In the meantime…
She set the paper aside, ignored the urge to dive into the pint of Cherry Garcia stashed in her portable fridge in the back, and turned to her one and only paying customer for the day.
She gave Ulysses her most persuasive smile. “How’d you like a paraffin foot wax to go with that facial?”
2
MATT KELLER HAD SEEN some freaky shit in his lifetime. Particularly at midnight during a full moon. But this was early in the evening, weeks away from the big M.
He stared down at the huge hard-on and blinked, half-expecting the sucker to whither right before his eyes. Instead, it twitched and throbbed. He shook his head.
Not that he’d never had a hard-on before, or one as sizeable as the ten solid inches staring back at him. Damn straight he’d had one. Plenty, in fact. He loved women, and they certainly loved him. They couldn’t help themselves. It was Darwin’s theory at its most basic.
As a werewolf, he was the quintessential alpha male. Strong, virile, primitive. Women sensed all three and flocked to him. It was the one and only saving grace in an otherwise cursed life.
Or it had been.
But at thirty years old, Matt had grown tired of the endless stream of women. He was sick of one-night stands. Tired of the constant variety. He wanted a real relationship.
He wanted a mate.
That’s why he’d come to Skull Creek in the first place. Because he’d met Viviana Darland while investigating a murder case up in Washington state, and he’d known in his gut that she was more than an ordinary human.
She’d been more, all right. She’d been a vampire.
He touched the two prickpoints at his neck. He still couldn’t believe it. A vampire. Talk about freaky.
Then again, he sprouted a snout and fur at that certain time of the month and so he wasn’t one to argue impossibilities.
He closed his eyes as the past few weeks closed in on him. A week ago, he’d left his position as sheriff of a small Washington town to chase Viv all the way to Texas. He’d been convinced she was The One his parents—both full blooded werewolves—had told him about when he’d turned twenty-one. He could still hear his father’s voice.
“For every male of our kind, there is a female. It’s just a matter of finding her, son. The minute you do, you’ll know it.”
“That’s right,” his mother had added. “She’ll fill your head. Your heart. And just like that, you’ll know. You’ll forget every other woman but her.”
At the time of the revelation, he’d been young and horny and more interested in having a good time than finding his one and only. But over the years, he’d started to feel the loneliness of being “different.” A few years ago, he’d finally grown tired of the nameless faces. The constant variety. The meaningless one-nighters. He’d been looking for his mate ever since.
And then he’d met Viv.
He’d known at first glance that she was different. He just hadn’t realized how different until he’d stumbled on a handful of vampires and a world of trouble. Vampire Viv, it turned out, had been fleeing two vengeful bloodsuckers, and Matt had found himself caught in the middle of their struggle. He’d been bitten by one of Viv’s attackers.
He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of fangs piercing his neck, the draw on his vein and then the nothingness as he’d collapsed onto the motel room floor.
Unconscious, but not dead.
Not even close.
He’d opened his eyes a short while later to find the struggle over. Viv and Garret—the vampire in love with her—had defeated the enemy vamps. They were both alive and well, and so was Matt. Despite passing out, he’d felt as strong as ever. Stronger, in fact. Alive. And hard.
That had been six days ago. One hundred forty-four hours, twenty-eight minutes and counting. And he was still hard.
He’d checked out of the motel and leased a two-story log cabin just outside of town. The house sat atop a large hill surrounded by sixty-three acres of trees and rolling pasture. It wasn’t anywhere close to his spread up in Washington—a five-hundred-acre mountain ranch he’d inherited from his folks when they’d died in a Cessna crash two years ago—but it would afford him enough privacy to sort things out and come to terms with what had happened to him before he resumed his search for his mate.
He glanced down at his erection. Correction—with what was now happening to him.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later, he stepped into an ice-cold shower. His skin shriveled, but the Incredible Hulk didn’t lose an inch of temper.
Ditto when he opened the refrigerator door a half hour later and let the cold air blast over his naked body. His teeth chattered. His nipples puckered. Even his toes shrank.
But his dick? Nothing. Not even a friggin’ shiver.
Desperation rolled through him and he rummaged under the sink for a large mixing bowl. Retrieving several trays from the freezer, he dumped ice cubes into the container. Mustering his courage, he shoved his throbbing cock inside. The tender skin around his penis froze on contact, his balls pulled back and he ground his teeth together.
Holymotherfriggin’sonofagoddamnbitch—
He yanked free and relief swamped him. A feeling that lasted all of two seconds. Until he glanced down to see Super Cock.
He stroked the rigid skin from root to tip and a burst of need went through him. Hunger stirred, urging him on and it was all he could do to pull away. But he did because he knew no amount of jacking off would help.
Been there. Done that.
He’d spent the past six days eating, sleeping and jacking off.
And streaking buck-naked through town.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what had happened Friday night. One minute he’d been laying in bed, fantasizing about a hot little blonde he’d spotted in town that day, and the next, he’d been buck naked, hairy and sprinting down main street. Luckily it had been midnight in a map-dot that rolled up the sidewalks at sundown.
