Blood Law

by Karin Tabke

  Her breath sloughed in and out before she sucked it in and held it again. Her entire body trembled violently with anticipation. He was just on the precipice of taking what she had never offered a man.

  Then, it was taken.

  His teeth pierced her skin as the cock inside her pierced her hymen. She opened her mouth to scream her pleasure and her pain, but no sound came forth. Her body was too racked by a catastrophic wave of pleasure. Falon’s eyes flew open, then she squeezed them shut, overwhelmed by the sensations running rampant throughout her body. His hips thrust in an agonzily slow undulation. Finally, her voice. “Faster!” She couldn’t stand the blistering tension in her womb. It needed to be consumed so that it could consume her. Wildly, he pushed in and out of her. In a primal, sweaty dance of give and take, they mated.

  She came in a blistering orgasm, so deep and so powerful she screamed until her throat was raw. He bit her again, this time not releasing her until his body bucked and he howled with his own earth-shattering orgasm.

  MILES AWAY FROM where Rafael found his pleasure, the golden eyes of a wolf snapped open. Unsure why he had been woken, the black wolf snarled, leaping from his bed in one swift, elegant movement, then catapulted through the open window to the roof. Raising his snout, he faced north to the shrouded moon that would soon be overtaken by the sun. He grinned a wolf grin at the thought, knowing exactly what kind of suffering the Blood Moon would bring.

  Suddenly, the wolf inhaled the musky scent of mating. It taunted him, causing his blood to still. His heart stuttered and twisted with pain. He howled in both denial and anticipation.

  Rafael had found his mate.

  Even now, he was experiencing the kind of joy that Lucien never would again.

  Once more, Lucien threw his head back and howled, a long lone howl.

  Defiantly, he pushed his own grief aside. Revenge would soon be his.

  This time when he howled, it was a horrific, fearful sound.

  It carried north to the other compound. His brother would hear, and when he did, he would know Lucien knew.

  He howled again, this time in joy.

  An eye for an eye.

  ’Twas the way of the pack.

  Blood Law.

  Five

  FALON TRIED TO open her eyes, but the pressure on her lids was too great, as if sandbags had been plopped on her face. Just the slightest movement, and her eyes burned, felt gravelly. So heavy, so . . . She yawned and stretched. Her right hand touched something big and warm . . . and . . . furry?

  She jackknifed up and immediately knew three things. She was naked. She was in a strange bedroom. And from the scent in the air and the ache between her thighs, she’d been properly fucked. But by who?

  Movement to her left caught her attention and she turned, instinctively moving slowly. “Holy sh—!”

  Next to her, a big tawny-colored dog lay on its stomach, its muzzle resting on its paws. Even as her skin skittered with goose bumps—even as she thought, Dog? That’s no dog . . . it’s a freakin’ wolf—it lifted its regal carry-on luggage–sized head so its deep turquoise-colored eyes were level with hers, gleaming with both an intelligence that defied the species and a masculine laconic ease.

  She scooted slowly away from it, not liking the way its gaze followed the blanket as it slipped to her waist. She quickly yanked it up so she was covered. “Nice doggy,” she whispered, feeling around for her clothing. The beast growled low, barely audible, deep in its chest. Falon froze and swallowed hard, trying to remember what happened and how she had gotten here, wherever here was.

  She had been hungry. Had gone to Delico’s . . .

  She stiffened as the horrible images of the previous night flared in her memory banks.

  Mr. D dead, that Conan guy and then the other one. The pain Conan inflicted. And those crazy mental lightning bolts! How the hell had she managed to pull that off? Were the planets cosmically aligned?

  She pushed back in the bed as panic overcame her. That big blond dude in black leather with the double swords. He’d killed Conan, right there on the street. Then he’d picked her up; she’d been too terrified to run. Had she fainted? She must have. It was the last thing she remembered. Self-recrimination slapped her. Why hadn’t she tried the mental lightning bolts on him? And run. Oh, wait, she couldn’t run.

  She flexed her right foot. No pain. What the hell? Conan had shredded her Achilles, and—she looked down at her chest. Reached her hand over her shoulder and touched her shoulder blades. She’d been torn to shreds. The pain of the wounds excruciating. Now, not even a tingle. Had it all been a dream? She shook her head, closed her eyes, and told herself it had to be a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. She opened her eyes, wishing to be back in her dingy one-room hovel.

