Heat 0f The Night (Werewolf Shifter Romance)

by Gaja J. Kos

  Ivan bid me farewell, then went out the door after his wife. Their silhouettes disappeared into the dark beyond the streetlights, and I suddenly became very aware that it was just me and the werewolf who smelled like sin in this intimate setting.

  Needing to occupy myself with something, anything aside from that unnerving fact, I dug into my meal—beef Stroganoff, something Uliana had insisted I must try—and asked, “I’m guessing there’s a story behind all this?”

  “There is,” Demyan said simply and sampled his food. Unlike me, he went for zharkoye, a soup made of beef, potatoes, carrots, and other mouthwatering things that made me itch to steal a taste. He groaned in delight, then looked up at my expectant face. “I helped Ivan and Uliana leave Russia. They were… They were in a bad situation. Wanted for their powers by the wrong people. They wouldn’t have been able to have a life there.” He looked away. “Not for long at least.”

  That, I wasn’t expecting. Especially since Demyan had always refused to speak about his time working for the Russian branch of ICRA. I only knew what the rest of the team did—he’d slaughtered his way through a whole lot of shitty messes and cleaned up several of their most pressing problems. After his success, they offered him not just the transfer here, but the opportunity to take over the Violent Crimes division, which, to be honest, hadn’t been at their best back under my old brass.

  “You’re a good man,” I said softly, spearing another mouthful with my fork.

  Demyan didn’t answer. He simply flashed me a tight smile, then said, “I used my ICRA connection to help them get settled here, but made sure the Agency wouldn’t bother them.”

  The ever-curious part of me yearned to know just what the Russian couple was. They faintly smelled like Vilas do, but if they had some in their ancestry, they were quite far up the family tree. But as much as the missing information gnawed at me, I didn’t want to pry.

  Of course, a lot of it had to do with not wanting to miss the other chance that had presented itself when Demyan opened the past-colored box.

  “Do you keep in touch with a lot of your acquaintances from Russia?” I sipped my drink. “Or just those who are here in Germany?”

  “I don’t have that many acquaintances. Not as you’re suggesting.”

  Yeah, that was a definite change-the-subject answer. Only that damn file kept flashing in my mind, the roar of instincts telling me the attack on him had definitely been personal. And had to do with whatever actions Demyan had made back in his homeland, not while working for the Munich ICRA branch.

  One look at him, however, told me that if I brought that up, I might as well pack my dinner and go eat it in front of the TV at home. And that would have been a damn shame. Waiting one evening wouldn’t kill me.

  “I never pegged you for the type to enjoy going out for dinner,” I ventured, sweeping my gaze slowly down, then back up again. “More of a take-out-eat-in-the-office kind of were.”

  His laugh filled the space. “And you’d be right. I can’t remember the last time I did this. But I guess I never had the right company to enjoy an evening out with.”

  Damn him.

  I glanced down at my plate, though I knew he’d seen the flash of hunger on my face. The kind of hunger that had nothing to do with the dish on the plate before me. Fuck it.

  Lifting my gaze to his, I let him see my interest. The desire I’d been struggling with since the first time I’d caught his fucking delicious scent long before we’d actually come face-to-face.

  Demyan’s lips stretched into a lazy smile. “How about you? Do you have anyone to spend your evenings dining with?”

  “Do you think I’d be here if I did?”

  He shrugged. “I might be on the older side—”

  I snorted. He was at best in his late forties. Hardly old.

  “—but I do know some people prefer to have multiple partners. Or an open relationship.”

  I set my fork down, the knot in my stomach making it impossible to eat another bite. “Is that what you’re going for here? A relationship?”

  Of course, that was the question he chose to ignore. I groaned, not even bothering to hide my frustration.

  Demyan chuckled, then speared me with his gaze. “I’m not sure what I’m going for, as you put it. But I don’t think we can ignore the attraction for much longer. It won’t go away, Greta.”

