Wolf King (Wolves of New York #1)

by Bella Jacobs

  She vaults from her chair. “Fine! I’m going, but you’re being a jerk and I’m going to tell Dad. There’s no reason to hold Willow prisoner. Her aura is amazing. Way better than yours, in fact, in case you’re interested.”

  Maxim sucks in a breath, but Diana is already racing from the room, shouting, “I’m leaving, I’m leaving! God, you’re so impossible!”

  The door to the suite slams behind her and Maxim turns to me with flames shooting out of his ears. “If she’s stupid enough to disobey me and come in here again, you don’t say a word to her. Do you understand me?”

  I lift my hands at my sides. “Fine. But she seems very sweet, and as someone who was a teen girl not that long ago, I can tell you the best way to—”

  “Not a fucking word!” he shouts.

  “Okay!” I say, my eyes going wide. “Anything else you’d like to yell about this morning, oh Alpha, my Alpha?”

  His hands ball into fists and his dark eyes shoot daggers into mine across the room. I hold his gaze, not looking away, even when he lets out a long, skin-prickling growl that my wolf instincts assure me indicate I’m about to be skinned alive.

  Or fucked really hard and really well…

  Because there it is again…the sexual tension from last night, sizzling in the air between us, making me want to squirm in my seat.

  But I don’t.

  I refuse to let this man know that just feeling his eyes raking up and down my body is enough to make my nipples tighten and my inner wolf want to roll over and offer him my underbelly and anything else he would like.

  Sometimes I really hate that inner wolf, the part of me that’s so desperate for physical love, sex, and affection.

  But maybe I wouldn’t hate it, if all the Alphas I’d met weren’t such jerks.

  In my fantasies, submitting to my bossy, dominant partner is hot and sexy. Fun even. I imagine it would be like shifting, but instead of slipping into my fur to play in the woods for a night, I’d be escaping into a role for a frolic in the sheets.

  I bet it would feel like that…like play.

  Steamy, intense, addictive, multi-orgasmic play…

  Maxim wrenches his gaze from mine with a curse and turns back toward the sitting room.

  He’s halfway to the door to the suite when he turns around and charges back, stopping long enough to point a finger at my chest and command, “There are clothes for you in the closet. Get dressed and be ready to leave in twenty minutes. Hermione will take you to the witness room to get your statement.”

  Then he’s gone again, storming away in such a swirl of Alpha energy that it isn’t until he’s gone that I realize how flustered he must have been to forget why he came to my rooms in the first place.

  And he wasn’t flustered because of Diana.

  I’d bet my right pinkie finger that it was the heat between us that sent him running. And if he wants me even half as much as I want him, then I may still have a card or two up my sleeve…

  I suppose there’s one way to find out.

  Chapter 7

  Maxim

  “Fuck me” eyes.

  The woman has the sexiest, most shameless, “come and get me and give it to me against the wall” eyes I’ve ever seen.

  Sitting there in her pajamas, with her hair wild from sleep and English muffin crumbs on her lap, she couldn’t have been less my type. She was…snuggly, not elegant. Curvy and casual instead of strong and lean with just the hint of softness. I like women who can keep up with me in the gym and the bedroom, not bookish scientists who clearly spent more time hitting the books and the buffet than the pavement for a morning run.

  Despite her pretty eyes and plush mouth, Willow is fairly average looking.

  So why was meeting her gaze enough to make me want to bend her over the foot of the bed and own her slick little pussy?

  Because she was wet.

  I could smell her, a salty sweet scent that spun through my head like the aroma of breakfast frying in the kitchen after a long night out in the cold, feeling starved to the spine. She literally made my mouth water.

  I swipe the back of my hand across my lips as I stalk to the elevator and punch the button for basement level two.

  I need to get laid. That’s all this is.

  I’ve been sleeping alone too much lately, letting pack business creep into my recreational hours until I’m all work and no play.

  On instinct, I whip out my phone and shoot a text to Trix—Up for drinks tonight? La Luna’s rooftop garden, ten o’clock, my treat?

  In just a few seconds her reply pops through—Oh, no, it will be my treat, darlin’. Assuming you’re taking me back to your place after. I’ve been having nightmares about your cock all week.

  Lips quirking, I text back—Nightmares? I thought my cock gave you sweet dreams.

  She shoots over—Not when I’m dreaming about you getting taken off the market, mister. I need you to stay single for at least another month or two, okay? At least until I can have a mold of your man downstairs made for my personal dildoing pleasure. I promise, if you let me get after you with my plaster, I won’t share the mold with anyone else. It’ll be mine and mine alone.

  Trix designs sex toys for a living and has been after me to let her create an homage to my “man downstairs” for months.

  I’m never going to do anything of the sort—I’m not a shy man by any means, but I am a private one—but I’m not above…ahem…dangling a carrot…

  So to speak.

  I step out of the elevator, texting—We’ll discuss it later. After you’ve shown me what a bad girl you can be. See you at ten. Wear the purple dress I like.

  She sends back an emoji with stars for eyes, a unicorn, and several eggplants—fairies love their emojis—before signing off with—See you then.