  But she wasn’t. It had all happened and, somehow, she had survived it. Instead of a dream, her life had become a nightmare of biblical proportions, and now she was in bed with the big bad wolf. Only, who and where was his owner?

  She glanced past the wolf to the windows. Sunlight streamed in, warming the large room that screamed testosterone. Everything in it was big and sturdy, including the bed she lay in. It was double the size of a normal king, supported at each corner by thickly carved oak totem pole posts. Handmade Indian rugs covered the rich hardwood floor, their crimson and black accents echoed in the heavy earth-toned drapes. Under different circumstances, she would have reclined back on the comfortable mattress and enjoyed the atmosphere. Instead, despite the warm decor and the sunshine blazing through the glass windowpanes, she shivered.

  Delicately, she sniffed. Her sense of smell heightened. There was a particular scent in the air—the musky scent of sex and something else, something dark and male that immediately had her picturing the sword-wielding blond.

  Falon shook her head, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Realization struck. “Oh, no!”

  The blond dude.

  This was his place! She inhaled sharply, the musky scent of their sex clogging her throat. She lowered her hands, her eyes narrowing when she spotted the spots of crimson on the rumpled sheets. She groaned. Proof positive. He’d—he’d had his way with her! And his way had probably been every which way she could imagine and then some.

  Even her own thoughts made her cringe. At twenty-four, Falon certainly wasn’t the world’s oldest virgin. It would have been easy to blame that fact on her wandering lifestyle, since she was never in one place long enough to find a man she was attracted to and wanted to have sex with. But the truth was, it had been her choice. Call her old-fashioned, but she’d wanted love first, and she knew she’d never find love while she was running. But she had hoped that, one day, she could stop running and that maybe . . . well, maybe she could have a semblance of a normal life.

  The only normal thing about her life and where it had landed her today was how abnormal it was and how complicated it had suddenly become.

  Anger flared in her chest.

  It wasn’t the loss of her hymen that upset her but the fact that he’d taken it. She didn’t have much in this life, but her body, her right to choose who and when she slept with someone—that was one thing she’d always had and fought hard to keep. That bastard! Now she didn’t even have that to give.

  A sound—close to a whimper—escaped her. Horrified, she watched the wolf’s head tilt slightly, as if in concern. It made her boiling anger ignite. She flung back the sheets.

  “Your owner is a prick!” she seethed at the wolf dog. Although she moved slightly, he countered, blocking her with his big baseball mitt–sized paw.

  She felt no fear, only resolve. Between clenched teeth, she said, “If you don’t move off the bed, I’m going to call the dogcatcher, and all hell is going to break loose!”

  Interpreting her threatening tone correctly, the wolf barked at her, as if to dare her. She almost smiled. And that shocked her and disturbed her more at the moment than her lost virginity.

  Falon shook her head. She had to get out of there befor
e the wolf’s owner returned. She didn’t want a repeat performance of last night. Didn’t want him to find her naked. Didn’t want to see him naked—

  She shivered, and her skin flushed. She knew what he looked like naked. How warm he was. How wide his shaft was as it cleaved into her flesh. To her horror, her nipples tightened.

  The wolf whined, its tongue flicking out along her breast in a way that made her shiver, and not in a bad way. She crossed her arms over her breasts and shot it another glare. “Pervert,” she hissed, unsure whether she was talking to the wolf or herself.

  Out of here. Now, Falon.

  She almost fainted with relief when she spied a pair of folded black jeans, a black shirt, a pair of doeskin UGG-type boots, and socks, all resting on a chair cushion as if they were waiting for her. Backing completely off the bed, she groaned when her knees wobbled and her head throbbed. She raised a shaky hand to her forehead, and her body immediately overwhelmed her with a barrage of intense sensations. She had to pee. She was cold and hot. And she was disoriented, that damn dog staring at her like it was human or something. Thank God it stayed on the bed.

