Her Alphas (4 page)

She wished she could read thoughts like the other werewolves
could. Sergei had tried to send her messages, but she just couldn’t get it.
He’d also tried to probe inside her mind and had accused her of shielding, but
she wouldn’t know how even if she wanted to.

With no direction from her mate—verbal or otherwise—Jenny had
settled on jeans and a T-shirt. Sergei had bare feet, so she hadn’t bothered
with shoes for herself.

They had left the farm at dusk and hiked through the woods
on a series of narrow, winding paths. As they walked, Sergei had reminded Jenny
how to behave in front of Jeremiah and told her what he knew about the pack’s
spiritual leader.

He had said that though Jeremiah Morgan looked like he was
around fifty years old, he was more like six or seven times that. Morgan had
been born in Wales where his mother was a healer. He’d grown up with an
education that couldn’t be found in books. About the time Mother Morgan had
been tried—and executed—for witchcraft, Jeremiah had been turned. He’d knocked
around the Welsh countryside for a while, trying to get a handle on his new
powers before moving to London. It took another couple of decades for him to
find a sea captain and crew made up of his own kind that could make the long
voyage across the Atlantic with the provisions necessary to weather the full
moon.

Jeremiah spent the next few years in an enclave in the
Catskill Mountains. The pack was facing a dilemma. They had not one, but two
legacy consorts—identical twin brothers who were both heirs apparent to the
role. Jeremiah solved the problem by offering to take the second-born, Mathias
Chaney, with him to settle a new pack in the west. Setting out on horseback,
Jeremiah and Mathias rounded the tip of Lake Michigan then headed north. They had
traveled until an early fall blizzard stranded them in a wild region among the
pines. Jeremiah named the town Talbot—after a favorite uncle—then built a log
cabin and staked claim to the five thousand acres surrounding it. The following
spring, the men built a cabin for Mathias and the two waited for the werewolves
they knew would eventually come.

Jenny hadn’t done well in school, but as they neared the
shaman’s cabin the night of her induction, she got chills thinking about how
the dwelling was older than the United States. She would have thought a
werewolf as old and powerful as Jeremiah would have torn down this old place
and built something more modern, but it was as if she’d stepped into one of
those old pioneer towns she’d seen in movies.

Sergei and Jenny walked into the cabin without knocking and
found Jeremiah sitting at the table wearing a white ceremonial robe and smoking
a foot-long pipe. It was just one big room without electricity or running
water. She couldn’t believe he’d chosen to live this way for hundreds of years.

Sergei made a little bow and when he squeezed Jenny’s hand,
she did the same. “Shaman, I have brought you the fledgling. She is also my
mate.”

The man blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling, then turned
his pipe bowl upside down in the ashtray and stood. Jenny was used to men
checking her out, but the way Jeremiah studied her was unnerving. As soon as he
approached, Sergei stepped aside.

Jeremiah made a complete circuit around Jenny, and even when
he was behind her, she could feel the heat of his gaze. “Nice, Sergei. Very nice.
She smells wonderful…wild.”

“Thank you, Shaman,” Sergei said.

Jenny could hear the strain in her mate’s voice.

Once he was standing directly in front of Jenny, Jeremiah
bent at the waist and touched his nose to her crotch. He sniffed loudly. “She’s
willing too. It should make for an interesting ceremony.”

Jenny expected Sergei to slap the perverted old fuck across
the room. Instead the big Russian just muttered another weak
thanks
. The
shaman’s inspection humiliated Jenny—and Sergei’s deference to it disgusted
her. And yet the whole revolting scene turned her on. Her body thrummed with
sexual energy and it was all she could do not to reach into her jeans and rub
herself.

A gush of wetness flowed out of her and she could smell her
own musk. She was certain the men could smell it too and was glad for it. Deep
in her core a primal feeling built. A tug of instinct made her want to wheel
around and present her ass to them to invite a sound fucking.

Jeremiah threw back his head and laughed. “Oh yes, friend,
your little mate is wet and ready. I suggest we take her below and start the
ceremony before the mood passes.”