  I slide my phone back into the pocket of my black suit pants, but I don’t feel as…settled as I usually would after making a date.

  I have urges like any other man, but I’m not ruled by them. When it becomes apparent I need to blow off steam with a member of the opposite sex, I make arrangements to do so and that’s that.

  Then I’m instantly back to business and focused on the next item on my “To Do” list.

  But the only thing I can think about doing right now is a curvy little wolf.

  By the time Hermione leads Willow into the interrogation room thirty minutes later, I’ve had imaginary Willow in my shower, in my bed, and in one of the alcoves at La Luna, where I pushed up her skirt and made her come on my mouth while warning her not to make a sound or I’d punish her when we got home.

  But of course, this isn’t her home, this is her prison, and even that for only a few weeks.

  Maybe sooner.

  I make a mental note to get my personal physician in to examine Willow, and determine exactly where she is in her cycle, and sit back in my chair to watch the interrogation, grateful I can’t smell her through the one-way glass.

  Hermione motions for her to sit on one side of the gray steel table and pulls out a chair on the other. “Would you like a water or a coffee before we start? We also have tea, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It isn’t the good stuff.”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” Willow settles into her seat, pushing up the sleeves on the orange sweater she chose from the closet.

  It was the least formal option made available to her, and a part of me takes that as further evidence that she isn’t anything close to my type. Another part can’t help noticing that she looks beautiful in the color, and yet another snarls that all parts should stop thinking about Willow as anything but a prisoner at once.

  “But I confess, I’m a little nervous,” Willow adds, motioning to the mirrored wall, behind which I sit in near darkness. “I feel like I’m on one of those cop shows. I would ask if I need a lawyer, but most Alphas don’t seem to be into due process, so…”

  Hermione’s lips curve a bit, not enough to really be called a smile, but enough it seems to put Willow at ease. “We’re h
ere because the room is already equipped with cameras and audio recording devices. You’re not under suspicion for anything. We just want your statement on record, and this was the easiest way to accomplish that. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Willow threads her fingers together on top of the table with a nod and a rush of breath. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Just a sequence of events, the hours leading up to when you crossed the portal. It was the night of the mate claiming ceremony, you were at home getting ready, most likely. Let’s start there.”

  Willow exhales again. “I actually got ready at the lab. My…” She bites her lip, looking up into the corner, at one of the small cameras mounted on the wall. “Can you just please promise me this recording won’t get back to Victor or Pax or any of the Blood River enforcers? It would be really, really bad for my family if it did. I know I’m probably a lost cause, but I don’t want to get my parents in any more trouble than they’re in already.”

  “This is just for our people,” Hermione assures her. “And we don’t have leaks. Say what you will about Maxim, but he has the unwavering loyalty of our people. Nothing you say in this room will get back to Victor or anyone else.”

  Willow’s shoulders relax a little. “Okay. Then, yeah…I got ready at the lab while my parents quietly slipped out of town. Not too far away, but far enough they could be ready to run if they needed to. They’d already been through a mate claiming ceremony gone wrong once. I’m sure you know about my sister.”

  Hermione nods.

  “Right,” Willow continues. “So, they knew how bad things could get, but they didn’t want me to be forced into a relationship with someone awful. And there are, sadly, a lot of awful men in my pack. So, we made an agreement—if I didn’t call Mom and Pop to tell them how excited I was about my match before nine, when the ceremony was over, they’d get out.”

  “Get out?” Hermione leans in. “How do you mean? Did they come through the portal, too?”

  “No, they made other arrangements, Parallel side.” Willow nibbles her lip. “I’d really rather not say more than that, though. They’re innocent in every way. Their only mistake was giving birth to two girls with crappy horoscopes.”

  My second-in-command’s eyes narrow. “That’s odd though, isn’t it? That both you and your sister were paired with a Darius, when your family is so low on the Blood River food chain. No offense, of course.”

  “None taken,” Willow says. “And yeah, it is a little strange, but Kelley and I were both born in March and Pax and Collum were born in November so…I suppose it might make sense astrologically.”

  “You don’t have any reason to believe the matches were arranged by your Alpha? That Victor might have taken liberties with your star charts? Or influenced the matchmakers in any way?”

  I nod in approval in my dark room, pleased Hermione is exploring my suspicions so early in the interview.

  Willow shakes her head. “No, I don’t. And I can’t imagine why Victor would do something like that. Even before my sister rejected his nephew and my family hit rock bottom status-wise, we weren’t exactly popular. My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a political scholar. Victor doesn’t like smart, educated people who enjoy thinking for themselves. Or who can see that’s he’s just a big bully with an army of other bullies, not a real Alpha.”

  Hermione hums beneath her breath, her brow furrowing as she nods. “Okay, so you and your parents had a contingency plan, you got dressed for the ceremony at the lab. What happened next?”

  Willow presses her lips together for a beat. “I went to Victor’s house. He has a renovated mansion from the 1850s and hosts the ceremonies in the old ballroom. I joined the other women in the waiting room, but I’d only been there a few seconds when…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the tabletop. “Victor sent a doctor in to confirm I was a virgin. None of the other women had to be examined. Just me. It was humiliating, as I’m sure you can imagine. The doctor took me behind a screen, but I could still hear everyone whispering, figuring there must be a reason for Victor to suspect I’d broken his rule about female pack members remaining celibate until marriage.”

