A Werewolf to Call Her Own ( Mystic Isle#2)

by Selena Blake

  Maxim hadn’t missed the curious glances from the other vampires. Despite a hundred-year truce, not every vamp trusted the wolves around them.

  But this was more than that. Everyone, him included, was wondering what would become of them after Mystic Isle. Maxim’s answer had been the same over the last few days. There was no them. She was a beautiful distraction. An incredible woman. But a vampiress. A pureblood, no less.

  Nothing in the world… no amount of hoping, lusting, wishing, praying, or desire would change that.

  Sierra, bless her, hadn’t mentioned anything about the future.

  But he’d seen the question in Valencia Fabelle’s eyes. And the warning not to break her covenmate’s heart.

  He didn’t need endless conversation to see that she was special. And very much unlike anyone he’d ever met, certainly anyone in his life. Normally surrounded by brash wolves, she was calm and utterly sweet.

  A Shewolf would demand things; his little vamp seemed to enjoy whatever he had in mind. And the way she stared at him, so wide eyed and full of awe… he could never grow tired of it.

  But as much as she soothed him, he couldn’t keep her. They were just too different. And she had so much life to live. So many adventures to have. Why would a beautiful, vibrant young vampire want to travel to a land of ice and snow to be with a werewolf and his pack?

  No… he had to let her go. Tomorrow he and Hunter would meet at the small airport at the end of the island and catch a plane back to their real life.

  His cell phone buzzed against his thigh, alerting him to an incoming message. He retrieved the gadget and pulled up the message. Every word he read cooled his blood.

  Danya got into fight with Francesca. She’s dead. He’s barely hanging on.

  Maxim cursed under his breath and closed his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Without even knowing what had caused the row, he knew it couldn’t be good for either kind.

  His gaze automatically went to the beauty in his bed. He couldn’t imagine being at odds with her. Not now. Not ever.

  He wanted to shelter her from the ugliness of their world. She didn’t need to learn the truth and become jaded like him. Time would do that. He couldn’t bring himself to.

  Quietly, he strode into the living room and sat down at the desk. Her scent still clung to his fingertips. He picked up a pen and started writing.

  Ceara woke to a cold bed and a cool room. She reached out but the spot next to her was empty. She smiled at the memories they’d made the night before.

  Where was he? She was ready for one last round before she went back to her room to pack. She couldn’t even remember what time they were supposed to leave.

  He’d seen her nude enough times now that she no longer felt shy, so she didn’t bother to put anything on as she strode into the living room.

  “Maxim?”

  She didn’t hear anything. Not his heartbeat, the sound of him breathing, not running water or the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. The luxurious suite was eerily quiet, almost like a tomb. She made a lap around the rooms.

  On the desk she found a single sheet of paper with the Mystic Isle letter head at the top.

  My dear little vamp,

  I received word from my pack that my Alpha has been wounded. I don’t know how badly or if he’ll make it, but as his beta I must return.

  These last few days were incredible and I wish more than anything I could have stayed with you and spent another night in your arms.

  If you’re still single next solstice, meet me here. Same time, same place.

  Yours,

  Maxim

  The paper fell to the floor and Ceara sank into the plush desk chair. Gone. Without a kiss or a good-bye or… anything other than the note.

  It was silly to feel like crying, but that didn’t stop her from blinking back tears. After last night, she had no doubt about his desire for her. And she’d known, from moment one, that they had no future. He’d told her as much. These days were all he could offer. She’d promised him she was leaving today but she’d expected a proper good-bye. A last kiss, a --

  The elevator chimed. The sound spurred her into action. She scurried into the bathroom and threw on the complimentary robe. When she raced back to the foyer, Maxim stood there with a massive arrangement of orchids in his arms.

  Her heart skipped two beats.

  “I got to the runway.”

  He didn’t say anything else for a long moment, simply held her gaze. She clutched the robe’s lapels together, once again feeling exposed. Why was he back?

  “Did you forget something?” she asked, barely recognizing the soft, husky voice as her own.

  For the first time since they’d met, he looked unsure of himself. She didn’t want to pry and read his mind but he seemed to waffle between coming inside and leaving. His big body alternately leaned toward her a fraction and then his muscles coiled and he straightened.

  “This,” he muttered a second before his lips found hers. Hand cupping her cheek, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth.

  Thoroughly confused, she opened for him, clutching his shoulders.

  But no sooner had the kiss begun, than he pulled back a fraction. He tipped his forehead against hers.

  “Next year…”

  “Hmm huh.” She was boneless. Thoughtless. Completely breathless.

  “Be here?”

  “Yes.”

  “These are for you, by the way.” He stepped back and thrust the flowers into her hands. Heart in her throat, she hugged the huge vase.

  “Keep the room as long as you like.”

  He didn’t smile. Didn’t reassure her. No. He backed up, three or four steps, toward the elevator. Then he turned away.

  There was an immediate heaviness inside her rib cage. Sadness, loss.

  “Maxim!”