  “Do you want it to?” I asked.

  Sweat slicked my palms as I clutched the damn wine glass with both hands. His gaze flickered down, then returned to my face—as if seeking out which answer to give.

  “The truth, Demyan. That’s all I want.”

  Because he was right. Whether we took this forward or ended it right here, right now, it was better than living in that infuriating limbo where my hormones kept running out of control. Sure, it would be hard to just step away from the kind of attraction that appealed to the wolf within, but if I put my mind to it, at least I would eventually be able to convince the whole of me that it was for the better.

  Chasing after dreams was for people who had the luxury to do so. Who had the safety of a normal life to fall back onto in case things went south.

  I wasn’t one of them.

  Not by a long shot.

  Demyan leaned across the corner separating us, his scent almost too much to bear. “I’m your boss, Greta.”

  I flinched. If he was pulling that damn card out, then why all the teasing earlier? Just to see if I was interested?

  I’d never pegged him for the type who wanted his ego stroked or the kind who toyed with others’ emotions. On the contrary, actually. Demyan Morozov was humble, always taking care of his team even if his rough around the edges nature might give off a different impression at first. Of course, there were plenty of men who were stellar at work. Then transformed into downright bastards when off the clock.

  He must have picked up on my growing anger, because his fingers skimmed the underside of my jaw.

  “I might not care about that personally.” A brush of his thumb across my lip. “Fuck, I’d take you right now on this table if I could.” A whisk of air as he retreated. “But you might.”

  “What?” I breathed.

  “Care.”

  Chapter Nine

  My pulse hammered in my ears. Demyan leaned back, putting some distance between us. I looked at him—took in every delicious inch. But more than that, as if someone had plugged a USB in my brain, all our interactions, from the very first moment he walked onto our floor at the ICRA building in Neubiberg and introduced himself, unspooled in fast-forward motion. Shit.

  “You’re right.” I swallowed and set my glass firmly on the table. “I do care. About you. For you. So don’t you fucking dare tell me it’s a coincidence one of your attackers was Russian.”

  Demyan shot me a look I’d only ever seen him sport out in the field.

  Danger, efficiency, and the sharp edge of single-minded determination.

  But if he thought that was enough to scare me off the subject, he was fucking wrong.

  “Damn it, Demyan.” The chair screeched as I pushed out of my seat, braced my hands on the table, and looked down at the infuriating werewolf. “You’re in danger. I have to know what’s going on.”

  He rose and leaned over so that his breath washed across my lips as he asked, far too calmly, “Why?”

  What was there to do, really, but give in to the truth?

  It was, after all, what I’d asked of him, too.

  With my heart hammering against my ribs, I tilted my head up and brushed my lips across his. Just a small touch at first, though one that set my every nerve on fire. But when Demyan didn’t pull away—when a soft, rumbling sound rose from his chest—I claimed his mouth just as I’d dreamt of doing for far too long now.

  Demyan’s fingers wound in my hair, his tongue demanding against mine. I knew my scent leaked all over the place, revealing the mind-shattering extent of the effect he had on me, but I couldn’t care less. From him, I hid nothing. He ba
cked me across the room even as he snaked his free arm around me and pressed me even closer to his hard, powerful body. Faintly, I was aware of a chair toppling down. But my reality had narrowed down to the caresses of his tongue, to the firmness with which he held me, which was tender yet rough all at once. A stark combination of reverence and primal possession that soaked my panties between one heartbeat and the next.

  My back hit the wall, but Demyan didn’t break the kiss.

  He ground against me, the rigid press of his erection making me moan into his mouth. On instinct, I shifted my hips, seeking that delicious tension as my entire body ignited.

  Demyan scented the spike in my arousal saturating the air.

  And responded.

  My legs ended up around his waist, his lips exploring my neck, my jaw, before he claimed my mouth again with such hunger I thought my damn mind would break under the tightly coiled weight of building pleasure. Fuck. This—this was what I’d craved. What had kept me company all those times, playing with myself. A godsdamned fantasy given flesh.