  “And had you?” Hermione asks, before adding quickly, “Just for the account of what took place. I’m sorry you had to go through that. All the wolves in our pack are encouraged to abstain from sexual relationships with other wolves before they claim a mate, but it happens, of course. And it’s not a big deal. Our Alphas understand that we’re animals, not robots who can turn our sexuality on and off at will.”

  “That’s great, but I don’t think my sex life or lack of one should be any of your business.” Willow pulls at the cowl neck of her sweater before crossing her arms at her chest and sitting back in her chair. “But yeah, I was verified to be ‘intact’ if that answers your question.”

  Intact. So…she was a virgin until sometime last night, when Pax Darius was her first.

  Fuck.

  She deserved so much better. From him, and…from me. I shouldn’t have teased her about being with her “one true mate.” I felt like an ass about it at the time, but knowing her first time was with a man like that…

  A man who probably gave no thought to her comfort, let alone her pleasure…

  Suffice it to say, I’ve lost my stomach for this story, but I’m the North Star Alpha.

  I don’t run from unpleasant stories. Even when I’d like to.

  “I was cleared to join the ceremony and we all went out into the ballroom to take our places,” Willow continues, crossing her arms more tightly over her chest. “There, lights were low and there were pillows on the floor, candles everywhere. It was pretty, I guess, but I was too nervous to appreciate it. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing, like a part of me just knew I was going to get paired up with the last person I wanted to spend my life with.” Her lips twist in a humorless grin. “And sure enough, Pax and I were…number four, I think. Maybe five. Things got blurry right around then.”

  “Were you drinking?” Hermione asks. “Or on some other controlled substance?”

  Willow exhales a soft laugh. “No, I was just trying not to cry. It takes a lot more effort than I remembered. Pax used to make me cry all the time when we were younger. I got better at fighting tears as time went on, but I haven’t seen much of him since I started grad school. I was…out of practice, I guess.” She sniffs. “But I refused to cry in front of everyone. The looks Pax was shooting me from his side of the room made it clear he intended to make me cry later, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of falling apart in front of Victor and the rest of them.”

  My second-in-command sighs. “Would you like a break? We can take ten, go grab a cappuccino or something from the atrium café? Take a breather before we finish up?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Willow sits forward, dragging a hand through her hair before bracing her forearms on the table. “I’d rather get it all out at once, if that’s okay. Easier that way.”

  Hermione nods. “Okay. But let me know if you change your mind and want to stop. And take the rest at your own pace; I’ll save any follow up questions until you’re finished.”

  “Okay,” Willow says, swallowing hard. “There’s not that much to tell, actually. We did the binding chants with the rest of the couples, drank from the pack chalice, and signed our names in the record book. Then Pax took me upstairs. He still lives with his dad, so we didn’t have very far to go.”

  She swallows again, with seemingly more difficulty this time. “But he has the entire fourth floor to himself, so we had…privacy. The second we stepped off the elevator, he told me to take my clothes off. When I refused, and said I wanted to talk, he grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it. Right down the middle.”

  Inside my shadowy room, I grit my jaw hard enough to make my teeth grind together.

  That worthless piece of shit. I’ve always hated Pax Darius—at best he’s a spoiled little sociopath, at worst a malignant na
rcissist with the same cruel streak as his father—but Willow’s story is adding a fresh layer of red-hot loathing.

  How dare he treat a member of his pack that way?

  Let alone his mate?

  She’s half his size for fuck’s sake. She must have been terrified.

  And then she came running to you for help and you treated her like a criminal. Good work, asshat.

  I remind the inner voice that this could all be a lie, a cover story to win our trust and sympathy so she can infiltrate our pack and send intelligence back to her people, but even I’m not buying it.

  The pain on Willow’s face as she finishes her story is too real.

  “My bra and panties were next,” she continues in a soft, haunted voice. “I tried to fight him, to run away, but he forced me down on the floor.” She gulps in air. “At first, he was too drunk to get hard and I thought it might be okay, but then he…did.”

  She lets out a shuddery breath and my hands ball into fists, desperate to unleash punishment on her worthless excuse for a mate.

  “After, he went to get a drink of water,” she continues. “And I ran up behind him and hit him over the head with the entryway statue. I hit him hard, but I was still expecting more of a fight.” She shakes her head. “But he just…fell to the ground and stayed there. For a second I thought I’d killed him, but he still had a pulse. A strong one. A part of me wanted to finish what I’d started but…” She winces. “I couldn’t. Not even him. I knew if I killed him, then I’d be like him and I never want to have anything in common with that man. So, I tied him up, stashed him in his closet, and got out of there. Luckily, his ex-girlfriend had left some clothes at his place, so I had something to wear.”

  She turns her hands over on the table, palms up. “And then I ran and jumped into the portal and you know everything from there.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Willow,” Hermione says, the compassion in her voice reminding me why she’s the best second I could ask for.

  She’s good at being human; I’m good at being wolf.