Untamed and Irresistable

by Rosie Miller

  She shook her head. “No, this is wrong. I don’t want this.”

  “But I know you want me. You have done since the very first time we met. I saw the way you looked at me in that bar. Do you remember? We both knew how we felt. I asked you to dance and we held each other. You knew I wanted you then. You could feel this pressing into you, couldn’t you?” He ground his hips into hers.

  The thin fabric of her dress was riding up. She could feel his long, hard length against her pussy.

  “No. I don’t even know your name.”

  “But that didn’t stop you, did it?”

  “What is your name?” Somehow it seemed important to know. If he was going to do what she thought he was going to do—or worse—it seemed important that she knew who she was.

  “My name’s Christophe. Remember it.” He grinned at her.

  He was still rubbing himself against her. She could smell the sweat on him. She knew now where that smell in her apartment had come from. It was him— Christophe.

  “We could have done this then—if he’d not got in the way—again. He spoils all my fun.”

  “Yes, I remember. Let’s dance now. It was nice. I want to do that again.” She was desperate to get him off her.

  If only she’d not caught his eye that time—if only she’d not smiled at him—danced with him—maybe this wouldn’t be happening. And she’d only let him hold her tight and rub his cock against her because she was angry with Jackson and because this man reminded her of him. How was she to know they were brothers? Or that this brother was a vicious criminal? She felt the tears pricking in the back of her eyes. It wasn’t fair.

  He kept talking. “And the other time. You wanted me then too. Do you remember how quickly you came? I barely touched you. You were desperate for me. Do you remember that?”

  She didn’t know what he meant—he must be fantasizing. Perhaps he was thinking about those photos—or some crazy dream about her. But she had to talk her way out of this—and fast. She tried to keep her voice calm. “Yeah, sure. But, hey, this isn’t the way it should be. Not like this. We don’t want to rush things. We should make it really special. We should do things properly.”

  “Like you did with Jackson?” he snapped. “Was that special? Did you do things properly with him?”

  She didn’t know what to say—what was going to make him least angry? “How about I tell you about it over dinner?”

  “No. I don’t want to hear his name I’m tired of hearing it. Why does everyone care what he thinks? Why do they listen to what he says? He doesn’t know anything.”

  He had a hand on each of her arms, holding them down. He was heavy, and it hurt her. He was leaning his weight into her, just where she already had bruises from that awful dog.

  “But he can pick a good woman. And now I want to enjoy you—properly—slowly. I want to really take my time. You’re going to love it.” He grinned at her widely, grinding his hips into her. “And I promise you, this will be very, very special indeed.” He lowered his head to her body.

  If he tries to kiss me, I’ll bite off his tongue, Justine thought, watching his face getting closer.

  But he extended his long, pink tongue and licked from her collar bone upwards.

  She shivered at the sensation. It reminded her of something. What was it?

  Before she could think, he’d gripped the top of her dress between his teeth and pulled it sharply.

  It ripped open and she looked down at her exposed chest in shock.

  “I’m going to enjoy playing with these puppies. I know you like it rough. You like your nipples sucked hard and bitten until they’re sore, don’t you? It makes you moan. It makes you wet. And I’m looking forward to burying my tongue inside your hot wet pussy, and then something else.” He thrust his hips hard against her as she spoke.

  She winced but she was determined not to cry out.

  He laughed to himself and let go of one of her arms, leaning on his other elbow so he could pull her bra cup down.

  Her nipple sprang out, hard in the cool air.

  She looked down at what he was doing. Something caught her eye. Down his forearm snaked a long thick raised scar. Where had she seen—or felt—a scar like that before? Something was nagging at her brain, but she didn’t have time to think about it.

  She had to get away—now—before he went any further. Her free hand edged across the bed cover. She felt something there. It was the camera. She wriggled her fingers and got them fixed around the strap. She had a weapon now. She focused her mind. She’d try to knock him off her. One surprise attack was all she needed, when he was concentrating on mouthing at her breast.

