The Wolf Moon (an erotic paranormal romance) (The Wolf Ring) (2 page)

Well, he
deserved to die.

But she wasn’t a
murderer, so she consciously lowered her hackles, and thought instead of the
man she’d encountered in the woods last night. Even before she’d seen his
pendant, she’d known who he was. She’d loved and admired the elder Graeme,
who’d been nicknamed Gray, and she saw something of the old man in his
grandson.
Something fierce and strong.
Something proud
and resolute.

Something
indomitable.

Gray had led the
Ring for long years, led them with wisdom and kindness. But as he grew stiff
with age, he’d turned over the leadership to Bryce, her mate. Bryce had followed
in Gray’s path, ruling with a gentle paw, loved and respected by the entire
Ring.

But scarcely two
years later, after Gray had a stroke and left the Ring forever, Arthur had
challenged Bryce for the leadership, and had won. And then he had insisted they
follow the old laws.

It was his right
as leader to do so. It had even been his right to challenge and kill
Bryce—though it pained her to admit it. By Ring law, it was permissible.
Primitive and savage, but permissible.

But that didn’t
stop her from hating him.

She looked down
at the ornate silver ring, set with a small black onyx, on her left hand. She
could never remove the ring, but she’d done her best to forget it was there.
She’d walked away from that life after Bryce had died, and never looked back.
She missed her best friend Faelen, but otherwise she’d hardly regretted turning
her back on the Ring… until now. Now the forest was calling to her, as it had
not called in many a moon.

She didn’t try
to resist the call. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a crumpled,
careless heap on her patio, and loped into the trees.

*****

Graeme was
sprawled out in front of his seventy-inch television, trying to focus on
X-Men
, and failing miserably. His skin
itched, just as it had last night before
she
touched him. It itched even more, really, though whether that was because of
the way she’d touched him, or because of the waxing moon, he wasn’t certain.

The irritating
sensation was, he noticed, worst around his neck and chest, where the pendant
rested against his skin. He’d noticed that before, and had given thought to
removing the pendant, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. It had belonged
to his granddad, and it was pretty much all he had left of him. The elder
Graeme had worn it till the day he’d died, and Graeme had put it on as a symbol
of the love and respect he’d felt for the old man. He never wanted to take it
off.

At last he
picked up the remote and turned off the TV, right in the middle of a heartfelt
speech from Patrick Stewart. He couldn’t concentrate. He just couldn’t.

All he could
seem to think about was the moon.

And
her
.

Last night, he’d
felt as if the forest was calling him. Now he felt that call again, but the
sensation was magnified by his vivid memory of last night’s events.

He remembered it
all clearly, and yet he couldn’t quite believe it. A naked stranger had knelt
at his feet and… and… well, he’d
let
her.

He’d been way
out of control, and he couldn’t quite explain that. He wasn’t exactly a
playboy, but he was a decent-looking guy who’d never had trouble finding sexual
partners. He had sex on a reasonably frequent basis, so it wasn’t like he’d
been desperate for physical relief. At least, he shouldn’t have been.

But he’d never
reacted to a woman, even a gorgeous, nude one, so strongly in his life. It was
as if she’d been a wood nymph or a forest sprite, rather than a flesh-and-blood
human.

He remembered
her strange talk of magic and transformations, and another prickle of unease
ran down his spine. But he pushed the feeling away. Of course she wasn’t a
nymph—though if she made a practice of running around the area going down on
strange
men,
she might just be a nympho. But then
again, maybe
he
was the nympho here.
God knew he hadn’t tried very hard to say no.

In fact, he
really wanted to say yes again.

He sighed, and
leaned his head back against the sofa cushions.
You’re being ridiculous
, he told himself. Even if he were to go out
into the forest again, there was no way on earth he’d find her. The woods
behind his house were part of a state park. It was vast, stretching on for
miles, and even if she happened to be lurking in the forest again, there was no
chance he’d ever find her.

He didn’t even
know her name, and he could hardly make inquiries in town.
I’m looking for a woman with silver hair who likes to wander around
naked in the forest and give men blow jobs. Seen her? No? Well, thanks anyway…

No, he thought,
rather glumly. He’d never see her again.

And it was too
bad, because she’d given him the best orgasm of his life.

He sighed,
thinking about it. It had been unbelievably intense. It had been
spectacular
. He remembered her mouth,
soft and gentle and soothing, and yet demanding everything from him… and he’d
been more than willing to give her
everything
…

It dawned on him
that his jeans were too tight again. Damn it. He growled, annoyed with himself.

But maybe it was
stupid to berate
himself
. Of course he was fantasizing
about last night. What guy wouldn’t?

The shades that covered
his back windows were pulled, in an effort to keep out the moonlight, so he had
perfect privacy. He undid his jeans, just as she’d done last night, and his
cock sprang free. It was flushed a dark pink, and already pulsing with
eagerness. He wrapped his hand around himself and shut his eyes, imagining her
mouth on him—caressing his chest and his abdomen, and then her pink lips
parting, taking him inside, sucking…

He groaned, his
hand pumping hard and fast. He was so hard it almost hurt, and the head of his
cock was already dripping with moisture. He lifted his other hand and began to
swirl a finger through the copious precome, sending himself even higher. His
head dropped back and his spine arched.

Oh, yes, I’m coming, I’m coming
—

Except he
wasn’t, and he couldn’t quite understand that, because he was as hard as he’d
ever been in his lifetime.
 
