Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate For A Month

by Georgette St. Clair

  Naked. Apparently he slept naked.

  Behind him, she could see a pile of broken wood.

  “What’s up with the broken furniture?” she asked as he stretched and yawned. Despite the air’s chill, she felt a familiar warmth sweep over her as she tried, and failed, not to look at his naked body.

  “What’s up with pounding on the door at three a.m.?” he growled in response, ignoring her question.

  Do not look down, do not look down… Damn it, she’d looked down. He was semi-erect, and his thick cock jutted from a nest of dark curls, jabbing at the sky. She felt arousal sizzling through her body, and swallowed hard.

  She wrenched her gaze away and looked him in the eye. “Chelsea just called. Verity is on her way up here.”

  “What?” His eyes blazed with rage as he stormed out of the door. “In the middle of the night? You have got to be kidding me. This is bullshit. When she gets here, I am going to tear her in half. I swear to God—”

  “No,” she said quickly. She glanced at the road; no sign of Verity yet. She couldn’t let Marcus physically assault Verity, no matter how much Verity deserved it.

  She took a step closer to him. “Look. We told her we like to do it outside. When she gets here, let’s be ready. Right outside the door. We’ll be making out, she’ll get what she came for, and tomorrow we can file a protest with the council, because seriously, three a.m.? I need my beauty sleep.”

  Marcus nodded abruptly. “Hold on,” he said.

  He went back to the cabin and grabbed a blanket, which he spread carefully on the frost-rimed ground. Eileen wasn’t sure whether her breathlessness was from the sharpness of the night air or excitement as she stripped off her cozy pajamas and allowed the breeze to nip at her skin, raising goose bumps.

  Marcus caught her eye as she started to fold the flannel top, and she grinned self-consciously and dropped it to the ground by the blanket.

  We’re supposed to be getting caught in the throes of passion, she reminded herself.

  She settled onto the blanket and shivered again as Marcus kneeled beside her, not from the night’s chill this time but from the heat radiating from his big, male body. They gazed at each other for a moment, and then Marcus reached out and gripped her shoulders gently in his large, rough-skinned hands.

  He made her feel delicate, almost fragile in comparison to his size and strength, but she wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of him. Whatever he might think about himself, he made her feel safe. He leaned towards her slowly, his gaze fixed on her lips, his movements steady and careful as if she might startle and run. It was such a strange contrast to his usual gruff, curt manner that it made her heart hurt a little.

  Then his mouth was on hers, slowly exploring. His lips were warm and firm and assured, and her lips parted on a sigh to allow him access. His tongue slid against hers and she gave a little whimper as a thrill shivered down to her core. She wrapped her arms around his strong neck and heard him give a low, impassioned growl as he slid his hands down her spine then wrapped his muscular arms around her waist.

  The kiss deepened, growing more intense, and suddenly they were clutching at each other, lost in the moment. All thoughts of Verity fled Eileen’s head and she was conscious of nothing but the thundering of her heart and the closeness of Marcus’s big, hard body as he lifted her against him, allowing her to straddle him. She ran her hands over the peach fuzz of his close-cropped hair, enjoying its texture under her fingers. Marcus placed soft kisses over her cheek and jaw, then took her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently. She moaned as she felt wetness between her thighs, suddenly aware of the rigid length of his erection against her. He was huge and hard, and she wanted him inside her so badly she could hardly catch her breath.

  As he kissed her neck, licking and sucking, she writhed against him, enjoying the friction of his cock against her slick pussy lips and reveling in the hitch in his breathing and the way his fingers dug into her flesh.

  She ran her fingers down his sides, feeling the tension of his muscles under his hot skin, exploring the ropey texture of the scars that marred its smooth perfection. They didn’t matter to her; they were merely a reflection of the scars that had been left on his soul by whatever dark, brutal secrets his past held.

  Marcus gasped and shuddered as she took his cock in her hand, raising herself slightly so she could work the weeping tip against her tight, slick opening. She worked her hips fractionally, allowing him to barely enter her, his girth beginning to stretch her as she allowed him access millimeter by excruciating millimeter.

