Tangled Hearts: A Menage Collection

by Various

  All too soon, the edge of the trees rushed up to meet him, and he skidded to a halt before exiting the foliage that provide a canopy overhead, and a cover for his antics. His tongue lolled as he panted from the exertion of his moonlit exercise. Nothing like getting out and stretching his four furry legs. With fall here and winter fast approaching, there wouldn’t be many nights left like this. It wasn’t that he couldn’t or didn’t enjoy a run through the snow, but the wet dog smell was a bitch to remove from the house. However, shifting out in the cold? Emasculating for certain sensitive body parts.

  Sitting on his haunches and facing the bright, fat moon, Derrick bayed one last time, enjoying the rumbling warble and the echo, imagining the frisson of woodland creatures as they rightly feared the mighty predator. When the last throaty sound faded, Derrick shifted back into his human form with only a slight grunt, less of pain—he’d mastered that long ago—and more out of disgust. Why was it, when he ran as his wolf his fur remained dry, but as soon as he got back into his skin he was covered in sweat? One of the many mysteries surrounding his Lycan heritage.

  “That was a good run,” Mark said as he pulled his shirt from the pile they’d left on the ground.

  “It was. Although, did you smell the bear on the eastern edge?”

  “Yeah. Female and young I’d wager.”

  “Shifter do you think?”

  “Not enough scent to tell. I’ll go back out in a few days and see what I smell. Either way, a warning will have to be made. That section of the woods belongs to us.”

  Indeed it did. He and Mark claimed it as wolves, their scent marking the perimeter. But it wasn’t just urine that made it theirs. According to the land registry office, and the mortgage they held with the bank, they legally owned over sixty acres of woodland.

  It didn’t take them long to dress, the benefits of going commando and sockless. Werewolves tended to avoid too many layers of clothes. While they kept their ability to shift secret from humans, there was a general preference to wear as little as possible in case they needed to swap forms in a hurry. Or dress quickly because the evening air was cold on their bare asses!

  Derrick didn’t bother slipping on his shoes, scooping them in one hand, Mark following suit as they jogged across the open yard to their house.

  On the porch, the candle in their jack-o’-lantern had burnt out, and the sweet aroma of cooking pumpkin made his nose twitch. The bowl of candy they’d left on the porch gaped empty—which would peeve Mark off. He’d planned to eat the leftover chocolate bars later.

  Little did he know, Derrick had hidden a few for him. Not that he’d tell him right away. Let him suffer a little chocolate anguish first.

  It pleased Derrick to know some kids had traveled down their long driveway in search of treats. He loved Halloween, and usually he would have handed out the treats himself, probably dressed as the wolfman again—an irony that never failed to make him snicker.

  This year, though, his latex mask stayed in the box, the full moon and the temptation she posed impossible to ignore. But just because his wolf needed to come out and play didn’t mean the kids shouldn’t get their share of candy, and as usual, it was the primo stuff—full-sized chocolate bars. Needless to say, they never worried about their house getting egged or papered.

  Usually. It didn’t take Mark’s tense body for Derrick to sense something amiss.

  “There’s someone here,” said his best friend, pausing with his hand on the knob of their front door.

  Derrick’s smile faded as he sniffed the air. Over the odor of burnt pumpkin and the other outdoor smells that came with autumn—fallen leaves, yellowing grass, shriveling perennials—he scented a familiar, cloying perfume.

  Not her again.

  With a growl more wolf than man, he shoved his friend aside and flung open the front door, which they never kept locked. It banged against the interior wall, probably leaving a dent, not that he cared at the moment. Inside, the intrusive perfume filled the house, overwhelmingly so. She dares to invade our home without invitation? The effrontery astounded him, and totally pissed him off.

  Charging up the stairs, two treads at a time, his heavy stomp a warning she should heed, he followed the bitch’s scent right into his bedroom. Rage simmered, his beast close to the edge, surely peeking through his eyes. He couldn’t help the peel of his lip over teeth straining as he saw she lay under his sheets. Sheets he’d now have to burn.

