Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love (10 page)

The troll sprang to its feet and shook itself, voicing a roar of its own that could have shattered human eardrums at twenty feet. The high-pitched shriek stabbed through Hunter’s head like a sharpened ice pick slicing through frozen liquid. It hurt, but not as much as the great, ham-fisted blows the beast landed on his chest and upraised forearms.

He staggered back, rocked by the sheer power of the rapid attack. Digging his feet in, he fought back, raining blows on every part of the compact body in front of him, trying to land a telling blow.

The damned thing was so fast, so agile. Hunter missed as often as he connected. He plowed into the troll, breath coming hard as he pushed himself to confront the monster one more time ... and then once more. He’d faced strong creatures before -- creatures that gave him a run for his money -- but this one was different. This one seemed impervious to his punishing blows.

The creature was screaming continuously now, and Hunter yelled back, mingling his howls and bellows with the troll’s, letting his cries rise on the air, forced from him as he battled ferociously. Sweat and blood flew from both as Hunter suffered telling hits -- fought back -- landed his own hits. They grappled with each other, gouging flesh and skin, ripping hair and fur, striking desperately in an attempt to bring the fight to an end.

Mother Moon, will this bastard ever tire?

Hunter flung himself backward, out of the fray, fighting to catch his breath. The troll seemed content to disengage, and, shuffling back to its precise original location and settled to its haunches, its chirping was now a low rumble, choppy and disjointed.

48 Camille Anthony

Hunter sucked air into starved lungs, eyeing the troll. His eyes widened in surprise when the thing thumped the bridge between its big wide feet with a fisted hand. Head angled up to Hunter, it spoke. “G’way! Mine! Mine!”

The fist thumped again, raising a puff of black dust as a piece of the macadam broke, pulverized under the pounding blow of the gigantic fist.

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

49

Chase stared out the window, jaw gaped open in dismay. The damn place looked like something out of a Leave it to Beaver episode. Yuck! It was a duplex, for cripes sake -- a tidy little house -- set in a tidy little neighborhood. Double yuck!

Taylor came around and opened the car door, blocking the disturbing view. He stood back to allow his master room to exit the limousine, face carefully bland.

Chase didn’t step out right away. “Are you sure this is the right location?”

Even as he asked the question, Chase knew this had to be Hunter’s den. His people didn’t make errors like delivering him to wrong addresses.

“Yes, Alpha, this is where the Western-American Pack Prime-in-waiting maintains his quarters.”

Chase stepped out of the car and stood beside it, smoothing the travel wrinkles from his charcoal gray Armani leisure suit with a rare gesture of nervousness neither of his men had seen before.

Shaking his head, Chase slowly spun on his heel, taking in the quiet peace of the street.

Children played on the corners and in each other’s yards. The grown ups leaned over their fences and traded gossip with the neighbors while keeping a watchful eye on their offspring.

“What the hell is Hunter thinking of, setting up a den in the middle of fucking suburbia?”

For a moment, Chase glanced back at the still-open car door, tempted to change his mind, get in, and return to the airport. He’d actually started moving before he remembered he didn’t have that option. If he’d had any choices, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“Bernard, go around and find out how many vehicles are in the garage. Get me some kind of idea of the number of people inside.”

50 Camille Anthony

The driver, another of his men, slipped out of the car and went to reconnoiter. He was back in a few minutes. “Sir, there is a specially designed Lexus limousine and a 1992 Honda Civic. I can smell a bike -- a Harley. It’s missing.”

“Good work. I’d already ascertained Hunter was gone. He must be on the bike. That means he’s probably not far and won’t stay gone long. He’s expecting me to get in sometime today. He’ll also expect me to follow pack law and issue a formal challenge. If I were him, I’d stay close to home, within hollering range, probably.”

Chase grimaced. He wasn’t Hunter. He couldn’t afford to be as noble as his cousin. Still, the acidic burn of shame scored his conscience. His actions, though necessary, were dishonorable.

“Okay, this is how we work this. Bernard, you stay with the car ... this isn’t going to take long because we’ll have to move fast. Taylor --” He tilted his head toward the edge of the house facing away from the street. “-- you go around to the back. Make sure no one escapes through that entrance. Kerry, you’re with me. You’ll be my obligatory witness.”

