Mandy M. Roth - Magic Under Fire (Over a Dozen Tales of Urban Fantasy)

by Unknown

  His mouth felt so good!

  Admittedly, feeling anything but scared at this whole “scenting” display was welcome—and unexpected. I let out a shuddering breath.

  Grey started interspersing those little kisses with long, sensuous licks that made me squirm. My damaged hand pressed against the covers, and unbidden, my other hand cupped the back of Grey’s hand. I delighted in the soft, silky feel of his hair.

  His carnal forays made my flesh swell and moisten. A tight coil of need began to unwind with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his mouth.

  “I’m so wet,” I murmured.

  Grey glanced up, his eyes animalistic, his face somehow both human and wolf. I knew he was intentionally keeping his beast leashed. Excitement leapt in my belly.

  “I’m just getting started, my sweet,” he said in a voice thick with desire. “When I’m done, you will know you are mine.”

  He kissed the top of my pubic bone, and then he dragged his tongue down the slender line of my wet heat.

  I sighed in pure delight as he nibbled me in the same way he might a ripe, juicy peach.

  He parted my labia with his strong, sure fingers, and blew hot air across my sensitized flesh. The coiled ache that seemed both pleasure and pain loosened more, and a strange, tingling joy ribboned through me.

  “You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured.

  He delved once again into my moist folds, only this time he flicked his tongue against my tight, little bud. My fingers twined into his hair as I arched up, pressing my tormented sex against the heat, the hunger of his mouth.

  “Please,” I begged. I knew he could give me the relief I wanted, the golden bliss I sought, but had never truly experienced. “Please, Grey!”

  “As my lady desires.” He drew my aching clit into his mouth, suckling hard as he rapidly flicked his tongue against my clit.

  I felt the rise of quivering excitement, the incredible blooming of sexual rapture.

  “Oh!” I pressed him against his mouth as ecstasy crashed in me.

  Over me.

  Through me.

  Grey kept licking, kept suckling, even as the glorious waves of orgasm faded. I was left feeling sated—for a moment. My clitoris felt intensely sensitive, and Grey’s continued ministrations bordered on painful.

  “Stop,” I said. “Stop!”

  But he didn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  He sucked the tender, swollen bud harshly and then I felt one of his thick fingers enter my channel. I bucked, trying to get away from this new invasion, but he put his other arm above his head and pressed against my hips, trapping me.

  What had started as sweetly awakening sensuality became a new kind of agony.

  I lay pinned against the bed, the sexual prisoner of the alpha, and I could do nothing.

  Tears squeezed from my eyes as I felt his finger curled upward in my virgin flesh and began a slow, torturous stroking. I sucked in an unsteady breath.

  Sweet mercy! What was he doing?

  I moaned.

  The incredible sensations he’d wrought from my clitoris was nothing compared the strange and wonderful thrills he created from the tiny knot of nerves he’d found just inside my entrance.

  Now, a different sort of delight unfolded and weaved itself into the stinging ache of my tortured clit.

  I no longer felt pain.

  Or fear.

  The expert touch of my alpha lover was bringing me to orgasm again. I felt my clit tighten, my inner muscles squeeze, and then I was crying out…

  …screaming Grey’s name…

  …as double spikes of terrible, beautiful pleasure pierced me to the very core.

  I slumped against the bed, my entire body limp and replete. Grey rose and sat back on his heels, his expression full of smug satisfaction. “How are you, Arabelle?”

  “I’m wonderful.” I rose onto my elbows. “So, that’s how a werewolf scents his mate?”

  His lips quirked into a half-smile. “As I said—one of several ways.”

  I couldn’t help but gaze at the large (and rather scary) hard-on that strained against his jeans. “Should I…do something for you?”

  He rubbed the front of his jeans and sighed. “Not until we are mated.”

  I moved my leg so that he could slide off the bed.

  “You need more rest. Tonight, Aunt Lila will prepare you to the Choosing, and accompany you to the ceremonial grounds. I’ll see you there.”

  “When we’re mated, will there be more of … of this?” I asked.

