you hear the way he said that...‘you must atone for your errors’?”

  She put her hands on her hips and the plastic suit made a faint crackling sound.

  “I mean who in the hell does he think is?”

  Opal stood up beside her, a plastic bag in one hand. She fished around inside it then brought out a piece of folded cardboard.

  “He’s our leader, Agate. And he’s right. I got too rambunctious for my own good. Both of us did.”

  She unfolded the cardboard then bent down to stand it upright among the remains at their feet.

  They both looked down at the words neatly painted on the makeshift sign, neither of them saying anything more.

  At some silent signal, the two sultry women turned away then walked back to the barn and followed the dirt road leading away for a short distance.

  Together, like mirror images or extraordinarily talented pantomime artists, they stripped off their jumpsuits, the rubber gloves on their hands, and the plastic booties from their feet.

  They set it all in a small pile, then Agate squirted the entire contents of a small can of lighter fluid over everything.

  One of them struck a match, then both women stepped to the side as black smoke rose into an otherwise bright, blue sky.

  “Could’a been worse,” Opal repeated.

  Agate nodded, then said brightly, “Hey Ope, what say we go for a nice run?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said the light skinned woman.

  Then, like a cool summer breeze, two wolves, one light, the other dark, slipped into the forest. They made no sound as they ran and if anyone had been there to see them, they could have well imagined that the wolves were no more than a trick of shadow and light, no more substantial than the half-remembered echo of a dream of ghosts cloaked in the skins of animals.

  A crow fluttered down from the clear sky to perch upon a bare tree branch. Then another descended to take a place beside the first. It did not take long for a third to join them as their glittering black eyes peered down at the old, abandoned well.

  In front of it, body parts had been carefully placed to form the general shape of a man. A completely deconstructed man; a thick, leather belt coiled beside him.

  And while the crows themselves could not read the words upon the cardboard sign, someone else would arrive eventually who could and this is what they would see:

  Here lies a very bad man.

  He got what he deserved, tho.

  A thick odor wafted from the old well. It was strong enough that when they were done reading that sign, someone was bound to look down inside.