  His tongue was out and he was lapping at her nipple. She pushed him, suddenly and hard. He half rolled off her. She brought her arm up and slammed the camera into the side of his head. Something crunched satisfyingly. She turned, getting on her hands and knees, ready to spring off the bed.

  But she heard a deep, terrifying growl.

  She froze and looked over her shoulder.

  Christophe had gone and in his place was an enormous wolf.

  Its big yellow eyes were fixed on her. Spittle dripped from its open mouth. Its teeth were bared and its fur stood out around its head. It was huge.

  She screamed and kicked out. Her sharp stiletto heels made contact with the dog.

  But it didn’t flinch. She saw it tense to spring at her.

  She raised her forearms, trying to protect her face, flailing wildly with the camera. She knew the dog was going to attack her.

  But then someone else was there. It was Jackson. He burst through the door and leapt at the beast. He knocked it off course and they fell heavily to the floor together, rolling over in a tangle of human and dog.

  Jackson was twisting and wrestling, trying to pin the wild animal down. But it was big and strong and snapping at him with those big teeth. He couldn’t seem to hold it.

  Justine felt a new surge of adrenalin. She pulled off one of her shoes and gripped it tightly in her hand and launched herself at the pair.

  She screamed as she grabbed a handful of animal pelt and sunk the metal-tipped heel in as far as she could.

  The animal howled. Jackson took advantage of the moment to get it pinned down, his forearm over its neck.

  Justine was panting, watching it, ready to strike again with her improvised weapon.

  She stared at its teeth, its slavering jaws and its wild yellow eyes. But somehow – as she looked at it—it wasn’t a wolf anymore. It was morphing into a man—into Christophe.

  She watched in complete disbelief as Jackson released him and Christophe clambered to his feet. He was clutching his shoulder and there was blood under his hand.

  What had just happened? She stared at the two men—Christophe still naked, bleeding from his wound, and Jackson watching him warily.

  Had she really seen a wolf? Had Christophe been a wolf? It didn’t make sense.

  Christophe turned on her suddenly and she stepped back. “What did you do that for? It’s not fair,” Christophe said to her. “I was only playing. And now you’ve hurt me.”

  “It’s not a bad one.” Jackson leaned forward and pulled Christophe’s hand away from his shoulder. Justine could see a deep, ragged puncture wound dripping slowly. Had she done that with her heel? She looked down at her shoe. There was blood on it. But she had definitely felt animal skin—rough, coarse fur—under her hands. She hadn’t hit Christophe, she’d hit the wolf.

  Jackson looked dismissive. “You’ll survive—unfortunately. Get to Doc Jacobs and he’ll sort it out.”

  “I’m not going yet. The fun isn’t quite over.” Christophe was still staring at Justine. As he spoke he licked his lips.

  She shivered in revulsion. He was still naked and she couldn’t stop herself glancing down at his manhood. He was getting erect again.

  The thought of him on top of her—of him touching her—of what he might have done next was awful.

  “I was so close.” He
smiled ruefully at Justine then looked at Jackson. “First I was going to have her the traditional way—then I was going to do her wolf-style.

  I’d have made her one of ours. But she hit me with something. It really hurt. And now she’s done this to me.” He held his shoulder again. But then he grinned. “She’s fighter. I like it.”

  Justine hoped it hurt like hell.

  “She should have killed you. You can’t just do that to people. They have to choose it.” Jackson shoved him away.

  “So you say. But no one else agrees with you.”

  “I don’t care. You know the rules.” Jackson edged between him and Justine.

  Was Christophe still a threat? Even now? She flexed her fingers around the shoe. It had proved an effective weapon and if Christophe came anywhere near her, she would do some more damage. She wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand again.

  “Rules are meant to be broken,” Christophe snapped at Jackson.