Or so he’d thought.
But then he’d opened the local paper the next morning to discover that someone with a camera had been burning the midnight oil. Matt had made the front page, along with the caption Wolfman? Pervert? Or is Halloween Starting Early This Year?
He was sure most people would vote for the pervert or Halloween possibilities. Nobody in their right mind would suspect the real truth—that he was a normal, sane, self-respecting werewolf who’d had his world rocked by a vampire bite. They would think the new guy in town was playing some sort of practical joke. At least for a little while. Long enough for him to come up with a plausible explanation, something like “he was president of the National Society of Transvestite Streakers” or “he’d ordered a super-charged hair growth shampoo off the QVC.”
Until then, it was a matter of getting his damned body back under control.
Anxiety rushed through him and he was just about to go for another ice dunk when he heard a car engine and caught the faint scent of exhaust. He moved at the speed of light, pulling on a pair of jeans and hauling open the front door.
But there was nothing there. No car coming up his drive. No townspeople coming to lynch him. Nothing but the quarter moon suspended in a star-studded sky. A cluster of surrounding trees. And the sounds.
The buzz of crickets. The flutter of an owl’s wings. The faint scrape of deer antlers on a distant tree. The rustle of a raccoon as it dug through the trash.
In the nearest trash can, which was a full mile up the road.
His senses, already unusually heightened because of his DNA, were jacked up even more. He sniffed and the sweet smell of warm peach pie spiraled through his head. His stomach grumbled and he drank in another deep breath. And another.
Tires squealed and gravel crunched and he knew someone was coming. He moved toward the trees and faded into the surrounding forest as lights flashed and a car pulled into view.
His view, that is. He saw the sp
rinkle of lights through the trees and heard the sounds even though the car was still a good distance away. A full minute ticked by and the sounds magnified, along with the glimmer of lights, the scent of peach pie and the smell of something else.
Something much more rich and potent.
Something infinitely female.
He sniffed, drinking in the scent as a faded BMW came to a rolling stop in front of the cabin. The lights dimmed. The door creaked and pushed open and out stepped his fantasy woman.
It was her, all right. Same long, thick hair and voluptuous breasts barely contained beneath a white T-shirt that read Booty Call.
He blinked. Wait a second. Make that Beauty Call.
He shifted his stance. His erection strained against the denim and his gut ached. The warm scent of peach pie grew stronger. His nostrils flared and his mouth watered. It was all he could do to keep his distance. He’d spent a lot of time fantasizing about her, since he’d first spotted her, in fact.
Not because he felt drawn to her on an emotional level, as his father had predicted. She was human and, therefore, out of the running for mate-of-the-year.
It was purely physical.
He’d been celibate for the past year since vowing to find his mate and she was sexier than hell. And so it had simply been lust at first sight.
He held his ground as the crunch of grass echoed in his head. She was heading for his front porch, her curvaceous ass outlined by a snug pair of jeans. Her bottom swayed slightly as she walked, an enticing motion that made him swallow. Hard.
A faint clink and a softly muttered “darn it” pushed past the frantic pounding of his heart as she dropped her keys. A strong, sharp aroma joined the warm, sweet smell of peaches.
She was nervous. Scared, even.
Desperate.
That truth became evident as she retrieved her keys, pulled back her shoulders and mounted the porch steps even though it was obvious she didn’t want to be there. Still, she balled her fist and knocked on the door. Once. Twice. A third time.
Finally, she turned, her gaze scanning the trees that surrounded the clearing. She stopped when she reached him, as if she could see through the darkness to the place where he stood watching her.
She couldn’t. He knew that. Yet, as he stared at her, into her aqua colored eyes, he felt as if she saw him as clearly, as distinctly as he saw her.
What the hell?
The question echoed in his head along with her stats. Her name was Shay Briggs and she needed his help. He wasn’t sure how he knew, he just did. She ran the local spa specializing in facials and innovative beauty treatments. She was a once-upon-a-time pageant winner who’d recently been humiliated by her asshole of a boyfriend. She was still hurt, but she’d channeled the pain into something productive. Anger. Determination. Which was why she’d made the drive from town.
She’d seen the front page news like everyone else. But instead of writing him off as a practical joker or, worse, a lunatic, she’d taken the picture seriously. She’d bought into the sudden hair growth and now she wanted his help.
She turned back to the door, killing the endless string of information he’d picked up from her gaze.
He closed his eyes and tried to digest this newest revelation. He’d read her thoughts. He’d read her friggin’ thoughts.
Sure, he’d always been able to sense things. He was a werewolf, for Christ’s sake. He could smell fear. Taste despair. Pick up on the tiniest rush of excitement.
When he’d spotted her in town, he’d sensed her longing right away. He’d seen the glimmer of excitement in her gaze when she’d looked at him. Felt the push-pull when she’d forced herself to turn away because she obviously hadn’t wanted to be attracted to him anymore than he’d wanted to be attracted to her. He’d even smelled her disappointment, as potent as his own, as she’d climbed into her car and driven away.