  What they would find then would be all the proof they needed to know that the sign maker was right.

  ~~~

  Clement shifted. The corner of the raised tomb was not very comfortable. Whoever made it had never intended that anyone sit on it. The truth being that sitting there like that was disrespectful.

  Clement did not care, though. Not anymore.

  A crowbar leaned against a second tomb in front of him. Its heavy lid had been pried slightly to one side, just enough to allow a man’s hand and arm to reach within.

  The grey eyed man sighed. It was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined.

  At last, he stood up just as a heavy hand settled upon his shoulder.

  Clement startled, then he was spinning round at the same time as his own hand flew to his side, to a sword he no longer wore.

  The Nephilim looked down at him, then shook its head.

  “Are you certain of this, human?”

  The man flexed his empty fist, then looked back down at the opened tomb.

  “It seems about as good as anywhere else to put it,” he said.

  A corner of the giant’s mouth lifted slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

  “And you accuse me of being circuitous with my words.”

  Clement only shrugged, then said, “Let’s just say I might have picked that up from you.”

  The two of them fell silent then, both looking down at the ground. There, like a forgotten thing, a sword forged by an angel lay upon the gravel at the man’s feet.

  The Nephilim eased his way beside Clement and the two of them sat down.

  “And if I said that I regret it, human. Or, that I shall never do such a thing again...what then?”

  Its voice was already deep, but the tone had grown heavier with undisguised remorse.

  Clement sighed.

  “I don’t think it matters. Chasing after vampires has lost its charms for me.”

  The stone creature did not answer for a time, but when it did, Clement thought he heard something like enthusiasm.

  “There are still uses for that sword, Clement. Can I call you that?”

  The grey eyed man simply nodded.

  “There are other things that prey upon men on this earth. Other things than blood drinkers or werewolves.

  “Ancient things that are a fitting match to your talents and to the power of your blade.”

  Clement did not respond. But neither did he turn away.

  “I have caught the scent of such a one. She is old, older than they who lie at rest here, older even than these hills...this entire nation.

  “And she is not the only one. However, she alone has proven herself to be wickedly crafty, only now finding the means to elevate herself from being simply malicious toward a dark magic that would render her positively malevolent.”

  Clement sighed, then said, “Ok, I’m listening. But can’t you just get to the point for once? Just tell me what the hell you’re talking about, already.”

 
The Nephilim grumbled, then cleared its throat.

  “Yes. Well. I speak of a creature who has committed a crime against me and my race.

  “She has dared despoil the last resting place of a Nephilim, stealing an artifact that she must not be allowed to keep.”

  Clement reached down to the sword, then stood up, hefting it.

  “And you need my help?”

  The Nephilim stood as well, his enormous shadow falling over the grey eyed man as he said, “Yes, I do.”

  Clement turned away, saying over his shoulder, “And you have a plan, I suppose?”

  The creature replied, “I do. But it is not without danger. For it to be successful, I must place my very life in your hands.”

  The grey eyed man walked away without looking back.

  Then, his voice floated back to the Nephilim.

  “And there aren’t any vampires involved...right?”

  The giant took a half a stride forward then turned back to the still open tomb and, with a quick shove, closed it up again before rushing after Clement.

  “No, no. You have my word. No vampires. I am quite sure they are not involved.”

  “But..?” was the reply from the man as he slipped the sword into the sheath upon his hip while he continued walking.

  The Nephilim fell in step beside him, then said, “Yes...well. No vampires, this time. But there are witches.”

  The man dwarfed by the giant of stone beside him came to a sudden stop.

  “Witches..? Look, Nephilim, what are you trying to get me mixed up into?”

  A marble white face looked at the man and said, “My name is Daniel. And the tale is a long one.”

  Clement nodded, then began walking again.

  “Yeah. They’re always long ones with you.”

  Daniel nodded to the man, even though Clement looked straight ahead, his steps taking on the allure of a man with a purpose. His stride was no longer hesitant as the traces of an idea began to paint themselves upon the dismally blank canvas of his future.

  “To begin,” Daniel said, as they walked together through the cemetery, “I must recount the tale of the most famous of the Nephilim, a good friend of mine so very long ago.”

  ‘Uh huh,” was Clement’s reply.

  “Most humans know his name although history has unjustly made of him a villain. On the contrary, he was an innocent, if anything, naive to the point of being simple. But therein lay his charm.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Daniel continued, unruffled that Clement did not seem to be actually listening to him.

  “But the true villain was a certain politician who knew how to spin a situation to his favor. Even in biblical times, Clement, there were those who knew very well how to get mileage out of current events. David was one of these and his whole story of slingshots and a single stone was pure fabrication. You see, it was simply a metaphor that he twisted to his own purposes like any conniving career politician."

  Clement stopped walking, then turned slowly to the giant at his side.

  “Wait just a minute. Are you talking about David, the kid who killed a giant?”

  Daniel stood still as well, looking nonplussed.

  “Yes, of course. And my good friend, Goliath...naturally.”

  “Uh huh,” Clement said then began walking again with Daniel at his side, happily going on with his story while smoke drifted from his stony shoulders.

  The sun shone down upon them both and kept about her task of burning the taint of evil from the giant’s body. A creature who was otherwise pure in its creation and intention.

  A creature who happened to be particularly long winded, as well...and as to that, and despite all her immeasurable power, even the sun could offer no remedy.

  ✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

  Into the Nightlands

  (A Prequel Story to Her Billionaire, Her Wolf--The Novel)

  Boom, boom...boom.

  The sound was quiet, a mere whisper's distance from silence, but as he ran down a glistening lamplit street, the vampire could still hear the faint drum roll of his pursuers' heartbeats.

  They pounded out a rhythm like tribal war drums and he understood then how some could call the city an urban jungle.

  They were right to do so. Wild beasts roamed darkened streets and woe to those they set themselves upon.

  He burst from around a corner and at the limits of his vision, he caught a glimpse of phantom grey streaking through an adjacent alleyway only to disappear just as rapidly as it came.

  The vampire drew up short and cocked an ear.

  Faintly, ever so quietly, he heard the panting breaths of those who hunted him.

  He listened. They numbered four. Two directly behind, two others who had gone wide while the first two diminished their pace.

  He knew why.

  It was so that he would slow his own pace and allow the hunters to draw alongside him at a distance.

  They did what came naturally to them. They would flank him if they could while the others drove him headlong into the noose. Then they would draw in tight and drag him down.

  It was an age old tactic that had brought countless prey to their stumbling knees before the ravening beasts fixed massive jaws upon their flesh.

  The vampire jumped forward and ran with all the strength that his last feeding could give him.

  He changed course in a sudden diagonal track that threatened to rip the soles from his leather shoed feet.

  The blood of a child and her mother burned in him and he felt his flesh grow hot.

  The pace he set himself then could mean his own destruction. The mother had been lorn and tired and did not mind the chance to speak with a likable, if not elegantly well-dressed man. The child's stroller had been in her hands and the vampire had seen how dry and red knuckled they were.

  She had been a loving mother...a tired, nearly worn out mother. But still so very young and the blood that she carried had called to him like a beacon made of glowing coals.

  So it was that he visited his mercy upon them and the drink now burning in his otherwise dry veins threatened to take flame as he pushed his body beyond its physical limits.

  It was necessary and his victim's last moments fueled him now. She had been a mother who knew outrage and horror at what he did to her. She would have fought him if she could have but knowing what was to come, instead of sending into her mind a soothing image of her child spared from her own doom, the vampire had made it plain that the child would follow the mother through death's door.

  She had known outrage and agony when all she had wanted was to protect her child despite her extraordinary fatigue. And now her fury at her own impuissance to resist empowered him, gave him strength in his time of need.

  Boom, boom...boom.

  The hunters would not expect it, so he turned to run straight toward one of them. If timed well, rather than collide into one of the beasts flanking him, he would slip behind it.

  For he was no hapless deer in the forest and no wolf would drag him to the ground this night.

  And so he ran....

