Cracked (8 page)

“So, are these like a two-hundred-dollar pair of jeans?” She reached for the button.

“Probably,” he whispered, lips traveling to her ear.

“Oops.” She tore his jeans as she opened them, pushing them to the forest floor.

A fierce laugh tumbled from him as he stepped free from the torn fabric. “So much for casual day.” He claimed her lips again, the gentle thrust and repeat of his tongue sliding against hers broken only by the sound of his T-shirt ripping.

“Vintage?” she mumbled, pulling back to remove the tattered pieces of his shirt.

“It’s a T-shirt, Sarita,” he answered, diving in for her mouth again.

She hummed against his lips, wrapping one leg around his hip, tugging him close. “Good thing you don’t wear underwear.” She nibbled at his chin.

“Would those be ripped too?” He picked her up under her ass, lifting her so that he could ease her down on top of himself.

“Definitely.” She gasped as he slid home.

The moment seemed to stretch forever. His eyes drifted closed as he fought to prevent himself from pushing her against the nearest tree and fucking their brains out. Her legs tightened around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, and she squirmed against him, aching to get more pressure, more rub, more him.

When the moment finally cracked, he spilled them to the ground, pulling her on top of him. She rode him as if possessed, needing to take, not make, love. She growled as her teeth found his ear and she bit lightly, wanting him out of control. When he growled in response, the victorious thrill that worked its way down her spine nearly pushed her into orgasm. Slowing her movements, she kissed him sweetly.

He rolled her underneath him so he could stroke and pluck at her nipples, rub at her clit.

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

He grew still. “I want…”

“I know what you want, but I don’t want you like that. I want you out of control. I want to see your teeth and hear your wolf. I need that.” She groaned as she tightened her legs around his waist.

Control fractured, he drove into her again and again, letting the animal side of his nature start to take over. In his native Spanish, he told her how beautiful she was, how sexy.

His orgasm was rushing up on him, and he couldn’t stop it from washing over him as he poured himself into her. He grabbed her hand and bit her, not being careful, not trying to make it light and easy.

Sarita felt the sting of his bite travel up her arm, and then the rush of it slammed into her with as much force as his thrusts as he came, his words in Spanish washing over her, and then she was with him, right there in that moment when it all goes blank and clean, that moment she was learning was clearest and crispest the closer they were to their animal natures. She knew she was shouting as she shook against him, and she didn’t care in that moment who heard because shouting felt as good as the waves of heat which overwhelmed the rest of her senses. She sobbed one last incoherent shout, and her limbs went slack and weak and shivery.

“Was that make-up sex?” she asked when her breath returned.

Lifting himself onto his hands so he could look down into her eyes, he snorted a very un-Angelo-like snort. “No, that was I’m-glad-I’m-alive-and-you-still-love-me sex.” He grinned.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Maybe. Make-up seems too polite a sentiment for what we just did.” With a groan, he lifted himself off her and reached for his clothes before remembering that she’d ripped them off him. He handed her the dress he’d brought for her, helped her pull it over her head.

“Funny, you run into the woods naked, and you’re the one who gets to come back clothed.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know, a small part of me wants everyone to know that I made you lose that much control. I find it very—satisfying.” She grinned back at him, picking up his torn clothes. “I’ll keep these. Do you think Monica would send over the remains of your suit?”

“What are you doing with all my torn clothes,
querida
?”

“Art.”

And that was all the answer he was going to get.

Chapter Nine

S
arita looked over the new bowl carefully—it was made to the same exact specs as the first. A week later, she still felt bad about breaking the first one. The full moon would be tonight, the compound was filling with visitors, outliers who had come to run with the pack. There were no unbelievers among wolves on the full moon. The Goddess’s pull was strong when She called Her people to Her. Sarita had only a few hours to get the bowl packaged and shipped out. The woman she’d spoken with—at least, she thought the cool, androgynous voice was female—had been very understanding and didn’t seem to mind the delay, but Sarita penned a quick note of apology anyway, which she included with the credit card receipt.

That final chore finished, she met the other wolves at the edge of the clearing with a light heart. Mac and Angelo stood off to one side making small talk when she approached, and she hurried to join them. She pressed a hurried kiss to Mac’s cheek before greeting her mate with an effusive embrace that quickly grew heated. After Mac cleared his throat, she pulled away from Angelo, blushing.

She looked around for Kathy but didn’t see her.

“Mac, where’s Kathy?” She hated the idea of Kathy being locked up somewhere while the rest of the wolves ran under a full moon.

“Bear is with her. They’re coming,” he answered. “Don’t worry, Ita. She’ll be here.”

“I’m here,” the rough voice behind them announced. Sarita turned to see the other woman standing beside Bear. She smiled and reached for Kathy’s hand.

“I’m glad. I’ve been hoping the pack will accept you back.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Kathy’s eyes showed hurt and confusion.

“Because being mean and spiteful has never served any purpose under the moon.” She shrugged, squeezing Kathy’s hand with her own.

