by Hettie Ivers
And if he was anything like Raul, no amount of bullets would stop him anyway.
As I watched, his body visibly stiffened.
Shit.
I aimed my gun, yet remained otherwise frozen as he inhaled a second time—his upper back expanding, his shoulders rising as his lungs filled with air.
Pull the trigger, Avery.
Now.
Do it.
I’d never had any qualms before about shooting a target in the back when his pants were down. I wasn’t big on heroism or sportsmanship; I stuck to ease and efficiency. But something was stopping me now. Something in his scent felt too … right … to be ended.
And some foolish part of me wanted to see his face. I told myself it was to confirm that he was the one from the photo, to make sure I had the right target.
Slowly, he turned.
Damn.
He was gorgeous.
His hazel eyes burned bright gold as they took me in—brazenly looking me up and down, his jaw agape.
The gun grew heavy in my hand. I felt my own eyes shifting to that of my wolf as they traveled from chiseled, ruggedly handsome, seemingly awestruck facial features, down a thick neck that caused my canines to extend and salivate, over a T-shirt-encased chest and abdomen that my hardening nipples were demanding to rub up against.
Fuck.
My inner bitch hadn’t been this excited by a male since …
Ever.
My captivated wolf eyes wandered over beautiful, tanned skin covering densely corded arm muscles, down to a well-formed, huge hand that held … an even huger dick.
That was lengthening and expanding before my eyes.
My mouth watered. I could’ve sworn my vaginal muscles actually jumped.
Mine.
My inner bitch’s excitement was suddenly overwhelming. I had a mad urge to drop my gun and leap right on him.
But my daughter’s life was at stake. So I forcibly shut my she-wolf down.
And I shot him instead.
The quiet plink sound of the brass casing hitting the tiled floor was horrifying on multiple levels. My wolf was horrified that I’d actually fired at our—this—man. And I was horrified that the bullet hadn’t so much as scratched his skin.
I glanced down and noted his erection was even bigger than before.
Maybe Wyatt hadn’t been set up to set me up. Maybe this guy was like the “Dopey” werelock of his pack, and that made him an easy target?
I fired again.
My she-wolf howled in protest. I pulled the trigger a third time.
I’d hit my target dead in the heart, as evidenced by the burnt hole I’d made in his shirt. But the man—superbeast—beneath was perfectly fine. He reached up and fingered the hole, his glowing eyes never leaving my face. He ceased gaping and an indulgent, lopsided grin stretched his luscious mouth.
Then he chuckled—a rich, masculine sound that caused pure feminine need to pool between my thighs.
He whipped his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Fuck, that chest.
Those abs!
I didn’t even try not to look. I openly ogled him—my sex pulsing to life against the seam of my jeans.
He took a step toward me. A step that was made awkward by the fact that his jeans were around his ankles. He glanced down briefly, taking note of the issue. A second later, his pants were gone. Vanished.
Fuck. He was one hundred percent for sure a werelock.
A dead-sexy, one hundred percent naked werelock with a massive erection.
That curved.
The right way.
There was a predatory gleam in his eyes as he took another step closer. But it was also playful. Scary. Yet fun—like he was daring me to do something.
Claim him, my she-wolf chanted.
Bite him.
Submit him.
I shook her aside. Kill him, I countered.
To my ever-loving shame, I actually bit my lip and winced the fourth time I pulled the trigger, aiming the barrel of my gun at his perfectly beautiful, flawless, naked chest. I had the worst sense that it had somehow hurt me more to pull that trigger than it had him.
I was right. This time, he groaned as the bullet bounced off of him and the casing clinked to the floor. It was a groan of pure pleasure. Of carnal lust.
“Fuuuck.” His bass spoke directly to my nether lips. “You. Are perfection.” His words caused my heart to flutter as they echoed softly off the tiled walls. The sound of his voice felt oddly familiar. Warm. Safe.
No.
Werelock, I reminded myself.