The shaman turned and walked toward the big potbelly stove
in the corner of the cabin. Jenny could see that the braided rug had been
pushed aside to reveal a hatch in the floor. He glanced at Jenny. “As you were
made, fledgling.”

Though she didn’t entirely understand his words, the meaning
was clear. Jenny stripped naked and dropped her clothes in a pile at her feet.
Jeremiah yanked on the iron ring inset in the hatch and hefted it open. He
nodded at Sergei, and once her mate had descended the stairs, Jeremiah looped
his wiry arm around Jenny’s waist and tugged her close. He laid his nose
against the side of her neck and breathed deeply before moving his lips to her
ear. “I can read your intent, fledgling,” he hissed. “Just be certain you know
the risks before you seek your reward.”

The chamber below the cabin glowed with the light of
countless candles and long shadows danced across the rough stone walls. Jenny
realized that the Jeremiah’s home was built over an underground cave. At the
far end of the chamber was the mouth of a tunnel and Jenny guessed that was how
the guests had arrived. The entire pack—two dozen or more—was assembled in the
huge room—all dressed in long, black robes like Sergei’s. Everyone, that is,
except Alex. His robe was deep red and he wore a thick gold chain around his
neck with an amulet in the shape of the werewolf symbol hanging nearly to his
waist.

None of the others wore jewelry. Jenny had met many of them,
but some of the faces were unfamiliar. Her body thrummed with anticipation and
she lifted her chin to sniff the air. There were only werewolves here and every
one of them was wired with sexual energy. Fear and excitement bombarded Jenny’s
mind and she was afraid she would faint from the power of it.

Drawing in a deep breath, she glanced around the sparsely furnished
space. At its peak, the domed chamber was at least twelve feet tall. The stone
floors had been leveled and polished smooth. At the center of the room—atop a
low stage—was a padded table with adjustable leg rests and stirrups. Jenny
could only guess at its purpose but felt certain that she would be sprawled out
on it before the night was through.

The hiss of whispers echoed through the space and the pack
members quickly formed a circle around the platform.

“Let’s begin,” Jeremiah said quietly as he scooped up Jenny’s
hand and led her to the center of the group.

Jeremiah let go of Jenny’s hand and took a few long strides
backward. A crackling surge of excitement raced up Jenny’s spine.

“Show yourself to your pack, fledgling,” Jeremiah directed.

Gracefully raising her arms above her head, Jenny slowly
rotated. All eyes were upon her and the feeling was exhilarating. Sergei
towered above the others and when she met his gaze, he gave her a slight nod of
encouragement.

When she’d completed the circuit, two men emerged from the
group carrying a huge wooden armchair between them. They set it near Jenny and
quickly retreated. When she looked to Jeremiah for direction, he gestured for
her to sit. The men who had carried out the chair returned with a gleaming
copper vessel on a low wooden stand and positioned it to Jenny’s left. The bowl
was filled with black liquid.

Jeremiah joined Jenny and extracted a short knife from a
drawer in the stand. He used the tip of the blade to prick his index finger and
squeezed a drop of blood into the bowl. Each member of the pack stepped forward
in turn and did the same.

Alex was the last to add his blood to the mix and when he was
done, he passed the knife to Jeremiah, who licked the blade clean and placed it
back in the drawer. Two chairs were brought out and arranged opposite Jenny.
The alpha and the shaman took their seats. Jenny glanced nervously around the
chamber, not sure what she was supposed to do next. She was about to ask for
instructions when the group parted to let a tall, broad man pass.

She recognized Tiny Wainwright from the motorcycle shop
where all the pack member’s got their bikes serviced. He carried a short stool
in one hand and a small box in the other. He set the box on the ground beside
the bowl-stand and flipped open the lid. While he settled on the stool beside
her, Jenny peered into the box and saw a tool with a wooden handle, slightly
longer than a pencil, and a toothed metal blade on the end. Next to it was a
small wooden hammer.

Tiny reached out and positioned Jenny’s forearm on the chair,
then gave it a squeeze, as if to indicate that she was not to move. He grasped
her upper arm with both hands, stretched the skin tight with his thumbs then
cocked his head from side to side as if planning his next move. About the time
he let go and reached for his instruments, Jenny realized that she wouldn’t be
getting her tattoo in a modern parlor.