  Justine had the feeling that they’d had this argument many times before, that they were almost going through the motions, waiting to see if the other one would attack—or back down.

  “No. They’re not. Especially not that one.” Jackson picked up Christophe’s clothes and threw them at him.

  Christophe caught them and laughed. “You are really missing out with your petty rules and stupid moralizing. God—it’s so much fun. It gets me every time. Once you’ve got them hot and horny and loving it, then you change right in front of them and see the look on their faces. Especially if you do it when they’re coming. One minute it’s all ‘Oh Christophe, oh, oh, I’m coming’ and the next it’s pure shock and fear as they realize they’re screwing a wolf.” He laughed again. “And then you’ve got them. They’re changed—whether they like it or not. Of course, I still usually kill them anyway.”

  Justine tried to pull her ripped dress across her. She was starting to shake now. The knowledge of what Christophe had intended to do just made it worse. He would have taken her—whether she wanted him or not. And then he might have killed her.

  But what was all this talk about turning into a wolf? And why wasn’t Jackson freaking out? Maybe Christophe was insane and it was contagious—or perhaps he’d drugged her somehow and all this was a hallucination. She sank down on to the edge of the bed.

  Jackson was here. He would get rid of his crazy brother and then she’d be safe.

  Christophe was still talking. “So what are you going to do with her? Now she knows my—our—little secret?”

  “None of your business. Just go. Get that wound looked at.” Jackson sounded tired, like he didn’t want to argue any more.

  “It is my business, though, isn’t it? Now she knows—it’s all of our business. And we all have the right to make sure she never—ever—says anything. What is it bro? Do you just want the pleasure of doing it all by yourself?”

  “Shut up. Get out.”

  Christophe was squaring up to Jackson again. Even though Christophe was bleeding and naked, he still looked dangerous. “Or are you going to bring her in? You know, I’d like that too. I could quite get used to having that on tap.”

  “Out!” Jackson shoved him and Christophe stepped back.

  Jackson shoved him again so Christophe was in the doorway.

  “Alright, alright. I can see you’re dying to be alone with her. You want to finish what I started. Well, I can tell you she’s hot for it. She was just loving it with me.”

  Justine glared at him and tightened her grip on the stiletto.

  “Don’t worry Justine—if you make it through the night—you’ll have me to look forward to. We’ll finish what we started. I know it’s me you want.”

  Jackson slammed the door on his face.

  He sat down next to her and put his arm round her shoulders.

  She leaned into him, shivering.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I wanted to protect you from him—from all this. Did he hurt you?”

  “No. But he scared the crap out of me. If you hadn’t come in when you did, God knows where it would have ended.” I might be dead, Justine thought, or wish I was. “So, what is he?”

  “Good question. A madman—an egomaniac—an arrogant fool …”

  “No. What is he? The wolf thing?”

  Jackson rubbed his face. “Oh—that.”

  “Yes – that. Were you just hoping I hadn’t noticed—or I wouldn’t mention it?”

  He half smiled at her. “No. But it’s complicated.”

  “No. Not knowing which guy you want to take you to Senior Prom is complicated. Tax returns are complicated. But this is just plain weird.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then just tell the truth. What the hell is going on, Jackson?”

  He knew what was going on, and whatever it was, it had nearly killed her. She had earned the right to know.

  “He’s a man, but he’s a wolf as well.”

  “Not possible,” Justine stated flatly.

  “Oh God. I’ve never tried to explain this to anyone before.”

  “Never?”

  He shook his head. “Not to anyone who wasn’t already …one of us.”

  “Well, just try. Start simple. A man and a wolf. It doesn’t make sense—but nothing does anymore. Just tell me anyway.”

  “Okay. So, he’s different to other humans. He’s a hybrid—a genetic mutation if you like—or as we prefer to think of it—a new species.”

  “Right, I understand that. But he changed from one thing into another—right in front of me. It doesn’t make sense. You can’t just change into an animal like that. No one can.”