Flanked by his two bodyguards -- one of whom split away, heading through the manicured yard toward the back -- Chase strode up to the door. Pausing on the step, he lifted his head and sniffed the air, searching for a hint of Hunter’s scent. The area was redolent with the wulf’s odor, yet his nose informed him Hunter was indeed absent.

Other scents wove in and out, in turns strong and subtle. The pup, Fortrayn’s mark was all over the place. The puppy’s recurring scent was everywhere, too pronounced for someone who’d moved out over a month ago. Damned kid must have pissed on every bush in the damned yard.

In contrast, the two Breeds’ hormone-laden aromas wafted about him, distracting him from separating the different scents. One scent -- wildly feminine and sexually provocative -

- flooded his senses, made his pulse pound and thickened his cock. The other -- light and floral -- called to him, but not with the urgency of the heady aromatic flavor pumped out by the mature and erotically ripe older Breed. Hunter had primed her well, fucking her often, depositing plenty of sperm to activate her bioengineered genes. Ready for breeding, the woman was producing “fuck-me” pheromones strong enough to drop a rhino. Chase swallowed. He damn sure was no rhino.

No wonder Hunter had squirreled the bitch away in the netherworld of suburbia.

Leaving her in the midst of the unmated wulves in the city would be an invitation to frenzied mating challenges.

He didn’t know whether to howl or whimper. On the one hand, his cousin’s absence served his purpose well. He could go in, claim the Breed, Melody, and leave with her, without having to worry about Alpha-posturing on either side. In the negative, it didn’t sit right going into a relative’s den and making off with his woman, if not his mate, without proper challenge.

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

51

Chase’s lips tilted in a self-admonishing moue as he mentally reviewed his last thoughts. He knew damned good and well Melody was unclaimed. He’d known before her pheromones burned the hairs of his nostrils with gut-churning lust.

Having grown up with Hunter, he had a fair handle on how his cousin thought and had accurately predicted how Hunter would react in this situation. Any wulf with a brain and the smallest acquaintance with Hunter knew the San Franciscan Alpha would never tolerate a male calling him and issuing an ultimatum about his bitch.

Chase heaved a deep breath. He couldn’t fault Hunter for not mounting Melody simply to alleviate a threat, but he still wished to hell he had. The Alpha’s stubbornness was going to cost them both in the long run. Chase knew he was going to need Hunter’s help when the time came, and the course he took today could well make that help an impossibility.

“Rann has left me with no choices ... I have to see this through,” he muttered, not sure if he sought to convince himself or absolve himself of his actions. No way to dress it up in fancy sheepskin ... what he was about to do was wrong as hell. When it was all over, when he’d either triumphed or failed, he’d gladly present his sorry hide to Hunter for him to finish off. Until then, he had to live -- and he had to mate a Breed.

Squaring his shoulders, Chase nodded at Kerry to rap on the door. “Let’s get this the hell over with.”

* * * * *

“Ohh, Fort, mi amor ... your hand feels wonderful!”

Fort didn’t speak in response. He let his hands and body show her how much he loved her. His mouth brushed the mating mark in the bend of her neck. The memories of the night he’d given it to her hardened his cock and softened his heart.

She was so precious to him; this human mate fate had dropped in his lap. Her lively mind and artist’s perceptions gave his intellect a daily challenge. Her volatile humor and quick Hispanic temper kept him on his toes. Feisty and hot as jalapeño peppers, Rosa was just what he needed. She kept his libido jumping. He only had to glance into her dark brown eyes, or stroke that sun-kissed skin and silky cinnamon-warm hair to raise a cockstand hard enough to cut diamonds. She hadn’t been his first interspecies fling, but she sure as hell was his last.

Fortrayn let his body melt down to skin form and pressed his future mate tight to his side. Mouth covering her lips in a gentle, sharing kiss, he spoke to her in mind-speak.

Beloved, now I know how Hunter felt when he found Melody. You are the other half of my soul ...

Oh, mi corazón, I love you, too, more than I can tell ...

52 Camille Anthony

He licked the tears from her cheeks as he lifted her left leg over his thigh and slid slowly and smoothly into her tight, hot sheath. He shuddered when the walls of her pussy contracted around his shaft to grip him in snug heat.