Not safe.
A cold sweat broke out over my skin. The gun had begun to shake in my hand. I steadied my arm and adjusted my aim. This was the craziest I’d felt since turning into a crazy Grimm’s Fairy Tale creature a decade ago.
He kept talking, saying something about how beautiful I was and remarking on my mixed heritage. He may have asked a question, but I couldn’t be certain with the way the blood was pounding in my ears now. My ancestry had always intrigued and stumped everyone.
He seemed so genuinely enthralled, his eyes moving over my face as if cataloguing every tiny detail. There was a dazed intensity to his gaze that was throwing me off kilter—making me feel sensations in places I shouldn’t have, calling forth emotions that were foreign.
Conjuring feelings that were supposed to be dead.
“Stop.” My mouth began to work. “Mistake.” And not very well. “Wrong bathroom—I mean—bar …”
What was I saying? Why was I out of breath?
He kept coming.
Why did he have to smell so damn good?
I swallowed. He was almost directly in front of me. And I was just standing there. Doing nothing. I felt my heart rate spike, and I caught the scent of my own fear—something I rarely gave off anymore.
Suddenly, he stopped. His head tilted and his nostrils flared. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He frowned. His wolf eyes glowed a shade brighter.
Crap. He’d likely caught onto my nonexistent scent.
Another swift move and he’d placed himself at arm’s length, allowing the silencer extending from the barrel of my gun to press against the impenetrable muscle of his chest, directly over his heart—as if the weapon wasn’t in any way a threat.
It wasn’t, I guess.
“I’d never hurt you.” He spoke as if the very notion were anathema to him.
Huh?
He pressed himself closer, crowding me against the door and forcing my arm holding the gun to bend at the elbow and retract. But not before I’d fired another bullet … straight at his heart.
As before, it did nothing to injure him. But his eyes widened and his frown deepened.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Huge warm palms were suddenly framing my face. Heat washed over me at his touch, battling the cold fear that had me in its embarrassing grip.
What the—? Had he … apologized?
After I’d shot him?
He gently tipped my face up to his, his fingertips caressing my jawline in a manner that managed to feel at once familiar and reverent. It was as if he’d touched me like this a million times before. As if he cupped my face in his hands daily and still somehow it was the most important thing he did in any given day.
He leaned in, slanting his lower body away from me—his massive erection standing at attention between us. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sure enough, his mouth was moving. He was speaking to me. Apologizing. For scaring me. Saying something about how he would never harm me. I had difficulty processing his words as the scent of his precum assailed me.
Mine.
I felt my backpack strap slip from my fingers. Vaguely, I registered the sound of it hitting tile floor below. The mad pounding in my ears was nearly deafening, but I could’ve sworn I heard him reassure me that he wasn’t going to take my gun away as long as I kept it aimed at him.
“I’ll have to take it from you if it looks lik
e you might hurt yourself,” he explained.
What?
Hurt myself?
His casual slight—the inference that I was ill-equipped to handle my own firearm—was enough to raise my human hackles, if not my she-wolf’s, momentarily jarring me from the mesmerizing effect he was having on me.
“I’m a crack shot.”
One corner of his mouth lifted at my proclamation, and the most annoyingly adorable twinkle lit his eyes. Smiling eyes. Great. He was one of those. The kind who managed to look like they were laughing at the world, seeing humor everywhere they went—delighting in some never-ending private witticism. The confident type who rejoiced uninhibitedly regardless of whether anyone else in the room got the joke. Not our type, I projected to my excited inner wolf.
“I believe it. You haven’t missed me yet. But I’d feel better if you pointed the gun at my head,” he told me with a wink.
An actual. Fucking. Wink.
I was so gobsmacked I didn’t resist as one of his hands traveled from my face down to the wrist of my hand that held the gun between us and brought it up alongside his head.
“If I do anything you don’t like, just shoot, all right?” He repositioned my aim so that the end of the silencer was pressing against his temple.