But those were emotions, not thoughts. He’d never been able to read anyone’s mind.
Before he could dwell on the notion, Shay knocked on his door again. Her ass swayed ever so slightly, drawing his full and undivided attention.
An image popped into his head. The two of them on the front porch. His hands on her bottom and her legs up around his waist. His cock plunging fast and sure and deep into her hot, voluptuous body.
His groin throbbed mercilessly and he knew then that no amount of cold showers or hand-jobs would get him out of this stiff fix. He needed a real woman for that.
The woman standing on his front porch.
The thought struck and another visual rushed at him—the two of them on the king-sized bed inside. Her legs spread and his hips pumping between them. Her arms around his neck and his mouth on her breast. Her nipple straining against his tongue and her body arching into him. His fangs sinking deep and her blood rushing into his mouth—
Wait a second.
Wait just a friggin’ second.
Blood?
He was a werewolf. He howled at the full moon, ordered his steaks rare and, once upon a time, he’d had wild, primitive sex with whichever hottie had vied for his attention. But he’d never sank his teeth into any of them. Sure, the smell of blood turned him on and stirred his baser instincts, but he’d never drank the stuff.
The world seemed to fall away in those next few seconds. The normal night sounds faded and his super-charged vision narrowed until the only thing he became aware of was the female standing on his porch.
An awareness that went deeper than her lush body.
The beat of her heart thundered through his head. His gaze fixated on the thrum of her pulse at the base of her neck. The scent of her blood—so warm and ripe and musky—teased his nostrils. A shudder ripped through him.
What the hell was happening to him?
Even as the question struck, he knew.
The vampire bite.
That’s why he was so hard, so lusty, so hungry—for sex and more.
Luckily, they were cravings he could easily satisfy. She was right there, filling up his vision, consuming his senses. And she needed him. Just as much as he needed her.
3
“MATT?” SHAY CALLED OUT as she rapped on the door again. “Matt Keller? Are you in there?”
“Actually—” the deep seductive voice slid into her ears and brought her whirling around “—I’m out here.”
“Geez, you scared the pants off me.” She drew in a deep, calming breath and tried to steady the sudden pounding of her heart.
A useless effort, she quickly realized, as her gaze drank in the man standing behind her.
He had bright green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, strong cheekbones and a scar that zig-zagged its way across his left temple. Stubble shadowed his prominent jaw and surrounded his sensuous mouth. A corded, muscular neck led to a pair of broad shoulders. An intricate slave band tattoo encircled one massive biceps, making him seem even more primitive. Dark, silky hair sprinkled his muscular chest from one flat brown nipple to the next before funneling to a narrow line that bisected his six-pack abs. The top button of his jeans hung undone, the faded denim cupping his crotch and hugging his sinewy thighs. A frayed hem brushed the tops of his long, bare feet.
“Liar, liar,” he murmured, his deep voice drawing her attention back to his face. His green eyes glittered hot and bright and her hormones snapped to immediate attention.
“Excuse me?”
“Your pants, sugar. They’re still present and accounted for.” His mouth crooked into a grin. “A real shame.”
Her nipples tingled and awareness zipped up and down her spine. “What are you doing out here?” she blurted, eager to ignore the sexual energy that radiated from his hot, hunky body.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?”
“My name is Shay Briggs. I own Skin Deep. It’s a full-service salon specializing in facials and full body beauty treatments. I, um—” she licked her bottom lip and tried to ignore the way his mouth seemed to follow the motion “—saw the
paper and I was hoping that you might help me out.” Her gaze touched on his short, dark hair and her small balloon of hope went popppp! “I should have known it was a bogus picture. You were wearing a wig, weren’t you?”
Indecision flashed in his gaze a split-second before it faded into pure, sparkling green. “No wig.”
“It had to be.”
“Why is that?”
“Because your hair is short now.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I cut it.”
“It was short on the day of the picture. There’s no way you could have grown ten inches in less than ten hours.”
“Trust me, sugar. I can grow ten inches in less than ten seconds.” The sexy crook of his mouth sent tiny butterflies dancing in her stomach.
“I’m talking about hair.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” His grin widened and her thighs trembled. She’d wanted men before, but her reaction had never been this fast or this fierce.
Because he’s different.
The moment the thought landed in her head, she drop-kicked it back out. Matt Keller was every man she’d ever fallen for in the past—tall, dark, dangerously good-looking and with one thing on his mind.
She stiffened and gathered her control. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” She went to move past him. “I’ll just get out of here—”
“It was real.”
She whirled. “What?”
Yeah what? The thought echoed through Matt’s head as the words tumbled from his lips. “My hair. It was the real deal. One minute it was short and the next thing I knew, it was long.”
“But how is that possible?”
Because I’m a werewolf. The truth was there, so close to the surface that it surprised him. He’d never before had the urge to tell his secret. And he’d certainly never had the urge to confess to a stranger.
“And just like that, you’ll know.”
His father’s voice echoed in his head, but he ignored it. His old man had been talking about a female werewolf, not a human.
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 56