Cry of the Wolf

by Juliet Chastain

  The branches above her rattled unpleasantly in the wind. She called for Michael and sensed an uneasy stirring in the woods. Should she call again? If she did, might she bring something unwanted, something dangerous upon her? She squared her shoulders and reminded herself that the biggest threat to her, the Coughlins, were dead and buried. The only dangerous things in the woods at this time of year were the wolves, who usually avoid human beings. Something small skittered across her path and she jumped. Okay, she was little nervous alone in the dark woods, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She would do her damnedest to find Michael. If she did, she would open her heart to him. If he felt the same way about her—she shivered in delight at the thought—she would be a happy woman. If he didn’t, she would be unhappy. Desperately, wretchedly unhappy, but at least she would know.

  The darkness seemed to lift a little as the clouds moved and the almost-full moon shone down. The world was devoid of color, only black and shades of gray, but at least Laura could see better. Minutes later, she walked into a little clearing and called again for Michael.

  She didn’t hear a sound as three wolves entered the clearing across from her and stopped. Unmoving, they stared at her with their pale eyes. Laura knew somehow that the largest was Michael, Michael in the form of a wolf.

  “Michael?” Laura said, “I don’t know if you can understand me.” The animal cocked its head to one side, its gaze fastened on hers. She walked boldly up to the creature and got to her knees, wanting to be level with that steady gaze. “I have to tell you my feelings. I know I have been too shy, too reticent with you. I saw how you looked at me and sometimes I thought you felt the same way about me as I did about you, but I was too shy to tell you what I felt. I didn’t tell you how much I wanted you… I didn’t tell you that I wanted you with all my heart, my soul, my body. I was afraid to say that I love the wildness in you. I should’ve told you that I felt an answering wildness in my own heart.” To her chagrin, she burst into tears. “Damn it,” she said, “I don’t want to cry.”

  The great beast stared at her for a minute before coming closer to her and gently licking the tears from her cheeks. She put her arms around his neck.

  “I’m sorry I’m merely a human,” she whispered. “I wish I could meet you as a wolf, run with you, even mate with you. But I’m just a woman—a woman who loves you.”

  The wolf stepped back and Laura thought her heart might break. She sat back on her heels and bleakly tried to accept that he was stepping away from her, that whatever he felt for her wasn’t enough to bind him to her.

  He turned away from her, went up to each of the wolves, and rubbed his muzzle against theirs. With their tails down and their bellies close to the ground, they each, in turn, licked his face, whining softly. Then he barked sharply and the two turned and ran off.

  The wolf turned to Laura and as she watched him, he transitioned into a man, a man with rugged features and hair like wolf fur whose gaze never left her own. A tall man whose nakedness revealed powerful muscles as he walked toward her. He helped her to her feet, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him.

  “I don’t care what you are. I only care that you are Laura. If you will have me, knowing what I am, I want nothing more than to love you for the rest of our lives.”

  Chapter Eight

  He looked down at her, small and vulnerable in his arms. He felt his body, his heart, his very soul ache for her. But she was too civilized, too delicate, too—no, he’d heard what she said, that she wanted him no matter what he was, and when she looked up at him he could see it in her eyes. He could see that her heart and her soul were as wild and as untamed as his own. He could see that she was as hungry for him as he was for her. Fierce desire ripped through his body and in her eyes he saw her passion rising to meet his own. When she reached up and gently touched his cheek, he was filled with happiness. She pulled his head down to hers and their lips met. Barely touching was enough at first but then their kiss became harder and more intimate as his tongue sought hers while he felt himself drown in the deep blue of her eyes.

  She stroked his hair. He ran his hand down her back, feeling the sweet inward curve of her lower back, and then the beginning of the swell of her rear right through her baggy coat. No matter how urgently his body cried for release, he was going to take his time; he wanted to learn her body, her needs, her responses. She unzipped her coat and his hands crept inside it and up her back and down her sides, then back up again. He slipped his hands inside the coat, loving the slenderness of her waist, the warmth and shape of her. She moved her hands over his naked back—first softly, gently, as though she were accustoming herself to the feel of him, then harder, more sure, more urgent.

  She took her lips from his and murmured, “You must be cold.”