  Something within him changed instantly. He grew unnaturally still, his lips peeling back into a snarl. He growled, and the harsh sound had me scrambling backwards, fear tumbling through me.

  “I’ve chosen you, Arabelle. But you must understand that tonight, when we truly mate and seal our bond, I will be more animal than human. I will be rough. Greedy. Insistent.”

  “What if I can’t handle that?” I asked in a shaking whisper.

  Grey stared at me, his wolfish gaze dark with nearly inhumane lust. “Willing or not, my sweet, I will take you.”

  4

  “W ELL, WELL. IF it isn’t the great werewolf killer,” sneered a female voice.

  I whirled, heart thumping, and pressed a hand against my chest. I stared at the stranger who was behind me, leaning next to the door of my room. Well, the room in which I’d been staying at Aunt Lila’s.

  Werewolf killer. It was true. Last night, I’d killed a werewolf in self-defense and in a couple of hours… I was mating with one.

  My husband-to-be was none other than the alpha of the Shadow pack—Greyson Burke. Memory flashed, and my stomach squeezed with nerves. Grey was a handsome man—squared jaw, aquiline nose, full lips, and gray-green eyes. His hair was a waterfall of shiny black. And lord-a-mercy, he was big and muscled and … and intense.

  My stomach clenched at the very thought of seeing the man again. Because when I did, we would—by werewolf standards at any rate—be married.

  Then we would mate.

  Sweet mercy.

  I studied the woman towering over me by at least six inches. She had long, brown hair that curled in shiny ringlets down her back. Her eyes were sapphires, two jewels in a heart-shaped face with a sharp, dented chin. She was lean-muscled and tan, obviously someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. She was also dressed in tight black leather pants and a matching vest designed to show off her navel. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, but she certainly didn’t mind showing them off within the deep vee of the vest. She wore calf boots that jangled with silver chains. The shape of her irises, her ridiculous height, and her bristly attitude made it obvious she was a werewolf. I would’ve been fascinated by meeting such a rare creature—but she made my less-than-curly hair stand on end.

  “Are you mute?” asked the woman, her tone the epitome of discourteous.

  “No,” I said as politely as I could. I was raised with manners, after all. “Neither am I rude. Who are you?”

  “Neela.”

  My politeness only extended so far. I couldn’t say it was nice to meet her, and I didn’t want to proffer my hand for a welcoming shake. Instead, I inclined my head. “I’m Arabelle Winton.” My friends called me Belle, but I wasn’t inclined to ask her to informally address me.

  “I know who you are. Grey sent me to fetch you.” Her full lips curled into a hateful smile. “He does like his little pets.”

  Fetch me? His little pet? Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and Neela seemed to delight in my discomfiture. In fact, she made quite the show of studying my blushing face and smirking. Her arrogance got my blood up, and my mortification turned to anger. Given Grey’s recent and thorough “scenting” of me, I knew she could smell his claim.

  “I’m not his pet.” I held her gaze. She wasn’t intimidated by me, but neither was she stupid enough to threaten me outright. “I’m his mate.”

  “Mate,” she spat. “Humans are not our equals. The Choosing does noth
ing more than weaken our pack with inferior stock.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to her vitriol, so I said nothing. The Choosing was the ceremony held every twenty years in Bleed City, Nevada. It was part of a pact made by the townspeople nearly 150 years ago. The Shadow Pack, in exchange for mating with our eldest daughters, offered protection, shelter, and food to the town. I was the eldest daughter in my family by default—my twin sister (older by six minutes) had committed suicide three years ago.

  And so here I was, one of the town’s tributes—except that I belonged to the alpha, whether I wanted to or not. For me, the Choosing had become a mere formality.

  Oh. Neela’s fury made sense now. I’d been chosen by the alpha, and she had not. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the rival standing in front of me, vibrating with what I’d call homicidal rage. Grey would be my husband, but I didn’t yet know him. He inspired within me contrary and riotous feelings, the strongest of which was pulse-pounding desire. So, I supposed I knew one thing about my werewolf groom: I wanted him.