  Breathing heavily through the nose, Derrick’s discontent rumbled forth as she smiled at him with heavy lids, the stench of her arousal caused by self-pleasure, or so he guessed by the twitch of the sheet, drifting to him. Yup, totally burning those sheets. There is not enough bleach in the world to save them now.

  To say he disliked her was putting it mildly. There was something about Clarissa that irritated him. Set his wolf off. Totally annoyed the fuck out of him. And it didn’t matter how many times he brushed her off, less and less politely, the damned woman just wouldn’t leave him and Mark alone.

  A growl rumbled from him again, and he clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides lest he find the temptation to throttle her too strong.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Clarissa said seductively, not yet recognizing the storm that simmered inside him, his control over it only holding by the barest thread.

  “Get out of my bed.” He spoke through gritted teeth even as he wondered how soon he could get a mattress delivered. Gotta remember to buy marshmallows for the bonfire.

  She rose from the bed, the sheet clutched to her bosom. “Join me. I’ve prepared myself, for you and … both of you.” Derrick heard Mark’s blown breath of annoyance from behind him.

  “Fuck off.” Screw mincing words. He’d leave that to his more diplomatic best friend.

  “You don’t mean that,” said Clarissa, the sheet barely hiding her shapely body, a form that left him cold. He’d never gone for the aggressive types. He preferred to chase his women, to seduce them.

  “What he means to say,” said Mark, ever the placating one, “is, while you are quite attractive, we are, unfortunately, not interested. Thank you for your offer though.”

  Derrick snorted. As if that polite rejection would work. The slut had just broken into their house and thrown herself at them, naked. And this after repeatedly having her blatant overtures rebuffed. She just didn’t get it. She isn’t the one. “Do us all a favor and just get your clothes back on and leave the way you came.” Or he’d gladly heave her ass out, preferably from the nearest window.

  Instead of listening, she showed off her stubborn nature—one that threatened to get her killed as his wolf grew more and more agitated. Clarissa dropped the sheet that hid her assets and proudly displayed perky breasts, an indented waist, and a bald cleft. Derrick looked her over dispassionately. She stirred nothing in him—he liked his women rounder.

  Their displeasure must have finally penetrated because she frowned at them. But she refused to give up. She ran a hand down her body, tweaking her nipples on the way, and then slid a hand between her thighs to toy with herself. Derrick crossed his arms and glared while Mark yawned.

  With slow, sensual steps, Clarissa walked toward Derrick and his friend, a half smile curving her lips, one that didn’t match the icy fury in her eyes.

  “I really wish you’d chosen differently,” she said, shaking her head at them as if they were the naughty boys in this scenario.

  “Or what?” retorted Derrick. “I’m tired of your games. Tired of the bullshit and tired of you. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

  “I’m leaving, but first, how about a goodbye gift?” Her lips twisted into a sneer, and a chill wind rushed into the room, strange given they were indoors with all the windows closed. However, All Hallows’ Eve was upon them, and even in these modern times, strange forces worked on that most arcane of nights.

  Inside his head, his wolf growled and paced, warning them of danger. As if one oversexed woman could hurt him.

  Clar
issa raised her hands, palms upward, and her lips moved, uttering an inaudible incantation, one whose words slipped greasily past his hearing, discordant sounds that made him wince. A heavy stink of ozone permeated the air, electrical and tingling along the senses.

  Mark’s face creased with alarm. “Shit, dude. She’s casting a spell.”

  A witch! Didn’t that just fucking figure. “I’d say that’s bloody obvious.” Derrick rolled his eyes and decided to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. He reached for the witch who had hidden her true self up until now. Time to give her the bum rush.

  “No!” cried Mark, reaching for him.