  “Oh God…” Marcus’s voice was a tortured groan and he squeezed her buttocks, massaging the taut globes. He allowed his head to fall back and she could see the strain on his face as he exercised painful self-control to keep from thrusting inside her. The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed and his breathing was ragged and desperate.

  Inch by inch, Eileen sank down, working his thick, throbbing length inside her until he was seated to the hilt in her heat and wetness. She stilled for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having him all the way inside her, clinging to him and trembling with the intensity of the sensation.

  Then, with his big hands on her hips and guiding her, she began to ride him, whimpering as a magnetic sensation began to coil inside her, building with each rise and fall of her hips, each answering thrust inside her.

  Despite the chill, sweat beaded their skin, and she could feel the deep, heavy thrum-thrum-thrum of Marcus’ heartbeat against hers as they gasped and moaned.

  She rode him fiercely, sweetly, and he responded in kind, rising up to meet her with rhythmic flexes of his hips until something broke inside her and she cried out, shattering into a million exquisite fragments, pulsating around him with a greedy clutching that pulled a long, helpless moan from him.

  He buried his face against the side of her neck, stifling his passion against her flesh, and he throbbed and released inside her, continuing to thrust as he emptied himself into her grasping pussy.

  Thighs trembling and weak, shivers of completion dancing over her skin, she collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily as he wrapped his big arms around her and held her close.

  * * * * *

  Eileen stood in Marcus’ cabin with the sheet wrapped around her, her phone pressed against her ear. The phone rang and rang.

  Finally Chelsea answered, her voice fuzzy.

  “Wuzzup? Wass wrong? Something on fire?”

  “I didn’t see Verity up here,” she said. “I mean, I was a little distracted, but...did she come up here and we didn’t notice?”

  “A little distracted?” Chelsea sounded way too perky all of a sudden. “How distracted? Was Marcus distracted also? He must have been, or you wouldn’t be asking me if Verity had come up there. So, you were both distracted. Together.”

  Eileen heard Roman groaning in the background. “Who’s calling? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right,” Chelsea said happily.

  “So? Is Verity coming? What’s up?” Eileen demanded.

  “Oh, Roman told her she can’t come here after midnight or before six a.m., and if she doesn’t like it she can complain to the council, so she left. Like, an hour ago, at least.”

  “She left an hour ago?” Eileen squawked in outrage. “You couldn’t have called up here when she left and said something?”

  “Yup. I could have,” Chelsea said smugly, and hung up the phone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday morning

  Eileen stood in the hallway outside the front door of her father’s office, sipping her coffee and scowling.

  Marcus was driving her insane.

  They’d had the most incredible sex of her life. And then – he’d done it again. Retreated like a turtle pulling into its shell. He’d gone to work Thursday, come home in a bad mood, and had hung on the outskirts of the crowd that evening as the pack ate dinner. Then he’d slept in his workshop. Alone.

  That morning, as s
he’d headed out, he’d handed her a barrette with a wooden rose glued to it, grunted “For you”, then headed off to work without another word.

  She hated how much she yearned for his tender side, his caresses, his hungry kisses. Maybe being at work would be a welcome distraction.

  Pennyroyal Industries was renting an office space in a new office building on Main Street, in downtown Silver Peak.

  There were half a dozen companies sharing the office building. All of them were businesses that capitalized on the new mineral springs.

  One of them was a company tapping into the underground springs, bottling the water and selling it at crazy high prices. A couple of them were building hotels and resorts for the endless stream of customers wanting to bathe in the springs. The others were home builders, providing housing, as the town’s population had quadrupled and looked likely to increase even more.

  Marisol poked her head out the door.

  “You can come in. Your father’s not here,” Marisol said.

  Eileen walked into the office. There was a mahogany desk and bookshelf, and a big oil painting of her father, standing stiff and glaring. A secretary sat behind the desk and flashed Eileen a look of annoyance – a look that Eileen knew all too well.