That settled it. He was for sure the Dopey of his pack.
“You make the funniest faces,” he observed with a giddy, boyish chuckle. His hand returned to my face, his long fingers slipping into the hair behind my ear to rub away at my eroding common sense. I realized he’d removed my beanie at some point.
“Fuck, this is just like my dad said it’d be. But nothing like I ever imagined.” He bit his smiling lip. “He would’ve liked you. My mom would’ve loved the fact that you shot me straight out of the gate.”
I couldn’t follow his crazy talk. Yet I felt an inexplicable tightness in my throat at his words. Maybe because he sounded so sincere. He even smelled sincere.
Or maybe it was because I couldn’t remember when anyone had ever looked at me with quite so goofy-happy an expression. Certainly not at first sight, and not anyone who looked and smelled so good. The man was just so … incredibly … fuckable.
But not our type, I reminded my wolf.
“Have to get going,” I mumbled, evidently at a loss for more intelligent speech. My voice came out breathy again, too. Not at all convincing.
He nodded. “’Course.” His face inched closer. “Whatever you want.” His tongue swept his bottom lip as his heavy-lidded gaze fell to my own lips.
My God. He was seriously going to fucking kiss me. After I’d just shot five bullets into his chest.
“May I?” he asked faintly as his mouth descended.
Slow and tentative as they first brushed back and forth, his full lips felt soft against mine. Sweet. It might’ve been the most innocent kiss anyone had ever given me. Definitely not what I had expected, given how turned on I knew he was.
Oh, hell. This was ridiculous.
I drew his lower lip into my mouth and bit it.
I swallowed his groan of surprise as my mouth attacked his, my tongue dipping inside to taste the powerful male essence that had been taunting me. And fuck, was it heady stuff.
When I sucked his tongue into my mouth, all bets were off. His lips became firm and demanding. His tongue assumed control, stroking deeply as his hands found my breasts … my ass … the juncture of my legs.
I reveled in his touch, pushing my breasts up against him, grinding my center into his palm when he cupped me between my thighs.
“May I?” he murmured thickly as his fingers made quick work of the clasp and fly of my jeans.
I didn’t say no. Didn’t protest. Not even when I felt his big hand wedge its way down the front of my jeans and slip inside my undies as he announced, “Need to touch you, okay?”
In fact, I was so far gone I think I nodded—even as I gripped the butt of my gun tighter and steadied the aim of the barrel pressed to his head.
Alcaeus
She was wet.
Thank fate and all that was holy, my fingers found a dripping wet, hot heaven as they glided down between my mate’s smooth lips. Oh, fuuuck.
Mine.
Slow, I ordered my wolf. Gentle, I told him.
Remember to ask her name soon, I reminded myself.
I focused on her panted breaths, on the sound of her heartbeat, and on the scent I’d waited my whole life to inhale.
My mate was a werewolf, not a werelock. This made her more fragile. I had to remember that—especially with a gun still in her hand. She also smelled quite young in werewolf years. Young and confused. I wasn’t sure if she understood the meaning of what had happened between us. She’d clearly felt something, though. She’d been startled enough to shoot me. Five times.
She was definitely into me. And absolutely adorable. Gorgeous. Dark and exotic—the most exquisite combination of beautiful races.
“Oh, God,” she moaned as my thumb rolled over her slippery, swollen nub and my middle finger sank inside her.
My balls tightened painfully and my teeth raked down the side of her neck, even as I forced myself to go slow—slower than I sensed we both wanted. My dick jerked, leaking more precum. I’d never felt so desperate to bury myself inside a woman before.
Because this was no mere woman. She was my woman.
My mate.
My mate who was rolling her hips into my hand, riding my thumb and finger with increasing abandon. I fed her another digit, murmuring words of nonsense and encouragement as her tight, wet sheath stretched to accommodate me, contracting and squeezing around my fingers. Fuck, she was perfection.
