Wolf Bitten (6 page)

The two men scuffled around the room, and their distant voices buzzed in her ear. She didn't bother with them. Every cell of her body filled with concern for Brock. She willed him to live. Eyes stinging, blinking, she searched for the wound. She found a tear in his flesh, as if something had gouged out a line. She blew out the breath she'd been holding. The bullet had grazed him. She had to hope the damn thing hadn't been laced with
aconitum
, wolf's bane.

The injury stunk of burnt hair. The gaping wound smoked, and the silver sizzled along his skin. “You're going to be okay. The bullet just grazed you. There shouldn't be enough contact for poisoning."

Careful to avoid his injury, she ran her hands over him and searched for any other wounds. The silver caused pain for a PACk member, but it wasn't deadly unless wolf's bane allowed poisoning into the blood. The right mix would mean death. Since the bullet hadn't lodged, Brock should heal quickly.

She shifted Brock to a comfortable position. Max and Fonso eyed her and Brock warily. They both appeared on edge, ready to attack Brock in his weakened state.

"Allie,” the deep voice of her employer and one-time friend sounded from above. “I don't know what's going on with you, why you're trying to protect that monster, but you need to show me your neck. If you haven't turned, then you walk out of here and let me put him out of his misery."

Wolfsbane members were determined. Allie would never change his mind, and he'd forget their friendship and kill her if she'd turned wolf. There would be no help from that quarter. She turned to Max.

Max held the rifle. Wide-eyed, he watched the wolf change into an unconscious man. Brock's fur fell to the floor. The hair settled on top of the mounds already there. A strangled sound came from Max. His face blanched, and he clutched the gun.

"Max, this is Brock. My fiancé has come for me."

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Brock heard the sweet, soothing sound of his mate. She'd been a fantasy for so long and far from his reach. He wanted to stay in the delusion. Find the elusive enchantress and hold onto her forever. The pull of consciousness was unwelcome, and he struggled to stay in his haven. Reality without her was too painful. Too lonely. His cage too small. The fights tore a little of his soul every time he hurt another PACk member in the fighting ring. Dreams of her put him back together piece by piece to live one more day.

At the edges of his mind, the simple touch of her eased him. Her fingers sifted through his fur. His body twitched with delight. He burned. Hot for her. But the pain slithered in, dispelled the dream, and threw him awake to the excruciating fire along his shoulder.

Not still in a cage. Here, with Allie on the floor of this stinking car garage.

He shifted.

Muscles pulled, and skin stretched. Fur fell away and left him cold. His bare torso welcomed her warm, caressing hands. His sense of touch heightened, and his vision returned. With fuzzy shapes behind her, his soft creature, his siren, looked down at him. She crooned for him. Others talked. His brain managed to interpret her words, “My fiancé has come for me."

With a rush, his sense of smell returned and brought with it the heady scent of his mate, the filth of petroleum, the angry essence of the hunter, and...?

Fuck! The interloper
.

The man who his wolf wanted to maim. To rend. To tear to pieces. The man who she'd said was a friend. He fisted his hands against the killing urges.

Mouth dry, he managed, “So. You're the man who dared touch my mate."

Though her eyes were brown, they appeared black in the dim light of the garage. While she ignored his veiled threat to her friend, her fingers stroked his back. “Thank goodness you're awake."

She tried to distract him, calm him, but his wolf couldn't be pacified. “He may be your friend, but I can taste his lust for you with his every breath. If he touches you again, I'll tear him apart."

"Try, mutt.” Max's voice was thin, reedy. He cleared his throat and looked at Allie, beseeching, “Allie, you can't stay with him. He's a ... Whatever he is, he's not a man, but an animal. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it."

"We need to put him down.” Fonso reached for the rifle.

Metal slid against metal, the bolt action of the rifle primed. Max waved him off, gripped the rifle, and pointed it at Brock.

Brock considered his options and ignored Fonso's cajoling Max to pull the trigger. If not for the poison that weakened him, he would have ripped out both their throats already. He stared Max in the eye and struggled to shake off the lethargy. He steeled himself against the weakness and hefted up to tower over his competition. He willed the boy to back down.