Jenny’s stomach lurched at the thought of him pounding the
ink and blood mixture into her flesh. Mercifully, he didn’t give her time to
worry about it. He dipped the metal tip into the pot, laid the blade against
her skin, then quickly tapped out the upper line of the triangle. The pain was
intense and wonderful. It hurt like hell—ten times more than getting the
butterfly with a modern tattoo machine had—but the sensation was incredibly
erotic.

Every time the little hammer came down, it sent shockwaves
across her body. The pleasure-pain settled in her breasts and pussy and she let
the sensations roll over her. By the time Tiny had completed the triangle, her
nipples were rock hard and the chair was slick with her juices. As he filled in
the spiral, she moaned and squirmed in her seat, and fought the urge to finger
herself.

When he was done, Tiny collected his gear and disappeared
back into the crowd. Jenny was left primed and panting. Her upper arm felt as
if it were on fire and she glanced down to admire her new tat. It wasn’t the
swollen, bloody mess she’d expected it to be. It looked perfect, as if it had
always been a part of her.

Alex and Jeremiah stood, took Jenny by the hands and led her
across the stage to the padded table. Alex leaned in and whispered, “You can
stop any time you want to, Jenny.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “Yes, but you won’t want to.”

The pack females were outnumbered two to one. The eight of
them gathered around Jenny and made sure she was comfortable, arranging her
hair above her head and adjusting the backrest until she was reclined at a
forty-five-degree angle.

Violet—a sinewy redhead with a taste for biker
leather—positioned herself at the end of the table. She smoothed her long
fingers down the inside of Jenny’s legs from thighs to instep, then settled the
fledgling’s heels into the stirrups and buckled thick leather straps around her
ankles. The woman’s eyes flashed as she smoothly pushed open Jenny’s knees.

The others guided Jenny’s hands into the loops fastened to
the sides of the table. One leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Hold on to
these so you don’t accidentally reach out and touch one of the celebrants.”

Fear and anticipation gathered in Jenny’s belly as the women
arranged her for display. Lying there spread-eagle, naked and exposed, turned
her on. Everyone was looking at her and she was sure they all wanted her.

“Any time you want to stop, just say so,” another woman
whispered. “But believe me, you won’t want to. This is your special moment and
if you surrender to it, it’s the best thing ever.”

The other females nodded and murmured their agreement, then
began massaging Jenny’s skin with warm oil. At first, they concentrated on her
arms and legs, but soon moved to her breasts and pussy. They took turns gently
pinching her nipples and slowly fingering her wet sex. The first orgasm built
gradually and at its peak, Jenny twisted the hand straps, arched her back and
shamelessly moaned out her pleasure.

The women petted her body, then gave her a cool drink of
water, letting her come down from the high while Jeremiah spoke. “This
fledgling comes to us seeking inclusion in the pack. She has endured her trials
in the sacred cave and she has been marked with the sign of the werewolf.

“The blood of each of us has been mingled with her own, and
now she will open herself to every male as a gesture of sacrificing her oneness
to the good of the pack. Just as each male among you entered each female on his
induction night, so will each of you enter this new werewolf.”

In unison, the males of the pack—except for Jeremiah and
Alex—pulled up their hoods, obscuring their identity. Jenny’s eyes widened. For
an instant she considered calling the shaman a sexist prick, but the thought of
all those anonymous cocks pushing into her, one after the other, was so hot,
she held her tongue.

“This female has been promised to Sergei Markov,” Jeremiah
continued. “Only her mate, the alpha, and I will be allowed to fill her with
our seed. For the other males, this is a ceremonial gesture. You will enter her
once and then retreat.”

The shaman’s tone was formal, but his words stoked the fire
between Jenny’s thighs.

Crowding four on each side of the table, the females poured
more oil on Jenny’s tingling body, and stroked her as Jeremiah turned and
positioned himself at the end of the table between her legs. Jenny licked her
lips when he pulled his robe open and grasped his erection. His cock curved
upward and when he pushed into her, she could feel the head caress the roof of
her canal.