by Kate Douglas
“But you know what you feel,” he told her.
His hands were still wrapped securely around her waist as they now stood face-to-face, so that she was a lot closer to this man she didn’t know than she figured she should be.
“You know that you feel better in my arms,” he continued.
“Can you say ‘conceited’?” she asked with an arched brow.
He shook his head. “No. But I can say ‘relief.’ That’s what I see in your eyes. You were sick before I came in. I could hear you all the way downstairs. I picked up your scent a couple miles back on the road. You’re still sick. It will last a few more weeks and then you’ll be all right. Different,” he said solemnly. “But all right.”
“You’re nuts,” she replied, but not with as much agitation as she should be feeling at this moment.
She did flatten her palms against his chest and attempt to push away. He held her firmly without any effort at all.
“If I let you go and walk out of here, you’ll likely be sick again. You need the closeness of a ly . . .”
His words trailed off and for the first time since he’d come into this room Marena thought he looked indecisive. Contemplative maybe. He was a good-looking—no, correct that, because Marena prided herself on being right the majority of the time—he was a damned fine-looking guy. Broad shoulders and what felt like biceps more commonly referred to as “cannons” beneath the leather jacket he wore. She’d glimpsed his slightly bowed legs in the leather pants and steel-toed boots. The light beard and medium-length spiky haircut he was sporting gave him a definite biker look—a dangerous biker from the looks of that scar. But there was more, she suspected, so much more to this stranger holding her so tightly in his arms.
“I don’t need you because I don’t know you,” she told him evenly. “Now, if you came in here because you were concerned that I was sick, I thank you very much. But really, I’m fine now.”
He looked down at her for another second or so. This meant he was tall, because Marena was five feet nine and a half inches. Yet this guy was looking down at her, almost as if she were no bigger than a nymph. And for all that she’d been declaring she didn’t need him and asking him to go, the second he released his hold on her she couldn’t help but stumble back a step.
His eyes stayed glued to her even as he backed away, heading toward the door, she thought. Good, he’d taken her advice. She was going to lock that door and try her best to push the dresser up against it the second he left. No way was she going to lie down in this bed with thoughts of another man making his way, unwantedly, into her room. No way was she—
The nausea came back so fast and so potent, her knees buckled and Marena went to the floor, leaning forward as her arm clutched her abdomen. As she heaved, pressure built at her temples once more, so intense this time that she felt like she might actually faint. She trembled with the effects, wondering what the hell was going on with her.
And then he touched her.
His hands to her arms again, then down her back and beneath her legs as he easily picked her up from the floor and carried her to the bed. He laid her down, one hand brushing away the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, while he watched her closely.
“I told you,” he said in a flat, deep voice. “You need me to stay close. It’s just the way it is in the beginning. In a few weeks it will pass.”
“In a few weeks? What the hell is wrong with me? And why you? I don’t even know your name. I don’t know what’s going on.” She whimpered at the thought that her stomach had calmed once again, her head feeling much better at his touch.
Marena hated not being in control of herself, her thoughts, her emotions. She’d worked too damned hard to get where she was to have some guy barge in here thinking she needed him to what? To live pain-free? This was crap and she was getting angry. But she’d never been a fool and she couldn’t deny that he’d spoken a bit of truth—she did feel much better with him standing so close and touching her.
“I will tell you everything you need to know, if you tell me one thing first,” he replied.
“What?” she asked. “What can I possibly tell you about the strangeness that has been going on in my life since that bastard barged into my room last night?”
His brow furrowed. “What bastard? And what did he do to you while he was in your room? Did he bite you?”
Bite?
Her shoulder ached at the sound of that word.
How did he know?
“Oh, my . . . no . . . no.” She was shaking her head, sound bites and news flashes sifting through her mind in seconds. Shape-shifters—cats, wolves, beasts. They were real. People had seen them, had worked with them. The stories were true, she knew this, and yet—
Marena opened her mouth with the intent to scream; instead, only one word broke free to be followed quickly by a pitiful moan: “No.”
Chapter 2
“You’re where? With whom?” Channing asked through the phone.
Phelan frowned, turning his back on the woman laying asleep in the center of the queen-sized bed.
“Just run the tag I gave you, Channing. Text me with the name and address ASAP,” was his testy response.
“If she’s been bitten you need to get her back here right away. She’s too dangerous right now to be left alone,” Channing warned.
The beta’s words were unnecessary, as Phelan had already taken that into consideration. He knew everything Channing did about new bloods, which was part of the reason he’d pulled his bike off the road behind her and followed her into this B and B.
Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Phelan let out a breath and said, “I know what I need to do. You just get the information I asked for and text me back right away!”
“I’m on it,” Channing said before disconnecting.
Phelan was pushing his phone back into his pocket thinking that Blaez and the others would know about this in another 2.4 seconds, because Channing wasn’t the best at keeping secrets. Not that this was something that should be kept from the others in any case.
With that thought in mind, Phelan turned to her again, wondering who she was and what had happened to put her in this place, in this condition, at this time. She was fast asleep, thanks to him, resting quietly for what he guessed was the first time since she’d been bitten. He was glad that at least he had been able to give her that.