  Even as Mark grabbed hold of his arm, Derrick’s hand connected with Clarissa’s, and a lightning bolt of pain rushed through his system, making his eyes widen. The rush of power coursing through his body proved excruciating, even more than the agony of the change, and to his annoyance, he blacked out like some pansy-assed weakling.

  When Derrick regained consciousness, in an ignoble heap on the floor, the witch stood over him with a smirk. “Aah, did I hurt the big, bad wolf?” Her cajoling tone pissed him off.

  “Bitch.” He staggered to his feet and reached for her again. His hand passed through her, a strange sensation that made him shudder, and she cackled at the look on his face.

  Derrick brought his hands to his face and looked at them—and through them. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

  “To us,” said Mark, who appeared at his side looking just as ghostly. Derrick didn’t know what astounded him more—the fact the bitch had turned them into spirits or the fact his easy-going friend actually looked mad.

  “My spell worked!” A smile tilted Clarissa’s lips, and she twirled with a giggle, her naked frame now dressed in a red blouse and a full skirt, which belled as she spun. “I’ve trapped you in limbo,” she announced, her tone well pleased.

  “What? So we’re dead?”

  “Not exactly. Think of it as suspended in time, your bodies that is, until such a time as you come to your senses and give me what I need.”

  “And what do you need?” asked Mark quietly, his tight tone the only thing that gave away his white-hot anger.

  “Why, the both of you of course. Bonded to me.” The pleasure on her face faded, and a calculating hardness entered her features. She clasped her hands in front of her and regarded them with determined blue eyes.

  “Never,” snarled Derrick, lunging at her again, only to convulse as he flew right through her body to land in a heap on the other side. Even freakier, his fingertips penetrated the floor. Derrick sat up, an unfamiliar emotion touching him, one he didn’t like. Fear.

  Mark reverted to type and asked questions. “Why do you want to bond to us? You know we don’t love you, nor will we ever.”

  An unladylike snort escaped her. “Who said anything about love? This is about power. I’m a witch, and while I have magic, I need more. By bonding to an alpha pair of weres …” Her eyes glistened with avarice, and she moistened her lips. “The energy I’d have access to would make me the strongest witch in my coven and allow me to challenge the old bat who thinks to give me orders.”

  A red film descended over Derrick’s eyes. How dare this sorceress think to use the mating bond to further her schemes? “Too bad, bitch. We aren’t ever going to bond with you.”

  A glance to his side showed Mark nodding in agreement. “Your plan will not work, Clarissa. Now release us, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  Derrick rolled his eyes. Not likely. Woman or not, he’d rip the witch a new one as soon as they got out of this mess.

  She seemed to read his mind. “Oh please. Like I’d believe that. You’re an alpha. You won’t allow this to slide by. No, I have a better plan. You stay in limbo as ghosts, trapped to this house until you decide to do as I say. I figure it might take a few years of floating around, invisible to all and alone before you come to your senses and do my bidding. That’s okay,” she said, a nasty sneer twisting her lips. “I can wait until you come to your senses.” Her cackle raised ghostly hairs on his arms.

  As they railed and ranted, slipped on obscenely high heels. Fully attired, and still paying them no mind, she left the room, the stutter of her footsteps on wood floors her only reply.

  “Get back here!” Derrick hollered. “We are not done talking to you.”

  But she ignored them, even though they followed her, Derrick cursing her every step, diving at her, hoping each time he lunged that this time he would connect. However, she walked out of the house unfettered. Not so the cursed pair who hit the open doorway and bounced back.

  What the fuck? He tried to walk through the door again but hit a wall. Derrick pounded his fists ineffectually against the invisible barrier, one he could not breach and that trapped him and Mark in their home.

  “You can’t do this,” he yelled. “I’ll kill you. See if I fucking don’t.”

  Clarissa turned and blew them a kiss. “No, you won’t. Or should I say can’t. See you in a year, boys.”

