by Ava Lore
She shook her head, forcefully. She needed to focus. Perhaps, she reasoned, she could get him to speak to her about Number Four's escape if she acquiesced to his request. Not that she had any personal interest in touching him, and certainly not while he was... aroused...
Michelle was finding it very hard to not stare at the erect penis poking at her. She'd seen a man's penis several times before, but she had never had sex, or even touched a penis. The thought had always scared her.
Now, however, she was fascinated by Subject Number One's arousal. She tried to tell herself it was purely scientific interest, but she knew in her heart that wasn't entirely true. The thought of touching his swollen cock did things to her that she knew weren't right. Disgust at herself warred with an almost obsessive desire to see it up close, to... inspect it. Perhaps if she reached out and touched him, she could get closer, understand what it was about him that riveted her so...
Yes. That would be all right, wouldn't it? The others weren't watching. She'd made sure of that. They listened outside the cell block doors, of course, just in case she called for help, but she had no intentions of doing so.
And besides, she knew as well as anyone that touch was incredibly important for animals to thrive. It was basic biology. Perhaps Number One just needed a hug.
A sexy hug, the soft, dirty part of her mind whispered. Michelle shoved the thought away.
This is for science, she told herself. This is for the health and well-being of Subject Number One. She stepped forward and put her hands out.
Her fingertips grazed his fur, and a frisson of sweet sensation buzzed from the tips of her fingers straight down to the hot, crowded space between her legs, startling her. Michelle had never given that place much thought. She certainly had never touched it in the way she knew other women did. It just had no appeal to her.
Now, however, it began to heat up, and she swallowed.
Subject Number One held perfectly still. It was as though he knew this was a big moment for her. As though he knew she had an interest in him that veered toward the... personal.
He is a person under there, she reminded herself. A flesh and blood man. She'd seen him on the days of the new moon. Lovely tanned skin. Dark hair. Hard, muscled body. A very handsome man, all told.
But she knew that wasn't really what attracted her.
She moved her hands to his fur.
It was oily and rough, the fur of a wild animal rather than a domestic dog. The skin of her palms sizzled, coming alive as she smoothed her hands against his shoulder, then slipped her arm between the bars and across his chest. A rumble in his throat made her pause, but after a glance at his face revealed eyes slitted with pleasure, she continued her exploration.
He smelled good. Wild. Dark. Musky. The flesh under the fur burned hot, and the muscles jumped and twitched at her touch. Michelle swallowed around her dry tongue, moving closer, letting her fingers run through his fur, grazing over the skin beneath it. The rumble in his chest grew louder, a pleased growl. The sound reached straight through her to her spine, pinning her in place with fear... and anticipation. The space between her legs grew hotter and hotter with her exploration, and a gush of warm wetness drew a gasp as she paused.
Subject Number One wanted her to continue. Without warning, he reached through the bars, his hard, muscled forearms barely fitting between the cold steel columns, and began to run his beastly, clawed hands over her body where he could.
Michelle bit her lip and closed her eyes.
Rough paw pads caught her clothes. Claws snagged fabric, blunt fingers curled and scratched, trying to draw her closer. Her heart hammered in her chest, her head light with fear and something else, something she'd never felt before. She couldn't get enough air. Wavering on her feet, Michelle felt herself tip forward, stumbling into Number One's embrace, and deep in her throat a low, animal sound emerged, startling her.
She'd never made such a sound before.
Hard steel bars pressed against her soft flesh, cold against the heat of him. His hands roamed her body, the scent of him filling her nose. Her own fingers dug into his fur, tangling, gripping, holding on for dear life as he pulled her closer. Eyes still closed, she let her body go limp as her breath and sanity left her, and her head fell back, exposing her neck to the teeth of the beast in the cage.
A cool nose grazed her throat, sniffing, curious. Michelle licked her lips and let go of the fur at his shoulders, running her hands up his neck, behind his head, reaching as far through the bars as she could, burying her fingers in the fur at the base of his ears before gently tugging him down, urging him to take from her what he would.
She heard the click of his mouth opening, and his strong, hot tongue flattened and stroked over her hammering pulse.
A jolt of electricity shot out from that point of contact, racing, sizzling through her body, turning her blood to molten gold, her bones to glass before grounding in her nipples and deep inside her core.
Panting reached her ears, and with a shock, Michelle realized it was her own breath, rapid and sharp.
What on earth was wrong with her? This was supposed to be a professional interrogation, and she was instead limp and wanton in the arms of a wolfman. Struggling to think through the heated fog shrouding her brain, Michelle grasped at her shredded sanity. "I..." she stammered. "I'm... I'm supposed to be asking you about... about Subject Number Four..."
One withdrew his huge, monstrous hand from her side where he had snagged her coat and slipped it back through the bars. Michelle tried not to whimper at the loss of his touch. She was much closer now, her whole body pressed against his cell. His other hand tugged her gently to one side, and, confused, she complied. The cold hard steel ground across her soft chest, catching her erect nipples, and she hissed, half-aroused, half-pained.