As unbelievable as it might seem considering their current circumstances, there was an advantage to being a lycan who could not only walk in the human world but could also cross over to the Olympic realm.
That was Phelan’s gift, as it were. Some lycans had extraordinary powers—for instance, Kira, Blaez’s mate, was a Selected. In addition to being specially chosen by Selene, the Moon Goddess, to marry a powerful alpha such as Blaez, Kira also had the power of sight. Using her sight, Kira could see snatches of things about to come, as well as things from the past. Phelan had learned of his gift early on in his life, when he’d inadvertently crossed the realms after a particularly angry episode with one of his teachers.
Since that time it had been a place of solace for Phelan, leaving the world where he was forced to conceal his true nature and living in hiding because one angry god wanted to kill the closest friend Phelan had ever had. In the past weeks, Phelan had gone to the Olympic realm more than he had in previous years because he wanted to find answers. There was a bounty out on Blaez’s head. Just a couple of months ago, a harpy had found them as they’d hunted the Solo on a cliff near the Blackfoot Mountains. Fortunately, Blaez was quick enough to shift into his full wolf form before the harpy saw him. Only the pack mates knew of Blaez’s half-lycan, half-demigod gift—and he was the only one of his kind. Phelan had recognized the harpy and knew that she also had connections to Eureka, which reinforced for him again that the fury who had come to be the bane of his existence was quite possibly a threat to his alpha and their pack. That was also the other reason Phelan continued to travel to Entice to see Eureka. What wa
s that old saying? “Keep your enemies close”?
Enter another woman. A new blood lycan female. The second Marena looked at him with knowledge and fear in her eyes, Phelan had offered her a glass of water. She’d accepted his offering, not knowing that he’d used some of the sleep-opium he’d received from Hypnos, the god of sleep. Phelan carried the small packet of powder with him as humans might carry their drug of choice. It was a crutch that Phelan wasn’t proud to have, but one that had saved him from lashing out and hurting others when the pain and disgust of his own past threatened to choke him. The glittering silver powder gave him rest in his personal world of turmoil; without it, he had no idea where he would be.
Now he watched her sleeping soundlessly, lying on her back, one arm draped over a pillow arching near her head. Her skin looked so soft, a color very similar to that of heavily creamed coffee. Her hair was like black silk, fanned out straight behind her. And her body . . . Phelan wasn’t going to even go there. He kept his gaze trained on her from the neck up, ignoring anything else he may have felt when he’d first walked into this room.
It had been like being led by a leash, he’d thought as he’d parked his bike behind the B and B and come inside. He’d had no idea who this woman was or what type of situation he may have been walking into, but he could not stop moving toward her. Had not been able to talk himself out of approaching and offering his help. That was the first thing that was out of character for him. Phelan was not the sociable type. He wasn’t a Good Samaritan by any stretch of the imagination. He was a lycan with an attitude, a loner who just so happened to belong to a pack, a trained killer who had no problem doing what he was taught to do without recriminations.
Despite his lycan genetics, Phelan was not a man easily aroused by a woman, and especially not a human, no matter what time of the month it was for him. He had strict control over his sexual hungers; that’s why he was able to sit at Club Entice night after night, not touching a single soul there but only watching, taking what he needed with his own hand. That happened by Phelan’s choice only. He was always in complete control.
That’s why his hand was reaching out now, cupping Marena’s large breast, watching as the mass spilled through his fingers. He groaned then, his breaths quick and shallow. She was arousing him. This woman who did not look anything like the women at the club or those Phelan had ever shown interest in was making his dick jump and harden by a simple touch. He squeezed her breast again. She did not move, but her lips did part slightly. Phelan stared at her face for endless seconds, her breast in his hand, as he watched and waited. He wanted to see her tongue, to watch it slip through her teeth to rub slowly over her lips. When it did he would suck it, which was a decision quickly made. He would suck her so hard into his mouth that she would have no choice but to moan. That sound would echo in his ears, spurring him on until he finally thrust his hard dick into her waiting pussy.
But her tongue never appeared.
With disappointment spearing through him, Phelan touched her other breast, looking down at his large hands. She was soft, overflowing his palms in pliant delight. He wondered if she awakened right at this moment what she would do. Would she readily accept his touch, moan with pleasure, spread her thick thighs, and welcome him inside? His body reacted one way, while his mind drifted in another. Phelan gritted his teeth in consternation.
Pulling his hands away from her begrudgingly, Phelan tried to get his mind right and focus on the matters at hand. The fact that this human had been bitten, by a lycan, to be exact. The look in Marena’s eyes just before Phelan had put her to sleep said she knew and she was afraid. Now what the hell was he supposed to do about that? And why was it his responsibility to deal with it in the first place?
He wasn’t the one who had first let the world know there were shifters on earth. That was the Shadow Shifters. And he wasn’t the one creating more lycans. That was Channing and Malec, and a good number of Hunter lycans with the notion of ruling the world, or on some other stupid power trip like that. But he was the one who had found her; he had listened to her through that partially opened door, attempting to rid her body of the animal toxins that were at this very moment infiltrating every cell in her body. How could he leave her here to figure this out on her own? The answer was that he couldn’t.