Max broke eye contact first.

Weakling
.

Allie pushed between the two men. She forced the barrel up. Brock hadn't realized he had moved so close. Over the gas funk in the air, the aroma of fear emanated from Max. Brock's bestial nature struggled to unleash upon his rival. He hungered for battle.

Pushing between them, Allie's backside brushed against Brock's groin, and his cock lurched. His heightened sensitivity to her distracted him from the boy. Keeping her flush against him, he backed away, arm around her waist.

"Max, put the gun down. Just—stop it! This is the man I love. I'm sorry, but I tried to tell you. You didn't want to understand."

Brock pulled her tight against his erection, unable to stop the motion of his hips, and rocked against her ass in imperceptible nudges.

"But how can you be with this animal? We're good together. You deserve a good life. I can give that to you. How can he? He's a fucking dog!"

"He's the only man I'll ever love. I won't have a life without him. I ran from him in fear, something he didn't deserve. He never gave me reason to fear."

"But..."

"No, Max. If you shoot him, I'll never forgive you. We'll never be together either way. Besides, can you shoot a man in cold blood?"

"He's not a man,” interrupted Fonso.

"Enough!” Brock hugged Allie from behind. He needed to hold her.

My woman loves me!

"Let's go,” he said in her ear. “He won't shoot. I can see it in his eyes. I need to leave before the wolf decides to kill one of your friends. I do trust you, Allie. And I don't want to hurt you by hurting them."

Confident of his assessment, Brock didn't wait to see Max's reaction. He directed Allie toward the door. When she edged toward it, he followed close behind. His back prickled up and down his exposed spine.

When he passed the Wolfsbane murderer, he clenched his teeth with an audible click. He needed to maim the man that had certainly murdered PACk. A snarl ripped from his chest with the difficulty of giving up the kill. Though he belonged to the group that had imprisoned and tortured Brock, he couldn't harm Fonso. He wouldn't mar his first day mated to Allie.

"Allie, wait. Where are you going?"

Brock whipped his head around toward Max, the man who challenged for Allie. But Allie was Brock's. No other man could have her. He bared his teeth and stepped toward the interloper.

Fonso reached to take the rifle from Max. Brock lowered his head and grumbled, ready to pounce. Fonso froze.

Brock saw the courage build in Max and the younger man's desperation over Allie walking out the door. Relieved that Allie was indeed outside, Brock sensed the moment Max decided to shoot.

Brock refused to run. Refused to back down to these men. He'd never show fear to Wolfsbane again. He'd rather die.

As if in slow motion, Max's finger squeezed the trigger.

The barrel of the rifle flared. The muzzle rose a few centimeters with the recoil. The explosion bounced off the walls with a deafening thud.

Brock dove forward. The bullet thumped into the wall over where his shoulder had been. He extended full length across the small room. Adrenaline pumped through him, the rush of blood roaring in his ears.

Max juggled the gun. Fonso made a grab for the weapon and knocked it from Max's hands. Brock reached the rifle at the same time as two sets of hands clutched at the barrel. He yanked it free and sent the two men sprawling, the sweep of the gunstock shoving them to the side.

"If you follow us, I'll tear you apart and throw the pieces to the PACk."

The gun, tainted with silver, weighed heavy in his hand, but he threw it over his shoulder with as much ease as possible while the two men struggled, tangled on the floor.

Brock spun on his heel.

He showed his unconcerned back to the two men and walked out the door.

After a visit to a local judge for the certificate, Allie was his. Well, he already considered her his, but he needed her to have that piece of paper.

In PACk law, she'd been his since he'd bonded to her twenty-one years ago. Neither human nor PACk law mattered. Only she mattered. For him, she became his when she'd declared her love. A declaration in the heat of battle, but he'd take it. Still, she was human, and now that piece of paper proved he was hers.

In his home, for the first time since he left eleven years ago, the clean air was heaven. No pollutants to make him weak and cloud his nose. The familiar smells of PACk and the musky scent of his mate covered and soothed him. He wanted to see his wife.

My wife
.