The hand that had abandoned her returned, this time covering her breast. Rough and warm, One massaged her through her blouse and bra, and Michelle moaned at the sensation. She wanted his hot tongue on her breast, his teeth nipping at her flesh. Tightening her arms, she tried to climb up his body and pull him down to her, but the bars between them remained implacable.
"Why... why do I feel like this?" she whispered, mostly to herself, but he heard her. His teeth grazed her pulse.
"You mate," he rumbled. "My mate."
Apprehension. She stiffened in his arms.
Mate?
No. No, no, she couldn't be his mate. He was a beast and a prisoner. The things he made her feel... she was just lonely. Never had a boyfriend. Been kissed only once or twice, and never by her own choice. He fascinated her scientifically, and he was a safe fantasy. A man who was only a man, with all their attendant problems, one night of the month. The rest of the time he was a man-shaped monster, with dark desires and rough appetites and arresting green eyes. She was the beauty, and he was the beast. He was just a fantasy. That was all.
And she was mentally deranged. Yes. Insane to desire him this way. She had a problem, but it just needed fixing. Pills. Therapy. Something.
Not mating. She couldn't mate with him.
So why was she in his arms?
What was wrong with her?
Suddenly afraid, Michelle backed up, tried to pull away, but Number One's arms tightened around her. "No," he grated out. "Mate. Stay. Free me."
"I... I don't know how," she said. He was so much stronger than she was, and her fear rose, blocking out the delicious pleasure his body inspired. The fantasy of him suddenly became eclipsed by the reality, and the warm gush of desire between her legs subsided, though not by much. His teeth were still at her throat.
She was at his mercy.
"Mate," he muttered, scraping sharp points over her skin. "Mate, al-ways. Mate."
"No, I can't be." She pulled harder and the claws on the tips of his fingers dug into her skin, making her gasp. "No, let go. I'm not... I can't be your mate..."
"You are!" The words ripped out of him, fierce, forceful.
Silver terror strea
ked through her. She jerked in his grasp, his hot hunter's breath on her exposed throat, the flesh there vulnerable and soft. A tiny whine of fear in her throat. Molten blood turning to ice water. Teeth over her jugular. She reacted.
"Help!"
The word tore from her chest, a shriek from the depths of her fear-filled soul. She didn't want to be afraid of him, didn't want to, didn't want to, but she was, she was, she was—
The door at the end of the hallway opened with a bang. Jackbooted footsteps filled the cell block, and within moments the armed guards were upon them.
Subject Number One snarled, dug in, and Michelle cried out in pain as his claws shredded her clothes, scored across her skin.
"Mine!" he shouted. "My mate, mine, mine, mine—"
A tranquilizer dart in his throat sent him slumping against the bars, then crashing to the floor. In her chest, her heart seized as she watched the magnificent beast crumple in front of her.
Just like in my dreams, she thought. Just like in my dreams. Tears welled in her eyes and she almost reached through the bars to touch him, shake him awake, but before she could one of the guards had his arms around her and she found herself dragged backwards, the scratches he'd left on her flesh stinging under the guard's rough handling. She cried out in pain and thought she saw Number One stir at the sound, but then she was hustled back down the hallway and out the doors, into the bright white of the lab.
Chapter Three
Michelle sat, shaking, in a chair as one of the interns handed her a hot cup of coffee.
"I tried to warn you!" Dr. Wells was raging at her. "We can't afford any more problems!"
She wanted to point out that he hadn't actually tried to warn her, but before she could even open her mouth she realized it was futile. Dr. Wells always thought he was right and the people around him were wrong. He was just that kind of boss. She blew on the coffee and took a sip. It scalded her tongue, but she didn't care. It was warm and she was cold inside.
What had she been thinking, getting that close to a monster? Her dreams were not reality, she saw that now. Even though his embrace had titillated her, there was violence and madness lurking underneath the surface. A half-mad half-man. Until he'd said aloud her dirty little fantasy, she'd been quite willing to tease him with the promise of something that he no doubt missed very much.
Mate. There was no way she could mate with a beast. It was sheer insanity.
Dr. Wells was still ranting, though now it was mostly at himself for not keeping the beasts under tighter watch. Entirely aside from the 'problem' of her minor injuries, the thing he was most angered by was her complete failure to figure out what Number One knew about the escape of Number Four.
"Why did you get so close to the cage?" he said suddenly, turning to her. He towered over her. She cowered in front of him, not sure what to say.
Finally Michelle licked her lips. "He asked me to," she said. "I thought... I thought a little kindness could smooth the way. I thought that maybe if he didn't think we thought of him as just an animal, then perhaps he would open up."
Dr. Wells' face, always blotchy, turned bright red. "Oh, he wanted to open up, all right. I don't suppose you noticed he was sporting a hard-on the size of Long Island, did you?"
Michelle felt the blood drain from her face and she nearly dropped her coffee. They know, she thought, terrified. They know, they know, everyone knows—
A look of satisfaction settled on her boss's ruddy features. "That's right," he snapped. "You think these beasts are more human than animal? You were this close to getting raped."