Just as he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Reaching out once more, Phelan touched her inner thighs, feeling even through the denim material how soft and pliable her skin would be here. The feeling along with the thought had him shaking. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as the soft musk and floral scent that was uniquely hers wafted up and into his senses. It was intoxicating and had his mouth watering, so much so he couldn’t resist running his fingers over the crotch of her jeans. Any other man would not have picked up this aroma, would not have known it meant how sweet she was beneath those jeans and her underwear. But Phelan was no other man. He was a lycan. A lycan who was horny as hell and wanted to fuck this new blood he’d just met more than he wanted to take his next breath.
He was just about to inhale that blissful aroma once more when the pain striking his right jaw sent him sprawling back onto the bed with surprise.
* * *
Not this time!
Marena’s mind had screamed the moment she felt his hands between her legs. Davis wasn’t going to force her to have sex with him, not if she had anything to say about it!
He’d been right there, in her room again, walking toward her with that smirk on his face, blood seeping through the white dress shirt he’d worn. The blood wasn’t the only thing different this time, Davis’s eyes were glowing a fierce shade of blue and his teeth were elongated, sharp, and deadly looking. He’d continued to come closer to her, no matter how many times Marena had warned him to stay away.
She had the gun in her hand again, just like the first time, and she lifted her arm, aiming at him once more, only this time there had been no bullets. He’d laughed as he reached for her, long dark nails scraping against her arms. Even as she screamed he’d slid his hands over her, cupping her breasts so tightly she felt those nails breaking into her skin. When those same hands moved to rub between her legs, it was enough! All the flailing and slapping at him she’d been doing up to this point hadn’t done a damned thing. Resorting to last measures, Marena had balled up her fist and smashed it into his face. He’d been so intent on feeling her up that he hadn’t even seen it coming. And when he’d howled in pain, falling back from her, she’d pounced.
Straddling him, she punched and swung repeatedly. “Bastard!” she screamed. “Fucking arrogant, disgusting bastard!”
He’d caught her by the wrists at some point, moving so fast and switching places so easily she hadn’t time to spew any other insults.
“Stop it!” he was yelling at her. “Wake up, dammit!”
Marena screamed again, kicking and bucking her body up off the bed in an attempt to break his hold on her.
“Get off of me!”
“Wake up!” he yelled, his face extremely close to hers.
She didn’t stop screaming, couldn’t find the OFF switch in her mind. He was strong and there was no way she could break free, but that didn’t mean she had to let him take her. She wouldn’t give in; she never had in her life and she wasn’t about to start now.
Until his face contorted, his forehead enlarging, hair growing quickly down the sides of his face, teeth elongating as he opened his mouth and roared at her. Her mouth snapped shut so fast she almost bit her tongue, heart thumping so wildly and loudly that Marena thought for sure it was close to ripping right through her chest.
Suddenly she realized something was off here. Something other than the animallike face staring angrily down at her.
She wasn’t wearing a dress that displayed her ample cleavage and thick, shapely calves. And he wasn’t bleeding; at least she didn’t think he was through the black long-sleeved shirt he wore like a second skin. This wasn’t Davis and she wasn’t being attacked. Or
was she?
“Get off of me,” she said slowly, sternly.
And he did, moving with deliberate motions.
She watched him move, his body as lithe as if he weighed no more than a hundred pounds even though she could tell from the size of his biceps and his chest that he was quite possibly double that weight. His waist narrowed, his shirt tucked into those leather pants neatly. At his sides his hands were large, with long, sharp nails, just as she’d thought Davis’s had been in her dream.
But that had been just a dream; she was certain of that now as she sat up on the bed. Davis hadn’t stood in front of her bleeding, continuing to attack her. The last time she’d seen him he’d been lying on the floor in the hotel room, bloodstains blossoming on his shirt from the gunshot wounds. She felt more in control this way and looked at the new guy directly.
Now she slid off the edge of the bed until she could stand.
“Who are you?” she asked. Not “What are you?” as she’d really been thinking.
He shook his head then, hard, as if he were—for lack of a better word—some type of animal, and in seconds the vicious face had settled into the very handsome one of the guy with the intense green eyes and black hair who had come into her room unannounced.
“My name is Phelan and I’m a lycan,” he said as calmly as if he were stating his name and Social Security number for a job interview.
“A lycan?” she echoed.
“Yes,” he replied. “A man cursed by a Greek god to have wolf traits.”
Now Marena wanted to shake her head the way he had moments before, to make sure she’d heard him correctly. The reports were true; there were other beings walking the earth. She’d watched the news reports, seen a glimpse of what looked like normal big cats but were reported to actually look like humans. She frowned then because she’d never heard mention of any lycans.
“What are you doing here? Why haven’t you gone by now? I’m not going to have sex with you,” she told him, feeling a bit of déjà vu from the night she’d told Davis the same thing.