  ~~~

  Flair brought his hips in hard against the girl and pulled her face to his.

  Music pounded so loudly that he could feel it in his body. The steady beat of a trance rock hybrid rolled through him as his hips rocked against her.

  Her tongue was in his mouth and her breath came heavily.

  Flair resisted the urge to bite down on the moist pink flesh that flirted against his own. He broke contact and pulled back to look into her eyes as their hips rocked like crazed pendulums in a Daliesque rhythm timed to the relentless beat surrounding them.

  Her eyes were brown and liquid and she breathed so heavily it was as if she panted.

  Flair took a breath and willed himself calm. For a brief moment, his own tongue had come close to lolling out from between teeth that threatened to grow long.

  The girl would not understand for she was no wolf.

  But he was.
>
  And the heat the young woman stoked in him made him hungry.

  He seized her hand in his and said, "Come on."

  The intimacy of the moment broke like a gossamer thread only to reveal that the two stood among hundreds of others on a club's dance floor. Lights prismed into thousands of colors roamed over their bodies in wave after wave while the music shifted with the colors and the colors shifted with the music until no one could tell where one began and the other left off.

  Together they pushed their way through the jostling crowd. Sweaty bodies swayed and bounced, some grouped together in knots of writhing limbs, others content in their solitude as they lost themselves upon wave after wave of music that buoyed them aimlessly among so many from one moment to the next.

  It took some effort, but Flair made his way around a corner and thrust open a door.

  The thick and heady scent of smoke came close to bringing tears to his eyes as he pushed past a small knot of people wearing their own lolling grins.

  The young woman whose hand he held followed after him without hesitation. Her hand remained as tightly clasped to him as his to her.

  Flair knew what that meant. There was a tacit question in the air as he fled the dance floor with her and her answer was not one of refusal.

  He fought down the urge to let the wolf within him rush forward. Instead, he laid a still human hand upon a doorknob at the corridor's end and found it turned easily in his grasp.

  The young wolf had been prepared to break it if it had not. Nothing would stop him from what he meant to do.

  Then the two of them were on the other side of that door and the sound of the music, muffled as they moved down the smoky corridor, came back to their ears with almost as much force as when they had been on the dance floor.

  A quick glance told Flair why. Even as the young woman whose name he did not know threw herself against him again and brought her tongue back inside his mouth, he spared just a moment to think that the ventilation grill high up on an opposite wall let the music roll down its innards to tumble over them.