  And so did Neela.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  She snorted. “Because I’m in charge of the enforcers and, apparently, your bony ass.” She shoved off from the wall. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t wait for me to agree. Instead, she sailed past me and bounded down the stairs with the grace so prevalent among her kind. I followed more slowly. Partially because I still ached from fighting off the werewolf that had nearly taken my life. And my muscles—not to mention my emotions—had not recovered sufficiently from Grey’s thorough and enjoyable scenting. An added bonus: I knew taking my time would irritate Neela.

  Mission accomplished. Neela’s entire being crackled with annoyance and impatience. Her narrowed gaze lasered in on me, and I had the distinct impression she was fighting the urge to rip out my throat.

  “You look lovely, my dear,” said Aunt Lila. She swept past Neela as though the formidable woman was nothing more than a piece of furniture. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “All my packed boxes are at my house, but I didn’t get to say good-bye to my family.”

  Aunt Lila offered me a kind smile. “Grey’s already arranged to have your things shipped to the pack’s compound. You’ll see your parents before the Choosing begins.” She grasped my hand and squeezed. “Being mated to a werewolf isn’t the same as going to prison, Belle. You’ll be able to visit. You can email and call any time you like.”

  I nodded, but my stomach pitched anyway. I’d been raised in Bleed City, soaked in its history, mentally Superglued into its ideals, its expectations. I would not run away from my duty. Unlike my sister Carolyn, who’d chosen to hang herself rather than accept her fate, I was not a coward.

  But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

  Fear crawled in my belly like a thousand creeping spiders. As I’ve said before, knowledge is not the same as experience. Grey had already explained that our first mating—indeed, probably all our matings—would be animalistic. In addition to that worry, I had to also consider what I’d be expected to do as the alpha’s wife. America’s government was a complex, gnarled mess, but it had nothing on werewolf politics. Of course, there was a lot less red tape when it came to carrying out justice. Werewolves guilty of death-penalty offenses did not sit in prison cells for years. They were beheaded, their hearts carved out, and their bodies burned. Werewolves had a real thing about hearts. And souls. A burned body lost its soul forever. After death, they wanted to join their revered ancestors. Literally. Shifters were placed in underground catacombs—their dead as protected and honored as living werewolves.

  “We’ll go in my car,” said Aunt Lila, jolting me out of my thoughts. She tugged me forward. “Neela will follow us there. Grey has sent his best enforcer to guard you, Belle, and that shows how much he values you.”

  I swear I heard a low growl—a short, ugly burst of werewolf fury. But I didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t look back.

  “NEELA DOESN’T LIKE ME,” I said, as we drove down the packed-dirt road. On either side were towering red rock cliffs.

  “Neela doesn’t like anyone,” said Aunt Lila. “And she thinks more of herself than she should.”

  “Because she was his once.” I glanced at Aunt Lila, who hesitated—and then gave a brief, sharp nod.

  “They were lovers before Grey became the alpha. After he took leadership, Neela assumed that she would become his mate, but she was wrong. Grey ended their sexual relationship and offered her command of the enforcers. If she wanted to stay in the Shadow Pack, she had no choice but to accept his decisions.”

  I sat with her words, looking out my window. Stone reached out to the blue sky like a child’s fingers trying to grasp the color. Scrub brush littered the desert sand, which made the landscape feel surreal, as though it were the hiding place of monsters.

  The Choosing was held in a space sacred to werewolves, located far within the twisty, maze-like canyons, in an area no uninvited human dared to tread. Grey had said that the Choosing was our ceremony—and while that was true, werewolves had a deeply entrenched sense of honor and duty. In the pack, there was no such thing as an individual. You worked with the pack for the pack. If you didn’t, you became a scruffer—or you got your head removed and your heart ripped out.

  Tourists often stopped to take pictures of the towering red-stoned cliffs and to look at the petroglyphs that had been carved into walls more than 10,000 years ago. What tourists had never seen—and would never lay eyes on as far as werewolves were concerned—was the ancient rock art left by their shape-shifting ancestors. Their carvings offered evidence that werewolves had long lived with—and bred with—humans. Bleed City was not the first human settlement to intertwine its fate with shifters.