Then show me, sweetness. Show me how much you love me. Eyes locked with hers, Fortrayn pumped in and out of her welcoming pussy, his cock piercing her over and over.

“Oh! Faster, mi hombre! Give it to me hard and deep!”

“No.” Fortrayn shook his head, kept his strokes metered and slow. “Just like this ...

leisurely and deep and so slow I can feel the walls of your pussy clenching me, fluttering all up and down my cock.”

He smiled when she bucked under him, trying to force him to her speed. Blowing on the mating mark on her neck, he laughed and gave in when she convulsed and cursed at him, demanding he let her ride him.

With a deft twist of his torso, he flipped them over, never losing their intimate connection. Settling on his back, he watched her rise above him, tuck her legs back alongside his and place her small hands on his chest to stabilize her position.

A wash of her fragrant juices bathed his buried cock, burning the mushroom-shaped head as she sat back, the full, plump globes of her ass resting against his balls. He brought his knees up to give her a backrest and waited to see what she would do.

Her eyes appeared glazed, her movements sluggish as she swayed where she sat, barely moving on him. “Look, honey.” She ran a finger around the barrel of his shaft where it split her pussy lips wide. “Look how big you are in me.”

Fort looked and had to stop and calm himself as he gazed at the blissful sight of her tiny pussy expanded to the limit by his thick sex. “Oh, babe, your cunt looks so perfect stretched around my cock.”

She nodded. “It’s almost too big to fit,” she whispered, shifting on him, lifting up a bit to reveal his shaft, slick and gleaming with her juices. She leaned over and, in that same breathy voice, told him, “I love the times when you lose control and fuck me so hard it hurts.

The next day, all day long, whenever I walk or move or sit, I can feel you as if you were still inside me, still fucking me.”

Fortrayn groaned, feeling his balls tighten and draw up. His cock grew even harder and longer, a sign his knot would soon be forming. “Oh hell, sweetness, you’re about to get one of those experiences right now!”

Gripping her hips and holding her down, holding her so tightly all she could do was accept his cock, Fort slammed into her. Hips churning, he brought her down to meet his savage thrusts as he pounded into her tight heat over and over.

Her breasts bounced with each forceful impact, nipples flushed a dark blood-filled brown. He reached up and took one in his mouth, teeth nipping and tugging, adding a bright, stinging pain to the pleasure with which he was determined to flood her.

Werewulf Journals 2: Trolling for Love

53

“Fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me!” she panted, the words coming choppy and disjointed.

“Oh ... oh yes ... oh yes, Fort ... ohyesohyesoh yes yes -- yes ...!”

Flinging her head up and arching her neck, Rosa leaned back and grabbed Fort’s balls, mindlessly squeezing and plumping them in time with the galloping rhythm he set.

Fire licked up his spine, sparked across his entire body and with a howl of lusty joy, he sat up and flipped over, coming down on top of her. The flames threatening to consume him, he threw her legs over his shoulders, opening her up so nothing stood in the way of his burying his cock as deeply as he could.

She clenched him with arms and legs, her small nails digging in as she tried to stop his rhythmic retreat. Mouth open, helpless little cries pouring from her, she threw her hips up at him, begging for more.

Ah god, you’re in my throat, beating in my heart!

Open wider, baby ... I can’t get enough of you ... can’t get deep enough!

Their pubic hairs meshed, and the base of his penis pressed against her clit at each down stroke. He circled his hips, seeking that magic spot high in her vagina that would have her melting in his arms.

Hips blurring, he fucked her hard, and then harder still, butting against her cervix with each deep thrust. “Oh, Mother Night, Rosa ... you’re so tight and sweet, hot as hell fire! Grip me, baby. Come for me and squeeze me to death!”

With a scream of primal satisfaction, she jackknifed in his arms, body going taut as her orgasm slammed into her. He thrust in one last time as his orgasm ripped him apart. He slumped down into her cradling embrace, almost insensate as his knot formed and joined them together, making them one flesh.

Content to lie cuddled close with his love after his knot relaxed, it took Fort a while to recognize the scents he’d dismissed while in the throes of their torrid lovemaking.