  His fingers dug into my ass while he reached up and caressed the curve of my breast through the shirt with his other hand.

  I moaned. Writhed. Ground against him as he held me trapped between the wall and his warm body.

  When I couldn’t take it anymore, I tore away from his lips and tossed my head back, a string of unintelligible curses flowing from me into the charged air. Demyan yanked my shirt up and pulled down the bra, then pinched my nipple between two fingers.

  I cried out.

  I cursed.

  I moved against him in a plea for more.

  With a dangerous, masculine chuckle, Demyan traced the outlines of my floral chest tattoo with his tongue, then plunged lower. His fingers went on to torture my other nipple while he claimed this one with his mouth. Shit. The edge of teeth as he sucked on the sensitive nub was just too fucking much to handle.

  My orgasm built inside me, panties so damn soaked, that alone amped up my desire. Fuck, I wanted to feel him inside. Wanted him to fucking unleash himself on my body.

  “Demyan,” I whispered.

  He tugged on my nipple with his teeth once more, then lifted his mouth to mine. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

  His hand plunged behind the waist of my pants before I could even process his words. He cupped me with his palm, then dragged a finger up my center.

  “I love how wet you are,” he muttered, the predator I’d glimpsed in his eyes earlier now fully out. “But I want to see how much more you can take.”

  Not much.

  I would have told him that if he hadn’t moved up to my clit. He dragged his finger across the bundle of nerves, his skin slick with my own arousal, then played me, alternating the touch until I was so damn wet, so damn turned on, holding back my orgasm became painful.

  I knew Demyan scented everything on me. Knew he heard the rapid beating of my heart. The labored breaths.

  And tortured me all the more for it.

  Faster than I could follow, he unwound my legs from around his waist and set me on the floor. My thighs trembled.

  “Pull down your pants and bend over,” he commanded.

  Fighting to overpower my shaky knees, I did as told. My fingertips brushed against the floor—then braced against it as his breath washed across my dripping wet core.

  “You smell delicious,” Demyan growled.

  And plunged his tongue inside me.

  His firm grip on my legs was the only thing keeping me from ending up sprawled on the ground. I moaned and whimpered, but Demyan was relentless. He ate me out like I was the best fucking dish in the world, lips and tongue moving from my clit to my folds, weaving little surprises in every damn time.

  A hard flick.

  A caress of his finger.

  His teeth nibbling on my too damn sensitive labia.

  Shit, my mind swam from the pleasure building up inside—the pressure that was about to break.

  There wasn’t a force in the world that could hold me back now.

  “Come for me, Greta,” Demyan growled, and his words reverberated straight through my core.

  He flicked his tongue over and over my clit until I did just that.

  As the entire world seemed to explode, he devoured me.

  I screamed out, not giving a shit if anyone out on the sidewalk heard. If anyone saw us. Our little corner was hidden away, but not entirely concealed from prying eyes.

  My whole body shook with the staggering force of my release, and Demyan didn’t move away until I was spent down to the very last ripple. Only then did he help me rise, and with such gentle affection I couldn’t help but swoon, dressed me again.

  I glanced down at his erection.

  I opened my mouth, but Demyan beat me to it.

  “I like edging,” he said, a husky, rough edge to his voice. “Besides,”—he pressed his lips to mine, giving me a taste of myself—“you can’t have everything at once. Where would the fun be in that?”

  I groaned, but silently admired his control. How he managed to actually step away from sex, edging or not, was beyond me. I knew I wasn’t the kind of wolf who’d ever willingly deny myself pleasure, regardless if the award for patience would be an even more intense experience. That required levels of mind over body I doubted I could ever reach. Or want to, really.

  Demyan smiled, as if reading my mind. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised I’m a hard-ass.”

  I snorted and brushed my hand up his crotch before retreating to a safer zone.