“Well, thanks then. Because you two, Mac and G-man are the only ones to treat me decently.” Kathy frowned as she looked around. “I hope I don’t have to fight anyone tonight.”

“You won’t. You’re under my protection.” Angelo’s quiet voice brooked no argument.

Bianca came forward to give her customary speech before she shifted and the rest of the pack followed. As the wolves fanned out into the run, Sarita felt a howl rip from her throat, the joy of the run taking over. As they ran, she stayed close to her friends and her mate, her Guide rumbling along nearby. Suddenly, a small red-gray wolf with a gray muzzle leapt past her, snarling and snapping. Curious, Sarita followed, knowing Mac and Angelo were right at her heels.

Standing in the clearing, looking at the wolves with curiosity and interest, was the strangest person Sarita had ever seen. He—she?—was very tall with pale skin and pale hair, alluringly androgynous features and an unearthly calm. Mac was the first to shift back to his human form, and the rest followed, making a rough semi-circle in front of Sarita.

“Hello,” the creature spoke, a soft, musical voice that sounded familiar to Sarita.

“Who are you?” Mac glared as he spoke.

“I am Lukas,” the creature answered. “I wanted to see the Moon-Worshippers.”

“You’ve seen us. Go.” A snarl ripped from Mac’s throat as his claws and teeth shifted.

The creature—Lukas—turned to Sarita. “You are the artist, correct?”

She nodded, unsure what to say.

“Very good. You’ve sent the vessel to the Ahne?”

“The vessel? Ahne?” Sarita looked confused for a moment, then realized he was speaking of the bowl. “Oh yeah, I sent it just a few hours ago. Are you and Ahne friends?”

The creature laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass.

“Ahne, sure. She is my friend.” Lukas smiled, showing sharp teeth. “You would be my friend too, little wolf?”

Gerard snarled, moving to place his large body between Sarita and the strange creature. “She is not your friend, Blood-Drinker. And neither are any of the rest of us. Go back to the Krönen and tell her that her friend met no welcome here.”

Suddenly Lukas’s odd beauty seemed stale and brittle. He leaned to the side, looking around Bear with a leer. “I hope you will see the vessel again. I should very much like to demonstrate how it is used. I could make it delicious…for you.”

With a snarl, Gerard lunged at Lukas, but he had turned already, fled into the night.

“If you ever see a person who looks like that thing again, you find me,” Gerard snapped at Sarita. Angelo ran a comforting hand down her arm.

“What was he? Is he one of the First Blood?”

“He’s the Ahne’s servant. Ahne isn’t her name, it’s more like a title. Italove, you are going to have to tell me all about this bowl you made.”

“It’s just a bowl with a fluted lip and a slice cut out of it.” She shrugged. “It’s kind of odd, but it’s just a piece of glass, Bear.”

“It’s more than that. Dammit, Ita. How long have you been in contact with the Blood-Drinkers?”

“I didn’t know that’s what they were. The lady—Ahne—called me about a month ago, told me what she wanted, emailed some photos. I made the bowl, but then it broke, so I remade it. She paid top dollar for it; it seemed really important to her. I told her I wasn’t a glass expert, but she didn’t seem to care. She wanted me to make it.”

“Yeah, she did,” Bear snorted. “Of course she did, she’d like that. Angelo, Ita, come with me. Mac, see Kathy gets home safely.”

After stopping in the field along the way to gather their clothing, Gerard led Sarita and Angelo to the room he’d been sharing with Mac. He pulled out his computer and loaded a photo on the screen that showed a bowl like the one Sarita had made. He pointed at the sharp edges of the fluted lip where it split.

“This? What you made looked like this?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

He pulled up another image, an old cave painting from the looks of it. It showed a tall, pale woman with long, white hair—so pale, she looked almost like Sarita’s mother, the Albina. The pictured woman was drinking from a bowl similar to the one Sarita had made, while a male servant held it out for her. The servant in the image was clearly enjoying his job if the erection that was nearly as long as his arm had anything to say about it.

“Some sort of loving-cup?” Sarita asked, trying to parse the heavily stylized imagery.

“Look more closely—the man isn’t just holding the bowl.”

The notch on the bowl’s side was settled into the man’s wrists in such a way that it pierced the skin, opening the vein and allowing the blood to flow into the bowl, and from there into the woman’s mouth.

With a shudder of revulsion, Sarita pushed the computer away.

“They’ll use it to do that? To drink blood?”

“Yes. In elaborate ceremonies when they want to keep the wounds open or more than one of them drinks from the same person, they use the bowl rather than drinking straight from the source.”

“When he said he wanted to show Sarita how it was used…” Angelo snarled.

“Yes, he meant they wanted to drink from her.”

Angelo’s teeth and claws shifted. “Over my dead fucking body.” His wolf was trying to push to the surface, but he kept a grip on it.

“What happens when they drink from someone? Can they turn them into what they are?” Sarita’s voice was both puzzled and fascinated.