  Oh look, Daddy’s little girl is here to get in our way. Find something for her to do so she’ll stop annoying us by trying to help.

  “He went back to New York. You’ve got nothing to worry about. And look, Ambrose bought a few outfits at the boutique downtown, and they’re all coordinated for you! The shopping here’s not too terrible.” She made a face. “I mean, it’s no New York, but it’ll do until you come home. And then Beacham can help you pick out your clothing.”

  At Eileen’s look of annoyance, she added quickly, “Why don’t you go try them on?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Eileen said. She glanced down at her outfit. Was she fine? Probably not, but none of the pack members had exclaimed in horror when she’d headed out that morning.

  Ambrose looked hurt.

  “But he took so much time to put them together,” Marisol wheedled.

  “Maybe you could just hold the outfit up in front of a mirror and see if you want to wear it some other time.” Ambrose’s shoulders slumped and he looked glum.

  “Fine,” Eileen sighed. Ambrose was so sensitive. And she hated to hurt people’s feelings.

  She went into the bathroom and put on the outfit.

  And damn it, the outfit really did look better on her than the one she’d picked out. Much better. He’d selected a black velvet tuxedo jacket and black leather skinny jeans which flattered her figure and looked exquisite. Finishing the outfit was a necklace of glittery black beads and a beaded purse.

  She’d pulled on jeans and a rose-colored sweater that morning. Not in the same league.

  She came back out.

  “I guess I’ll wear this today,” she said.

  They both brightened. “Great! You’ll feel so much better about yourself in nice clothing,” Marisol said cheerfully.

  Eileen glanced at her desk. “So. Where do we start? I’ve got some marketing ideas for the new hotel.”

  “Oh, your father already has the marketing team working on that,” Marisol said. “You’re pretty much here just to represent the company. You know, kind of a figurehead. We’ll have a photographer come by and take some pictures of you for our brochures this afternoon.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” Eileen glanced around the office. She felt deflated. She’d been excited to finally start putting some marketing ideas into place. “I guess I’ll go out and, uh…take a walk.”

  Marisol reached into her purse, pulled out a handful of bills and shoved them at her. “Here, your father said to give you some spending money.”

  Eileen backed away. “I haven’t earned it,” she said firmly. “This is the new me. I’m supporting myself.” Except even now they wouldn’t let her do anything.

  “I’ll come with you and help you shop,” Ambrose said quickly. “We can pick out some clothes and put them on your dad’s credit card.”

  She shook her head. “Actually, I’m just going to walk around for a while by myself.”

  She hurried out the door before he could argue with her.

  As she was rounding a corner, she passed by an open doorway. The sign above the door read “Rosemont Resorts”. They were a well-known company, shifter-owned, based in California. They frequently bid against her family on projects. Her father was not a fan.

  On impulse, she walked in the door.

  A handsome, gruff man who looked to be in his early thirties stood in the front office. He was a wolf shifter with piercing blue eyes, and although he was huge, his raw silk, custom-tailored suit fit him perfectly. Once upon a time, she would have found that attractive. Now, she suddenly thought how much sexier Marcus was in his jeans and T-shirt.

  The handsome man was arguing with the woman sitting behind the desk. She was a pretty, plump girl, a human with big, round glasses and shiny brown hair pulled back in a bun.

  “Yes?” he barked at Eileen as she walked in the front door.

  “Manners, Mr. Rosemont,” the girl said to him sweetly.

  “That’s what you’re here for.” He scowled at her.

  Eileen swallowed hard. Coming in here had been a mistake, but she could hardly turn around and run.

  “Well, um, I was just wondering… I recently graduated from Columbia University with a marketing degree… I see you have this new office here, and…”

  “Not hiring unless you have experience. Which I’m guessing you don’t.” He looked her up and down. “And that frou-frou outfit is all wrong for marketing in Silver Peak. This is a jeans and sweater kind of town. Although if you’re getting ready to go to the opera in New York, you’re all set.”