  He shook his head. He was on fire with desire for her. The fierce heat coming from his groin warmed his belly, his chest, his whole being. Her delicious mouth on his again, she struggled out of her coat and let it drop to the snow. Realizing that she was as hot and voracious for him as he was for her, he was sure his heart might explode. He wanted Laura as he had never wanted anyone, human or animal, in his whole life.

  Lips still joined, he lifted her and gently placed her on the coat. They lay there, face to face, entwined in each other’s arms, tongues and lips exploring, learning, loving, while hands discovered curves and muscle and skin.

  Gently he pushed his hands under her shirt, feeling the sweet softness of her skin. He almost cried out in delight to find her breasts naked in his hands. Gently, he felt the full voluptuousness of them. As he caressed them, he heard her sigh with pleasure. Finally, he touched her nipples, squeezing them until he felt them grow hard. She unbuttoned her shirt and opened it to him. He groaned at the sight of her breasts, alluring and luminous in the moonlight. Just as beautiful as they had appeared when she’d stripped above him while he lay injured the snow.

  He kissed the erect nipples and flicked his tongue back and forth across first one and then the other. When he took one between his lips and sucked as she brought her hips tight against his, her moans of pleasure nearly made him lose control.

  He brought his mouth to hers again and reached down to her rear, feeling the delectable roundness through her jeans, and then stroked her between her legs. He came to his knees and undid the button, pulled down the zipper, and pushed them down. He groaned with excitement when he saw she wasn’t wearing panties and was immediately greeted with pale skin and black curly hair. He managed to pull the jeans off her, reveling in the sight of her white thighs. He bent and kissed them, trailing his fingers along the white skin. His lips followed his fingers, kissing and licking, his cheek brushing against the curls. She stroked his shoulders as she ran her fingers through his hair.

  He heard her breath come faster and he thought she trembled a little. He realized that his own breath was ragged. He stroked her mound and the cleft in the middle of it and discovered that she was wet, inflamed with desire. He brought his mouth to her soft folds, and she cried out.

  He kissed and licked her and flicked his tongue across her clitoris, her groans of pleasure driving him to near madness. When her body convulsed and she cried out, he plunged his tongue deep inside her and she came again. He could wait no longer. He was consumed with lust for her, desperate to be inside her.

  He knelt and placed her legs against his chest. He threw his head back and howled, a full-throated wolf call, letting the world know of his joy, and she looked up at him and smiled. He entered her slowly, relishing in the feel of her intoxicating heat. Her blue eyes seemed black as they widened. Had sex ever felt this good, this sweet?

  “You feel so good,” she said, her voice husky. “This is so wonderful.”

  Unable to hold back any longer, he crashed into her. Her hips came up to meet him, stroke for stroke, as he plunged deep within her. She clawed at his arms and screamed as she climaxed, growing tight around his engorged cock. Her gaze still holding his, she called his name,
and he tumbled over the edge. She cried out in pleasure, climaxing once again. His cries joined hers as he found his release.

  Spent, he lay on her body and kissed her face tenderly. After a few minutes, he rolled beside her and took her in his arms. She kissed his chest, his face, his eyes. Then, sighing, she snuggled up against him.

  As the cold crept into them, they snuggled even closer. Finally, Laura began to shiver. Regretfully, he let go of her, and they got to their feet. She put on her clothes and he transitioned back into a wolf, grateful for his warm fur. With her hand on his back, he led her through the dark woods, back to her farm and the warmth waiting for them inside.

  Biography

  As an ex-fashion photographer, Juliet Chastain says that, in a way, writing fiction is a lot like photography. She takes a few elements—models and clothes in photography, characters and setting in her writing—and makes them come alive in a compelling story.

  Ever since she wrote a tragic tale of two kittens back in sixth grade, Juliet has had a yen to write. Now that she’s put down her camera, she indulges herself by writing short steamy romances with models, er, heroes, like a passionate sea captain, a sweet-natured hunk of a werewolf, and the devil’s own sexy-as-hell grandson—every one of them ready to fulfill his lady’s deepest desires.

  You can learn more about Juliet and her collection of out-of-the-ordinary heroes at julietchastain.com, and contact her at .