“This okay?” I checked again for good measure.
“Just get my jeans off already.” Her free hand scratched down my flank to settle on my ass.
Jesus. I’d won the mating lottery. My composure unraveling, I withdrew my fingers and tugged so hard that I shredded her jeans and panties from her.
“Shit,” she exclaimed, her gold-flecked brown eyes wide with alarm as she pulled her mouth from mine. “My jeans.”
“I’ll get you new ones.”
Damn. She looked like she might be pissed.
To reassure her and recover the mood, I conjured jeans for her. Her eyes widened further before flying down to take inventory of the new pair of form-fitting jeans now hugging her luscious curves.
“See?” I said. “Nothing to worry about.”
I wasted no time in shredding the second pair as her mouth attacked mine once more. But when I gripped the hem of her tank top, her heart rate spiked and she pulled away again.
“No.” Her hand that’d been groping my ass cheek flew to my wrist. “Not the top.”
I couldn’t decipher the look of apprehension I glimpsed in her eyes. Maybe it was a favorite shirt? Possibly sentimental.
I nodded. “I’ll be careful taking it off, okay? I won’t rip it. Promise.”
“No,” she growled, her eyes glowing a defiant yellow that was so hot on her I almost blew my load right then. “It stays on.”
I paused. Swallowed. I would find and kill whoever had made her feel self-conscious about her breasts. “I swear to you, your breasts are the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And I’ve lived a very long time.”
Her dry laughter came out sounding like a mini choking fit. “You know? You know this without seeing them?”
“Yes. Everything about you is perfect.”
She gave me a measuring look. “You’re serious.”
“’Course I am. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Her brow furrowed and a lost, faraway expression eclipsed her features. She bit her lip and broke eye contact. “I—I have to go—”
“We’ll keep the tank top on,” I interjected, fisting her hair and reclaiming her mouth before she could continue with whatever train of thought had made her look so sad.
Half-naked was fine for now. We’d deal with her body image issues later, I assured my w
olf. It was more important to appreciate the fact that she’d given us access to her lower half. Because fuck—that tight pussy.
That ass!
Wedging my knee between her naked, shapely limbs, I palmed her rear, pulling her into me so that she straddled my upper thigh.
High, tight, and more than generous in size, her ass was everything a man could ever hope for and more. It was the stuff of wet dreams. And I was going to worship it until the end of my days.
Starting now.
I could scarcely breathe just contemplating how gorgeous the view would be when I sank into her from behind. And then she began riding my thigh that she was straddling. Grinding her wet, hot box into me.
I needed inside of her. Now.
Slow, I reminded myself.
Name. I needed her name.
I broke our lip-lock. “I’m Alcaeus,” I introduced. “Your name?”
There was little hope of me recovering any social finesse at this point. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind.
“I need this”—her slim fingers wrapped around my dick, squeezing lightly—“inside me.”
I groaned and nipped her jaw, nearly blacking out with the effort it took not to come all over her like a twelve-year-old boy.
With superhuman willpower, I made myself pull her hand away. I pushed my thigh higher into her, pressing her up against the door, and drew my head far enough back to look her in the eyes. “Name, sweetheart.” I said it with authority this time—as much as I was capable of with my heart and my balls in her hand. “Tell me your name.”
She leaned in and tongued my throat. “Mmm, put that big, veiny perfection inside me and I’ll sing it.”
Aw, shit. I always knew the ancestors favored me. They’d just done a poor job of showing it until now. But this extraordinary woman—this mate of mine—she more than made up for every perceived slight and bad turn of fate I’d ever been dealt in life.
“You’re worth the crazy long wait. Don’t want to rush it. Don’t want to take advantage, honey.” The words sounded witless falling from my mouth.
She must’ve thought so, too, because she giggled breathlessly—the sweetest sound. “Take advantage? I’ve got a gun pointed at your head, and I just told you to put your cock in me.”