It took a moment for her to realize that Dr. Wells thought he was giving her a new piece of information, scaring her with the possibility of what might have happened. Relief swept over her, and all she could think was, Who says that doesn't make him more human than animal? She had no illusions about the world. She'd been shoved up against walls at parties in college, chased around a room by unwelcome eyes, seen the cruelties of man laid bare in this lab. She turned her eyes down to the coffee in her hands and tried to slow her breathing.
"I'm sending you home for the rest of the night," Dr. Wells said after a moment. "Tomorrow morning you had better be here bright and early. We will resume interrogation of the subjects—with guard supervision and another doctor present."
Michelle nodded miserably. She didn't want to interrogate the wolves. She had an inkling of how Number Four had tricked them all, and she was almost positive that the others would have no idea where he had gone. After all, how would he have known where he was going? He'd lost his memory. Her best guess was that he was heading toward the closest wilderness and disappearing. She wished him well.
Abruptly Dr. Wells turned and stalked out of the room. The intern who had been attending her gave her a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder before scurrying off after him. Michelle sipped her coffee and huddled under the blanket someone had kindly thrown over her. After a few hot gulps, the coffee was gone and, so fortified, she stood and tottered back out into the lab.
The action had become subdued, but tension still vibrated in the air, setting her teeth on edge. Today had been an unmitigated disaster for the project, and the best thing to do was to go home and try to get some sleep. Clenching her jaw, Michelle walked through the lab and out the door, heading out to her car.
Once there, however, the adrenaline in her system abruptly dropped, leaving her trembling even harder. Gripping the steering wheel so tightly in her hands that the joints of her fingers protested, Michelle tried to get a lock on the situation.
Okay, she thought. You just tried to make out with an experimental mutation of a mythical creature. That's... well, not understandable, but it could just be considered a lapse in judgment. There was no need to really obsess over it, was there?
Except the memories of it brushed against her, reminding her that just the thought of Number One and his monstrous form hulking over her fragile, human body was enough to arouse her in ways no human man ever had—or, she feared, ever could.
It was the job. It was just getting to her. She was sure of it.
Mostly.
With a sigh, Michelle slammed her car into reverse, peeled out of her parking space, and raced the entire way home, where she took a sleeping pill and threw herself into bed, praying for no more dreams.
Subject Number One awoke maddened. Something had changed in him. Something deep and profound. A need had awoken, a hunger that had to be sated lest he implode.
"Mate," he grated out before his eyes were even open. "Mate."
"Holy shit," a voice said next to his cage. "Did you hear that? It said something."
I am a he, One wanted to say. Call me by my name. I am not an object. But his brain wasn't working right, and he couldn't remember his true name.
And besides, entirely aside from the tranquilizer hangover, his loins ached, his balls tight and full to bursting with seed. Her scent clung to his fur, but he knew he was back in his regular cage, and the cameras clicked and whirred away in their hiding places.
Forcing his eyes open, Number One looked to Number Four's cage and was immensely relieved to find it still empty. Good. And his other brothers—yes, fine. All fine.
Except for him.
God, he hurt. His engorged cock swung heavy and low between his legs as he struggled to his feet, and the people next to his cage—two orderlies charged with keeping the floors of the cell block as clean as possible, were staring at it, their gross, curious gazes filling him with anger.
Where was his mate?
Mate, he thought. "Mate," he said. "Where mate?"
The orderlies stood there, staring at him dumbly. "What?" one of them finally said. He had a tuft of bright red hair and his freckles stood out on his pale face. His skin seemed to have lost whatever color it had possessed when he'd heard One speak.
Across from him, the twins pressed themselves against the side of their cage. "Brother," they said, speaking in turns. "Brother, what are you doing? Don't sp
eak to the enemy!"
But the red fog of arousal had descended on his brain. Catty-corner to his cell, Number Five gave a quick, guttural chuckle. A laugh. Then he threw himself against the bars, letting his great bulk rattle the whole room. The sound hurt One's ears, but the thump of Five's heavy body hitting the floor was satisfying.
He remembered now. He'd scared his mate, had handled her roughly, had hurt their tenuous bond. Now she may never return.
He'd never felt more of a monster.
Could he beat the desire out of his own flesh and return to himself? The idea appealed. At the very least it would be a distraction.
Subject Number One staggered backwards, still recovering from the tranquilizer, then put all his power into his legs, propelling himself forward.
The full moon was nearly upon them. In a few days he would become a wolf, but today his strength was almost at its peak. Though the cell was too small to get much traction, One charged at the bars. With a coiling of his muscles, he launched himself into the air. For a moment he hung there, sailing gently forward. Then his body met the bars.
Pain shattered through him. He fell to the ground, the thud sweet and terrible, but while agony sliced across his body, desire still coiled around his cock, and his testicles, filled with seed, ached far more than the bruises and abrasions he had just sustained.
More distraction. He needed more.
Again Number One rose, and again he threw himself at the bars, this time harder, and the orderlies screamed and ran. The room shook with a roaring sound, and One realized it was his own voice, unleashed at last. Too long he had been in confinement, his nature suppressed, his desires twisted and tangled beneath his will. Too long had he denied himself, denied the beast inside him. The presence of his mate had kept his mind intact while the others had disintegrated and regrouped with the swelling and subsiding of the moon, but now, the mating begun but not consummated, he was lost.