  I had never been to the ceremonial grounds. Only the eldest daughters and their families were allowed the privilege—and the previous Choosing happened when I was a toddler. Aunt Lila, as the town’s werewolf liaison and our elder, walked between our worlds holding the trust of both wolf and man. She had been to the Choosing twice before.

  “Why didn’t Grey take Neela for a mate? She’s a female werewolf… And those are rare. It would seem a perfect match.”

  Aunt Lila squinted at the road. She slowed down and made a careful left onto a narrow lane, this one far less defined. She kept the Jeep at twenty miles an hour. As we hit pot holes and loose sand, I understood why.

  “Neela has a chip on her shoulder,” said Aunt Lila. “She was raised by a father who had no other heirs. Most shifters feel honored by the arrival of a daughter, but Kelt was disappointed she wasn’t a son. Neela’s birth was complicated and as a result, her mother had to have emergency surgery. She couldn’t have any more pups after that. Kelt was hard on Neela, determined to make her stronger than any male in the pack. Neela became a great warrior. Yet, no matter how many trophies she takes or honors she receives, she’s unable to win his approval.”

  “Because she’ll never be the son he wanted.”

  Aunt Lila glanced at me. “You’re wise for someone so young. That’s good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re right to worry about Neela. She’s too often ruled by her temper. She keeps control—mostly.”

  “She’s a time bomb.”

  “Looking for a target,” agreed Aunt Lila. She slowed and made another turn. Now, there was no road, and we crushed our way through sand and sagebrush. The Jeep’s wheels made short work of the desert’s obstacles. “Grey never discussed Neela with me, but I have no doubt he realized mating with her would not benefit the Shadows. Neela is quick to judge and has little mercy—necessary qualities for an enforcer. But to lead the pack, one should have patience and empathy. She has neither.”

  Aunt Lila reached over and patted my leg. “You are a good match for Grey. I know your life isn’t what you expected. You were on your way to a typical human life, becoming a nurse, starting to date, learning who you really wanted to be.”

  “Yes,” I said sof
tly. I felt some wisps of regret that the life I’d begun three years ago would not be mine. I had wanted very much to be a practicing nurse, to heal and comfort those in need. I was still angry with Carolyn—not because I’d assumed the role meant for her. No, my fury existed because she’d picked herself over her own family. She gave in to bitter selfishness instead of love for others, family, community, duty.

  Duty.

  Love.

  Honor.

  Those were the reasons why I sat in the Jeep, clutching the sides of my seat as we jounced the final mile to my destiny. That I already had an enemy before I’d even become part of the pack increased my anxiety tenfold. Well, then. I’d just have to get over it, wouldn’t I? I was chosen. I’d figure out how to deal with my new role in the Shadow pack—one werewolf at a time.

  “YOU’LL BE THE last to join the others in the circle,” said Aunt Lila. “And the first chosen.” She pointed to a jagged crevice a few feet away. Unlike the massive carved public entrance that was further down, this access point appeared to be a natural, super-sized crack in the towering red stone cliffs.

  We had parked among the rows of trucks and SUVs that lined a dead-end canyon. I’d followed Aunt Lila and Neela had followed me. Now, we three stared ahead into the sun-poisoned passage, no doubt each of us thinking different thoughts about what waited beyond.

  I shifted, nervous. More sand snuck into my shoes. High heels were impractical in the desert terrain, so I had chosen a pair of nude flats to go with my simple green dress. The dress was made from a soft, shimmery material my mother had found online. She’d ordered it when Carolyn and I had turned eighteen. Of course, she’d made the original dress for my sister. We’d been about the same height—I was an inch taller—and we’d had the same willowy shape. Over the last month, my mother had made adjustments for me, all the while clucking about how I was “wasting away.” I suppose I harbored so much anxiety about the Choosing I didn’t have room for food. The closer it got to the ceremony, the more it seemed my stomach filled with twisty knots of dread.