  “No.” I smiled. “But you’re not the only one.”

  He arched an eyebrow, his expression clearly saying that I hadn’t been exactly a hard-ass minutes before.

  I suppressed a grin. “A mind-blowing orgasm isn’t going to save you from my line of questioning. So tell me, Demyan. The truth now.”

  He looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns.

  Clearly, Demyan Morozov and his absolutely superior oral skills had never encountered anyone who’d remained coherent afterward.

  In all honesty, if I weren’t so concerned about him, I’d probably be mindless right now, too. As it was, just being near him made it impossible to forget the attack.

  The fact that I’d almost lost him.

  Probably would have if I hadn’t gotten there in time.

  There wasn’t a climax in the world that could wipe that crawling dread away.

  Demyan groaned, but grabbed my hand and led me to a red loveseat pressed up against the wall. To my surprise, he didn’t let go of my fingers—even when he was obviously far from pleased with me right now.

  “You want the backstory?” He glanced at me. Shadows haunted his brown eyes and darkened the green filaments.

  “I do.”

  He rubbed his free hand across his face, then leaned back, our fingers still entwined. Maybe a bit tighter than before

  “You were right.” He sighed. “The attack was personal. I thought I’d left my past behind in Russia, but apparently, I was fucking wrong.”

  “An ICRA job?” I asked.

  For several moments that seemed to stretch forever, Demyan only stared at the deserted street out the window. I didn’t rush him. Didn’t do anything but hold his hand as the storm raging in his eyes unfolded.

  He was calmer once he looked at me at last, though the darkness remained.

  “My old pack,” he said. “What’s left of it at least. We didn’t part on the best of terms. I thought they forgot about me—shit, we haven’t had contact in years. But I guess they were just biding their time until they came after me.”

  “What do they want?”

  Demyan let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “My head.”

  Chapter Ten

  As much as I was glad for it, the utter lack of protest from Demyan worried me.

  He wasn’t the kind of wolf to go quietly against what he wanted. Even if it was the right thing to do.

  I opened the front door to my apartme
nt and invited him in. After what happened at the restaurant, it should have been all kinds of dangerous to be with him here, but the only kind of action either of us would see tonight was a whole lot of talking. And sleep.

  I tossed the keys in their little basket on the tall, white stand, then motioned to Demyan to make himself comfortable in the living room while I grabbed us a couple of beers. There was no chance in all the godsdamned realms I was letting him return to his place.

  We hadn’t spoken much after my suggestion to move things to my apartment, but from the little snippets we had exchanged on the drive over, it was clear he hadn’t expected his pack to track him down. And if they had known precisely what to do to lure him out—would have succeeded if I hadn’t phoned him with the update—there was more than just a good chance they had eyes on his place. Demyan knew it. But I had expected his stubborn side to flair at the thought of hiding.

  Because that’s what this was.

  A means to regroup and fill me in, yes. But also a way to avoid conflict until we were ready for it.

  Demyan was sprawled across my black leather couch when I returned with two Paulaners in hand, looking solemn but also like…like he belonged. Already his scent was entwining with the familiar aromas dominating my apartment. The partially open window letting in the cool air made next to no difference. I handed him one of the beers, popped open mine, then sat on the couch beside him, legs curled up to the side.

  “You really want to do this?” he asked. He traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “The story isn’t pretty, Freundenberger.”

  The tease in his words hardly filtered through the hardness of his voice.

  “As if I give a shit whether something’s pretty or not, Morozov,” I fired back, then leaned over and cupped his cheek. “Demyan, I want to know. I need to know. Don’t fucking tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

  His gaze locked on mine, and in it, I saw precisely what he’d gone through not so long ago. A case I’d been investigating led to a group of sick fucks drugging me and taking me to their lab to be experimented on. They hadn’t changed who I was—not like they did to my sister when she came to my rescue—but they had weakened me. Drained me so much I probably wouldn’t have survived even three more days in there.