  She grabbed the clothes and boots to her chest, casting her gaze around the big bedroom until she spotted a door in the corner. Please be the bathroom. “Excuse me,” she murmured to the dog as if he could give her permission to leave the room. She hurried past it and soundly shut the door behind her.

  The bathroom was as big and masculine as the bedroom. Timber beams supported the rich inlaid black granite and wood-paneled walls. An oversized claw-foot tub took up one side of the room, and a tall granite and oak vanity with built-in drawers beneath took up a corner. A toilet and doublewide granite shower encompassed the wall opposite the tub. Her bare toes dug into a thick alpaca throw. One thing she could say for Blondie, he liked creature comforts, and he liked the high-end kind. Too bad for him, but she had no intention of becoming part of his collection.

  Quickly, she used the facilities, turned the shower on high, and let it run. Not that she was going to be using it. She was fastidious, yes, but not insane. She dressed, opened the bathroom’s single window, and climbed out onto the slant of a wood shingle roof. She squinted in the sunlight. From the position of the sun, she figured it was just before noon. She was at least two stories up, in some kind of compound, surrounded by high cinderblock walls topped with razorsharp rolls of concertina wire. To keep intruders out or prisoners in?

  Crouching low, she maneuvered across the roof, stopping each time a voice filtered up from below. Once she reached the edge of the long, log cabin–style structure, she could see the forest—and freedom—over the high-wired walls. If she dropped to the ground, she’d have to climb the wall and take the chance of being seen and caught. Her only chance was to go over the wire. And how the hell was she supposed to do that? Hop over it?

  Yes! A voice inside of her matter-of-factly said.

  Falon squeezed her eyes closed. Great, now she was hearing voices.

  She looked back at the high fence. It was her only option. So be it.

  Falon moved around to the back of the structure where the rooftop edge was closest to the fence. If she got a good running start, she could jump onto the fence, grab onto the wire, and climb the rest of the way over. She cringed, thinking of the pain grabbing the wire would bring. It didn’t matter. She’d take her lumps if it meant her freedom; to Falon freedom was everything.

  As she backed up to get a good head start, Falon ripped the long sleeves off her shirt. She wound each piece around her hands and tied them securely to buffer the razor wire. She heard voices. Close. Then a shout followed by a flurry of heavy feet moving in her direction.

  She’d been spotted.

  Taking a deep breath, Falon focused on the other side of the fence. Slowly, she exhaled and then took off. As she leapt high into the air, she felt an exquisite sense of euphoria as well as shock. Her body was lighter, her muscles stronger, her reflexes that of a cobra. Her feet barely touched the top coil of wire as she flew effortlessly over the wall. She landed in a patch of soft grass squarely on the other side of the wall. In disbelief, she glanced back and up at the high wall she had just cleared, then sprang like a tiger and took off for the hills.

  How? How had she just jumped like a kangaroo over a two-story-high, concrete, wire-rimmed wall? How had she healed? Had the supernatural energy she’d detected in Vulkasin rubbed off on her? Had sex with him infused her with some of his power? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Vulkasin was as different as she was. Maybe he was like her? Maybe he was the one person who might be able to shed some light on what it all meant. As much as she wanted answers, she wasn’t going to stick around and find out if he had them. He terrified her. Falon ran. Blood pumped in her veins with the velocity of ten engines as she raced to put as much distance as she could between herself, the blond, the wolf, and the shambles her life had become. She pushed everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours out of her head. Ostriches had nothing on her—running was how she’d survived all these years. It was how she would continue to survive.

  Hair prickled along her neck and arms. Her skin suddenly felt cold.

  She was being followed.

  Falon kept her frantic pace but dared to look over her shoulder. Her heart nearly stopped.

  A pack of beasts—enormous, long-fanged, black, slobbering beasts—were hot on her heels. Miraculously, she dug deeper and her speed increased. This time she didn’t question it, she just went with it. A thick copse of trees was dead ahead. If she could just get to them before . . . She tripped.

  She rolled over and hurried to her feet only to fall to her knees. Pain shot from her left ankle straight up her calf to her thigh. She leapt up again only to fall face-first to the loamy ground. Fresh pain radiated in hot pulses to her groin.