  “You saw him. He can.”

  She nodded slowly. She had seen him. One minute he was human—the next he was a wolf—and then he had changed back again. She had seen it. But that didn’t mean she believed it. “And how come no one knows about it?”

  “We guard our secret very well. We have to—if we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives in some kind of government lab—being experimented on and dissected.”

  “We? You too? You’re one of those … things?” She stared at him—his handsome face, his strong jaw, his kind eyes. Not so long ago, she’d been falling for this man. Maybe she’d fallen already. But those kind eyes had a strange yellow tint to them—like Christophe—like the wolf. She had held him and kissed him. But what was he? Some kind of animal?

  He nodded. “Yes, me too. I’m sorry. Look I know this is a lot to take in. And a lot to understand. But … just don’t judge me. I can’t help it. I—”

  The door opened and Christophe poked his leering face round. “Get on with it, bro. If you’re going to kill her—I want to watch. And we might as well have some fun first if she’s a goner anyway. It would be a shame to waste a hot body like that. What do you say? Me and you? Tag-team her? Man at one end, wolf at the other—we could see which one she likes best.”

  Jackson leapt at the door and wrenched it all the way open, then pushed Christophe backwards. “Get out, you sick fuck! Get out!”

  Justine heard the muffled sound of shouting and fighting and furniture crashing over. Then her front door slammed and Jackson marched back in. He was clearly still furious. “I’ve got rid of him, and taken his key and put the bolts on the door so he can’t get back in.”

  Christophe had gone. She should be able to relax. But now she was locked in with Jackson. How safe was she?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I need a drink.” She slipped her other shoe off and walked unsteadily into the kitchen. The coffee table was on its side. The bookcase was face down, and books and magazines were spilled across the floor. She didn’t care. None of it seemed to matter anymore.

  In the kitchen, she rifled through the half-empty cupboards looking for something alcoholic. There were only the dusty left-overs at the back—a bottle of mint liqueur, and some sweet dessert wine. She didn’t like either of them, but she’d drink them now. She just needed something. She rins
ed a couple of glasses and poured the thick sweet wine into them.

  Jackson joined her, watching her warily.

  She sat on the sofa and sipped her drink. Her brain didn’t seem to be working anymore. It had just given up. There was too much to take in. And underneath all her confusion and disbelief, there was still a hard current of ice-cold fear.

  She wasn’t safe, was she? She hadn’t been safe since she first met Jackson. Perhaps her death warrant had been signed even then, and everything had been leading up to this moment. Should she run, now? She stared at the television even though it wasn’t switched on.

  Jackson—the man she had wanted, the man she had loved—sat beside her.

  “A lot to take in, right?”

  She nodded. After a minute she felt a question form in her mind, like it was coming from far away. Her lips felt rubbery and numb as she spoke. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “It’s one solution.” He spoke calmly, like they were discussing how to get a stain out of a shirt. “But I couldn’t hurt you—not you. Not now—not ever.”

  She smiled at him, feeling grateful. At the same time she knew that she ‘not killing you’ was about the least you could ask from someone.

  “There is another way—but you might not want it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Of course she would want it. It could be ten years in a cave in Siberia and she would want it. Anything was better than death. Thoughts were wandering through her mind, but she couldn’t seem to organize any of them into a sentence. She just gazed at him.

  “You become my wife. You join the pack. You become part of this—one of us. Forever.”

  A sound bubbled out of her mouth. She realized she was laughing. She couldn’t stop.

  She’d pictured this moment for so long—when the man she loved proposed to her. She had always imagined it would be in a restaurant, or on a late-night walk by the river, or even on a sunny Sunday morning when they were lazing contentedly in bed. He’d ask her simply and honestly. Sometimes she pictured him going down on one knee and producing a ring, other times just saying the words, but whatever, she always said “yes’ without a moment’s doubt, because she knew he was the one.