He jerked his
hand harder, driving toward release, but it didn’t seem to be happening. No
matter how hard he pumped, he just got harder and more desperate.

He sobbed and
gasped and jacked himself even faster, but to no avail.

At last he let
himself go and fell back against the couch, almost snarling with frustration.
He’d never had this happen before. Sure, every now and then he wasn’t all that
interested, just like any guy—but God knew he was interested right now.
More than interested—frantic.
He’d never needed release so
badly, and yet been unable to find it.

He sprawled
there, gasping for breath, whimpering with a need that he couldn’t fulfill, and
a memory of her face flickered through his mind, making his craving worse than
ever.

The forest,
he thought
. I need to go to the forest
.

Which
was stupid.
It wasn’t like he was going to be able to come any faster in the woods, and he
didn’t go around jacking off outside anyway. He didn’t have exhibitionist
tendencies. At least he was pretty sure he didn’t.

And yet the
woods called to him, in a way he couldn’t explain. The thought of the moonlight
and shadows playing over his skin made him wild with a primitive, burning need.

And the thought
of
her
made him even wilder.

Cursing under
his breath, he stood up, tucked himself into his jeans, and awkwardly zipped
them up. And then he strode out of his house, slamming the door behind him, and
stalked into the trees.

*****

In the forest,
Graeme heard the faraway howl of a wolf again, and the hair on the back of his
neck prickled. If there were really wolves in these woods, or even wild dogs,
then he really shouldn’t be walking through them alone at night.

But he couldn’t
seem to help it. His body still ached with unfulfilled need, and the moonlight
seemed to fill him, pushing against his flesh from the inside out, making his
skin itch unbearably. He needed…

Well, he needed
her mouth on him, assuaging his discomfort.
Satisfying him.

As if he’d
conjured her up, she appeared, just as naked as before.

Oh, thank God
, he thought, and was instantly
embarrassed at the thought. He didn’t want to admit he’d come out here in the
hopes of finding her. But he wanted her touch, her mouth, the brush of her
hands, so much he couldn’t stand it.

“I knew you’d be
back,” she said softly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the call of the
moon.”

He drew in a
deep gulp of air, breathing the scent of her.
So female.
So sexual.

“How did you
find me?”

She laughed
softly. “You are no forest creature. Not yet, anyway. You move through the
underbrush with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. At any rate, I could smell
your arousal. Even from a great distance, I could smell it.”

The idea that
she could smell him, on the same primal level that he could smell him, sent a
wave of lust through him. She stepped toward him, and at her approach, his
still-hard cock jerked urgently in his jeans. He could barely hold back a moan.

“It didn’t
work.” She placed her hands lightly on his arms. Where she touched his bare
skin, the terrible itch turned to warm pleasure. “Did it?”

“I don’t know
what you mean,” he said warily, though he suspected that he did.

“I mean,” she said
softly, tilting back her head and gazing into his eyes, “that you tried to
satisfy yourself, and couldn’t. Isn’t that right?”

He stared down
at her, confused. She had the darkest eyes he’d ever seen.
Strange,
in someone so light-haired.
“How did you know that?”

“Men usually
resist the transformation more than women,” she said, stroking her palms up and
down his arms. Flame followed in the wake of her hands.
“Stubborn
male pride.
My husband was much the same way.”

“Your
husband?!
”
He yanked back
a bit, despite his darker impulses. “Are you married?”

“I was. But
Bryce died a year ago. He was murdered.”

Sympathy gripped
him. He remembered what she’d said last night:
I lost my mate a year ago
. Somehow he hadn’t quite realized she was
talking about the death of a spouse. “I’m sorry.”

“I loved him,”
she said softly, “with every fiber of my being. I never thought I could find
anyone to replace him in my heart. But when I smelled you… I knew.”

The notion that
she might want him in her heart, and not just her body, sent a wave of
uneasiness through him. He wasn’t commitment-phobic, but he wasn’t sure a woman
who wandered around naked in the forest was the best candidate for a long-term
relationship. In any event, he didn’t even know her name.

“My name is
Graeme,” he said harshly. If he was going to engage in repeated sexual
encounters with this woman, he figured the least they could do was exchange
names. “Graeme Fenrir.”

“I’m Rhea
Silverthorn,” she murmured. “I need you… and so does the Ring. Let me help you
with the transformation.”

“You talked
about that last night,” Graeme said, trying to focus despite her caresses. It
was difficult. “You mentioned a transformation. What do you mean by that? And
what Ring are you talking about?”

“It’s too early
yet.” She leaned against him, her bare body warm and pliant, and her lips
brushed his throat. “The magic in your pendant isn’t enough. You won’t be able
to transform for the first time until the full moon.”

“Transform into
what?”

“Later,” she
whispered. “Right now, let’s take care of your more pressing needs.”

Her body rubbed
against his, and he pressed against her mindlessly. The unbearable pleasure was
upon him again, so good that he whimpered. He could come right now, could rub
against her till he came right in his jeans—

But that
apparently wasn’t what she had in mind. She pulled back just a bit and
unfastened his jeans, shoving down his boxers and exposing him to the warm
night air. He was so hard that even the light brush of the breeze was almost
enough to make him come.

“You need
release,” she murmured.

He consciously
pushed back the animal growling inside him, the animal that demanded
satisfaction. “What about you?”

“My turn will
come later. Right now—” She wrapped a hand around him. Her touch soothed the
ache, and at the same time made it worse. The wild animal inside him snarled
for release, and he gritted his teeth against another cry.