Brock opened the bathroom door. Beautiful with water sluicing down her body, she stood in the shower. The stream slapped against her skin and suds streamed down her curves. She washed the signs of petrol away. Too anxious to wait, he reached into the open tile shower and flipped off the water. He could smell her reaction, excitement over his presence. Her wet, glistening body beckoned to him.

She panted, her chest rising and falling, and her pert breasts moved enticingly with each breath. Her rosy nipples hardened, begging him to suckle.

He stood away from her and shrugged off his shirt. Her smooth and muscular stomach tightened under his perusal. His mouth watered to taste the neatly trimmed hair between her legs. His erection strained against his slacks. He tried to ease the pressure by running his hand down the front of his crotch. It didn't work.

Cursing, he stepped forward and slipped his arms around her. He pulled her against his hardness. The smoothness of her wet skin slid against his bare chest. Her hardened nipples pressed into him. Those points of passion made his head swim.

With gentle coercion he said, “So soft, so good. Do you feel how much I want you?"

He lifted her chin to place open-mouthed kisses on her throat. He trailed his tongue to the shell of her ear. He licked around the outside and blew hot desire inside. He scraped his teeth softly against her skin but resisted the urge to bear down. She broke out into goose bumps.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Could she want his bite?

"Oh, yes, I feel you,” she said.

"I can't believe how hard you make me."

Her hands still wet, she ran her fingers down his chest, spread them over his stomach which tightened in reflex. Tingles followed in her wake. She stopped at his waistband. The button closure popped open, and she lowered the zipper. The metallic zip cut through their harsh breathing. Reaching inside, she stroked up and down his erection. He rocked into her welcoming hand.

"I want you, too."

He groaned at her admission.

She kissed his chest. Her licks and nibbles covered him, making him crazy. Her mouth tortured all the exposed flesh she could reach. All the while, she continued to stroke him. He spread his legs and gave her complete access. She stopped at his nipple and tongued circles around it until he grabbed her head and angled her face up to meet his lips, hungry, searching. They kissed themselves breathless, and then he pulled back to look at her seriously. “You need to promise not to run again."

"Shut up and kiss me,” she moaned.

Ever at her command, he kissed her. He slanted his lips across hers and pumped his groin against her soft stomach, but the urge to hear her promise nagged at him. He broke away. “You're mine."

"Just
do
me!"

She would never run from him. Only
to
him.

She grabbed his hand and brought it to the moist heat between her thighs. He slipped a finger inside, cupped her mound, and rotated his palm against her clit. When she whimpered, he dropped to his knees before her and buried his face into her wet flesh.

Brock ran his tongue through her folds, lapped her outer lips, and blew hotly across her pubic hair. Parting her, he exhaled forcefully. Scorched air teased her, made her see white flashes while her legs refused to support her. Just as she was sure to fall, he gripped her thighs to support her with his strength. A strength that no longer intimidated but offered protection and support.

Allie raked her hands into his hair, fisted the thick strands, and held him to her. He thrust his tongue inside. When he withdrew, she gasped. She needed him to fill her again. He pushed a finger inside her sheath while his tongue leisurely stroked her clit.

"Your mouth is pure sin,” she managed past her tight throat.

His tongue swirled around her swollen bud. He added another finger and scissored them to stretch her before he pumped his fingers at a frenzied pace. When he sucked and pulled on her clitoris with more pressure, Allie came and bucked against his mouth. He rose, lifted her up off the floor, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He held his erection and positioned himself at her entrance.

"You're mine,” he growled. He pushed her back against the wall and shoved inside her. He stopped halfway, her sheath tight, clamped around his hard flesh. “You're so tight. Relax, Allie."

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. She loved the fullness and ignored the burning sensation. He held her against him, one hand under her ass, the other around her waist. He started to pull out of her. “No, don't stop. I'm okay. Just give me a minute."

He kissed her, and the taste of herself excited her even more. As he sucked her tongue into his mouth, he went down on his knees and lowered them to the floor. On his heels, he positioned her to straddle his lap, still lodged only partially inside her. With tenderness, he stroked her sides and nuzzled her neck.