  Snapping her fingers, she waited only a moment before a bloody broom came whipping through the air and halted, hovering above the ground.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Derrick muttered with disgust. “Could she be more cliché?” Apparently, she could. Sitting sidesaddle on the handle, and uttering a laugh worthy of any wicked witch, off she flew.

  Mark stood at his side for a few moments staring, long after she disappeared from sight. “What are we going to do?” he asked quietly.

  “Find a way out and kill her, girl or not. No way am I letting that bitch win.”

  And they tried. Tried for days.

  Friends popped by, calling for them, searching through the house.

  Derrick screamed, yelled, raged. “I’m here, goddammit. Help us.”

  But no one saw or heard a thing. However, they did shiver every time Derrick or Mark grabbed at them.

  The police came and searched as well. Their great aunt, a werewolf like them, and their only living relative, visited and sniffed the air. She even spent a night alone in the house letting her wolf roam the rooms then outside. No one found a thing.

  After a while, people stopped coming. The house was locked up, no one suspecting the ghostly inhabitants inside.

  For weeks, Derrick flipped from outraged to disbelief. He even suffered his first bout of depression. Mark was more silent about his unhappiness at the situation. They both, despite their differing methods of coping, looked for ways to escape. They spent all that first year actually looking for a way out of the house, to no avail.

  Even worse than their inability to escape was the loss of their beasts. They couldn’t shift or feel the comforting presence of their wolves. Instead an empty spot existed within them.

  Their lives became a living nightmare.

  But no matter how bleak their existence, year after year, when Clarissa showed up on All Hallows’ Eve, they refused to become her mate.

  Mark and I will find a way to escape this curse, and when we do, that witch will rue the day she was born. And sour bitch or not, he’d taste her blood.

  Chapter One

  Years later …

  Jenna drove her battered excuse for a car away from civilization, the towns getting smaller, the roads getting narrower until she finally spotted the sign she’d been waiting for.

  Strange Dales. Her new home and escape from the crappy life fate had dished out to her. Small town living here I come. With her GPS as her guide, she drove through the main part of the quaint town, which had everything she needed for her new life. Good thing for her, it wasn’t much. All I need is a grocery and hardware store. Oh and a post office because anything the town lacked she could order online.

  She had never visited Strange Dales, population two thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven—make that sixty-eight now—when she decided on it as her new home. But from the pictures she’d seen, she deemed it perfect for starting over. Small, away from the stupidity that came
with city living, and, even better, half a continent away from the asshole she still wanted to kill.

  Cheating on me with not just one of my best friends but two. Bastard!

  When she’d found out—in shocking fashion walking in on them as they went at it like rabbits on her favorite shag rug—she’d briefly toyed with the thought of sleeping with his two best friends—at the same time—to get him back. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stand Dick and Dork as she’d nicknamed them, and the thought of screwing them, even for revenge, was more than her gag reflex could handle.

  Besides, the sweeter revenge came when she’d dumped all his shit out in the hall—including the shag she’d dumped bleach on—and told him to move. Actually, her exact words were, “Take your shit and get the fuck out, asshole.” Not much he could do about it since the lease was in her name. Thank God, I didn’t marry the jerk. He’d asked, she’d hesitated and said she needed more time. Intuition or premonition, either way she thanked her lucky stars she’d gotten out before they tied the knot or, worse, had kids.

  With her dead-weight boyfriend gone and her inheritance intact, she decided now was the perfect time to find herself and dedicate more attention to the books she wrote. At least my heroes aren’t two-timing bastards.

  A pity the men she wrote about didn’t exist in real life. Or was it she just hadn’t found the right one?

  City living had lost its luster. The noise, the impersonal bustle, the apartment that, whenever she entered, made her flash back to the ugly scene she’d walked in on.

  I need a change of pace. A new place. A complete change of scenery and lifestyle. She found the perfect spot online by chance when browsing realtor listings. She bought the house after seeing a few pictures and a video the realtor emailed her. She wasn’t sure what sealed the deal or possessed her to do something so crazy.