  Her leg was broken, but she didn’t have the luxury to cry about it. Crawling toward the nearest tree, she hoisted herself up and reached for the lowest branch.

  She heard their panting first. Then hot, wet breath licked at her back. She turned, back flush against the trunk. The beasts surrounded her, their red eyes ablaze, their fangs exposed, their tongues lolling out of their long mouths.

  “Nice, doggies,” Falon softly said, once again reaching for the branch above her head. “Nice doggies.”

  The largest of them, looking like it weighed a good three hundred pounds, lowered his head and flattened his ears. Not a good sign. She glanced up at the branch she held on to and jumped on her good leg while pulling herself up. Her feet left the ground, and she pulled herself up further. The beast below her lunged, his jaws snatching her boot right off her foot. Falon hoisted herself up and clung to the trunk for dear life. The beasts came at her, nearly biting off her foot. She grabbed the next branch and climbed higher. Not high enough. In their blood rage to get to her, the beasts tore at the bark and, like cats, they climbed after her.

  When she could go no higher, Falon pulled herself into a tight ball and prayed to God to save her. As if they heard her prayers, the beasts moved to the side, parting as if they were the sea making way for Moses.

  He came in the form of that big-ass wolf she’d left lounging on the bed. Its turquoise eyes locked on hers. Several of the beasts barked, and he growled furiously. Like puppies, the black beasts yelped and went belly up as he approached. Falon watched in silent awe as he moved effortlessly among them.

  He turned that big tawny head of his back toward her, and this time his laconic eyes laughed at her. He barked. A command that Falon immediately understood. Get down. Now.

  It was the last thing she wanted to do, but the pain in her foot was an intense throb now, never mind that half a dozen three hundred-pound brutes were surrounding her with Ginsu knives for teeth. Her only choice was to get down and obey the one who was in control. The top dog, she thought derisively, vaguely cheered by her ability to maintain her humor under such grave conditions. She slowly began her descent and wondered why the wolf and
not his master had come after her. Where was he anyway? And how did he control the gold wolf who, in turn, seemed to control these snarling black beasts?

  Falon didn’t give the absurdity of her questioning thoughts much mind. Her life was one continuous movie reel of surreal. Granted, it had been cranked up several notches recently, but given her history, that was almost to be expected.

  She focused her full attention on getting down the damn tree without injuring her leg more. It wasn’t easy, especially since her body was shaking. She worked very hard not to feel anything, and in less than twenty-four hours, she had experienced the gamut of raw emotions and excruciating physical pain. She was at a loss as to how to deal with it. So she didn’t.

  It took time and effort to maneuver down the tree while keeping pressure off her foot, which had swollen up to the size of a grapefruit and hurt like hell. She wrestled back tears and swallowed her fear as she carefully dropped to the earth.

  Her fingers slipped, and her bad leg hit the ground before her good one. Falon cried out and crumpled to the loamy forest floor. The gold wolf snarled, his fangs displaying his petrifying fury, and leapt toward her. She had nowhere to go but against the tree trunk. He kept coming until his nose touched her face in something resembling a nuzzle.

  A bubble of hysteria lodged in her throat. This close, she could see the possessive gleam in his eyes. He lunged at the big black beast that had ripped her boot off.

  Stupefied, Falon watched the big black wolf-thing lie supine, accepting the fury of the gold one. When he had been sufficiently punished, the gold wolf turned to her and slowly approached. She backed up as far as she could, but the tree stopped her progress. The wolf growled low, not threatening but reassuring.

  How was it she knew exactly what it was communicating? Thinking? Falon stilled, holding her breath as he sniffed, then pressed his nose to the nape of her neck. He licked her.

  The heat of his rough tongue sent a shiver of fear and, Jesus, desire through her body. “No,” she stuttered, not liking where her deviant thoughts took her. But he ignored her as surely as his master must have last night. His nose traveled lower to her shoulders, then her breasts. He nuzzled her cleavage. His nose traveled lower until he came to the juncture between her thighs. Falon squeezed her legs shut just as she visualized his master nuzzling the same place. He had done wicked things to her with his tongue. He had—The wolf pressed his nose more firmly against her. Falon bit her bottom lip and caught her breath at the warmth that followed his close inspection.