“No, like us, they are born as what they are. They don’t change people into what they are. They manipulate them into willing servants, a handy little snack to keep around. They use them for their blood, for sex, as convenient toys. They enthrall them so that they don’t want anything else. And they use them like this until they die. That’s what they want from you, Sarita. They want you to be a plaything for them to use, to show off their power. And if you’re in their thrall, you can’t go about setting the Mother free.”

“So wait, they want me? Or they want to prevent me from completing my task?”

“Both, Italove. You’d be a status accessory in their culture. An Usher of the wolves, bent to the will of the Ahne.”

“Kathy…” Sarita frowned. “Is she going to…?”

“That is up to her, isn’t it?” Gerard sighed, scrubbing one gigantic hand across his face. He looked from Sarita to Angelo. “We need to step up protection on both of you. Angelo, they won’t hesitate to use you to get to her.”

“
Bueno
. I can protect myself, but I won’t say no to a bodyguard if it helps keep Sarita safe.”

Sarita, reach out to your dad for me.
Gerard put the thought into her mind.

Daddy, we need you.

Be right there, Littlebit.

A few moments later, Jack strolled into Mac’s room. He read Sarita’s concerns instantly. With a decisive nod, he started giving orders.

“Sarita, Gerard and Mac will accompany you everywhere. Angelo, brother, I hate to curb your movements, but while you’re here…”

“No, no. No apologies. I’m with my mate. We’re stronger together.”

“What about Kathy?” Sarita asked, glaring at her father.

“Kathy can protect herself,” Jack snarled.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Sarita’s voice was small and cold. “You and Mom both.”

“Littlebit…”

“No, don’t you Littlebit me. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman, a grown wolf, and from what I can tell, the only member of our family capable of acting like it. Kathy has suffered enough for her secrets, and we can’t do this without her. You
will
forgive her, or you’ll answer to me about it.” Eyes flashing, Sarita pointed imperiously at the door. “Go now. I don’t want to see you or Mom again until you’ve fixed this. It’s gone on too long, and I’m done with it.”

Jack looked startled and flustered as he stared at his daughter. He looked to Angelo, who simply shrugged. Gerard was no help either. He opened the door for Jack with a shrug.

“I am the Guardian of this pack.” He scowled as he walked toward the door.

“And I’m the Third Usher. Deal with it. Fix things with Kathy.”

When Jack was gone, she expelled a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She didn’t stand up to her parents like that, ever. Her mate smiled at her, and her Guide put a huge hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Good for you, Italove,” Gerard rumbled. “That was necessary, though I’m sure it was disquieting.”

“A little,” she admitted. “I’m beginning to see why people have treated me like the Omega. I’m not going to hide that part of me anymore.”

“Good,” Angelo said, a fierce grin on his lips. “
Querida
, you are an alpha wolf. You own all that ferocity—don’t hide it out of an effort to be polite. We need that part of you in charge now.”

Gerard smiled. “Mac’s left Kathy in her room. I think your dad is there, Italove.”

“We’ll be going too, then.” Sarita smiled, “Do you think we can walk the eighteen steps to my door without a bodyguard?”

“Yes.” Gerard winked, opening the door again. As Sarita and Angelo swept out, Mac arrived. He took Gerard’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. Sarita recognized this as a desire to push away the negative feelings the encounter with the First Blood had cultivated. She felt it too—a need to make herself forget the cold that had run down her spine when she realized what the bowl she’d made would be used for. Sarita wished she hadn’t sent it already; she wanted to smash it. As the chill worked its way through her, she grabbed her mate and pulled him close, needing to breathe his scent and feel his warmth. Roughly, he pushed her down the hallway toward the suite, needing to get her inside before this thing that was welling up in them burst. The door slammed behind them as he turned her and pushed her up against it.

“Block it out,” she whimpered, biting his lip, trying not to understand why she needed to taste blood, to know she was leaving a mark. With a growl, he tugged her shirt off over her head, mouth descending, rough and hard, upon one perfect breast before he started pulling her pants off her legs.

“Faster, I need you naked, faster,” he growled, and ripped what was left of her clothing from her body.

Hands shaking, she managed to get his pants pushed down to his knees before she dragged him down to the floor with her. He took her fast and rough, instincts telling him what she needed. He braced his hand on the door behind her as he thrust into her, not caring that it would be shaking loudly if anyone walked by outside. This was both possession and exorcism, as if it could purge their souls of the fear they’d felt. Teeth bared, he pressed a series of blistering wet kisses along her collarbone, dragging the sharp tips across her skin until she snarled up at him, craving making her voice hoarse.

“Bite me.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. His teeth nicked the edge of that sensitive bone as they buried in her shoulder, and her orgasm crashed over her as she dragged his hand to her lips. When she’d stopped shuddering long enough to drag a breath into her lungs, she marked his hand, dragging, tearing, forcing him over the edge with her, his ecstasy flowing from her bite. Tears flowing, she pulled his head down, cradling him to her chest as his shout filled her ears.

“Did I hurt you?” he murmured into the softness of her skin.

“No.” She shook her head, wiping at the tears. “Yes. But I needed it.”

“You’re crying,
querida
.” He braced himself on his elbows, looking down at her.

“That man. Lukas. He scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.