  Great. Just great. She could do absolutely nothing right today.

  As she turned and walked out, blinking back tears, she heard the girl yell at him, “Okay, that was just rude and unnecessary, Mr. Rosemont!”

  “Do you like your job, Valerie?” she heard him rumbling at his poor beleaguered secretary.

  Eileen’s heart dropped to the bottom of her shoes. Oh no. She’d gotten someone fired.

  “Of course not. My boss is an asshole,” she heard Valerie snap, and something about the woman’s tone made her relax. This was not a woman who was in any danger of being fired. This was a woman who was valuable, and who knew it.

  Must be nice, she thought wistfully as she walked around downtown. I wonder what it would be like to be valuable. To anybody. She’d even settle for slightly useful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday evening

  Marcus stood by the woodpile near the pack’s dining hall, breathing hard, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked over at the pile of logs he’d split. Technically they were supposed to take it in turns to gather firewood, swapping out the chore with more sociable tasks around the camp, but Marcus liked the solitude and the mindless physical work. It somehow stilled the constant whirl of painful memories that usually kept him tense and jumpy even though he was safe; even though those terrible days were behind him.

  So he’d silently taken over the task as his own, and nobody had commented on the fact that the stack of firewood was replenished each morning as if by magic. The others didn’t mind. Why would they? They knew he was an antisocial bastard, standoffish and a little weird, so they let him get on with it. Besides, it saved them a job.

  He glanced in the direction of his cabin. Eileen would be home from work by now. He felt a sharp tug of longing, entirely unfamiliar. For the first time since he could remember, he actually wanted to be with another person. That was part of the reason he was here. He didn’t want to get used to her. To need her. Because their mating was a lie, an illusion, and she’d leave as soon as she could. Someone like her, someone sweet and beautiful and magical, would never want to be with a monster like him.

  He stared down at the wood pile.

&nb
sp; Eileen wasn’t the only reason he’d come out here. Normally he found solace in this kind of work, but today, the steady rise and fall of the ax wasn’t keeping the memories away. He swung and swung again, the muscles in his shoulders and back burning with the effort and his shirt soaked through with sweat, but he could still hear the jeers of the crowd as they bayed for blood.

  The scent of his perspiration mingled in his memory with the taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of the sawdust that covered the floor of the fighting ring to soak up the gore. He could hear the meaty smack of fists on flesh, feel the blood-lust rising within him as he gave in to his animal side and shifted. His fingers tightened on the ax as he recalled his uncontrollable sense of rage and the dark, gleeful sense of power as his lupine fangs met in his opponent’s throat.

  He’d killed. He’d killed dozens. And even though he’d been given no choice in the matter, he knew deep down, with a wretched twisting in his gut, that some semi-feral part of him had rejoiced every time an opponent’s lifeless body was dragged from the ring.

  That day…the day he’d known that all hope was gone… He didn’t even know how long he’d been there. He’d been snatched away from his family and tortured and taunted until his mind had all but snapped, and human concepts like time had no real meaning for him anymore.

  Matthew, in human form on the other side of the featureless cell, gave a warning growl as Marcus passed. When the door had clanged shut behind them, Marcus huddled in the corner of the concrete floor, shaking with rage, trying to hang on to the last few tattered fragments of his human self.

  When Matthew had first been dragged in a few weeks after Marcus was taken, bloody and beaten but full of a strange, quiet sort of dignity, Marcus had been pathetically grateful for the company. Matthew, chosen by their captors for his massive size and fighting prowess just as Marcus had been, had given him hope. Their conversations had helped Marcus to center himself, to hold on to the core of his being despite the brutal treatment the men were subjected to. They had discussed plans for escape. They had been bold and defiant, taking strength from each other, comrades in adversity. And they had consoled each other when, on being returned to the cell after each round of combat with the lifeblood of other shifters on their hands, they had to come to terms with what they had done.