  She sat the vase down and then crossed the distance in three long strides. He turned just as she reached for him. Feeling bold and in control for the first time in her life, she rose up on her tip toes and kissed him. Pouring out everything she felt but couldn’t put to words and let her lips do the talking.

  Then she pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes. To memorize the color, the flecks of light. “Take care of yourself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Three months later…

  Maxim strode out of the conference room and turned right. He’d been on constant alert the past few weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He unballed his fists and felt some of the tension drain away.

  “That went better than expected,” Hunter said, jogging up next to him.

  He nodded. “The truce is still shaky.”

  He still had a hard time believing that Danya was dead and he, Maxim, was the new Alpha of the Novgorod pack.

  The mutual meeting ground on Mystic Isle had been a smart idea on his part. Neutrality was key. But there had to be more that he could do to cool the feud between the two groups. The last thing either kind needed was for this mess to go global.

  “Trust must be earned again,” Hunter said, echoing Maxim’s thoughts, his usual playfulness missing.

  “Agreed.”

  “If worse comes to worst, you could always marry a vamp.” Hunter paused and Maxim rounded on him. There was a teasing glint in his brother’s eyes. “See you at home,” he said, walking backward down the hall.

  “What are you doing?” Maxim asked.

  Hunter shrugged and gave that killer smile that made him so popular with the ladies.

  “Hey, I am not the one the pack is relying on to find a mate. That is the best part about being the beta, brother. Or have you forgotten that already?”

  Maxim sighed. Hunter didn’t know how right he was. Or how deep of a shit pile Maxim was currently in. “Have fun. But not too much fun.”

  Hunter paused. “What about you?”

  Maxim frowned and thrust his hands into his pockets. This was not the conversation they needed to be having in a public corridor.


  “Will you have fun before you return to Novgorod?”

  Maxim wasn’t sure when he’d have fun again. Most days he just went through the motions. And yearned to fix his current problem. To feel whole again. He’d lost far too much in the last three months. Far too much.

  Even though he needed to rest, he left his brother standing in the hallway and headed for Charles Latham’s office. He rapped twice on the solid steel door, and three heartbeats later a petite brunette opened it. She offered him a professional smile as she waved him inside.

  “How may I help you, Mr…”

  “Ciolek. Maxim Ciolek. Is Latham in?” he asked, forgoing pleasantries. He needed to find a certain black-haired beauty. His body quaked just thinking of her and her rosy lips. He couldn’t afford to waste another minute. Wherever she was, he had to track her down.

  “I’m afraid not. But I’m sure I can help you if you tell me what you need.”

  “A woman.”

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  “We met here three months ago. A beautiful vampiress. Black hair down to here,” he supplied hopefully, pointing halfway down his biceps. He turned on his most charming smile. The woman’s expression didn’t change.

  “We can’t give out—” she started.

  Maxim held up his hand. “Look, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t truly, honestly, life or death important.”

  She frowned, sighed, and paused just long enough to make him sweat before skirting her desk.

  “S—I—E—R—R—A,” he offered, hoping he’d be able to see her room number. “She’s friends with Valencia Fabelle.” What kind of an ass knew her friend’s last name but not the woman he’d -- no, he wasn’t going there. That’d only give him a hard-on. And in his current condition, that would just drive him closer to madness.

  She typed the name and frowned a little deeper.

  “You mean, C—E—A—R—A, sir?”

  Maxim sounded out the letters in his head. Damn. “Right.” That explained everything. His search for her had been under the alternate spelling. Maxim stamped down on his frustration. The fact that Latham’s employee knew the real identity of his woman only increased his annoyance.

  Whoa there… she wasn’t his woman. She was his nemesis. His problem was all because of her. But he had to keep that to himself. For now.

  “As it happens, she’s here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “The woman you’re looking for.” The brunette, Rosanna, according to the name plate on her desk, rolled her eyes as if Maxim was a fool. Somehow, she didn’t look like a bratty four-year-old when she did it.

  “Ceara is here?” Before his wolf could snarl at the thought of her on the pleasure island without him, Rosanna held up a hand.

  “Down, wolf, she’s here for Spa Week. Every registered guest gets a free massage.”

  The news made him feel marginally better. But the wolf still needed to see her. Which was not the plan at all. He didn’t need to get wrapped back up in something that could never be. She was a vampiress. He, a werewolf with a pack to stabilize. Despite how hungry his more primitive side was for the young beauty, this was not a social visit. He needed to ask her some very important questions.

  “What’s her room number?”

  The brunette’s left eyebrow lifted. “I’m not sure I trust you with that information.”

  Maxim hooked his hands over his hips so he wouldn’t be tempted to curl them into fists. “Why the hell not?” He wouldn’t hurt her.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” She pushed a small white card and envelope across the desk with her index finger. “You make your case on that card and I’ll have it delivered along with a bouquet to her. It’ll be up to her if she wants to meet with you or not.”

  Three long months without the ability to achieve orgasm and now this woman was jerking him around. Fate had a brutal sense of humor.

  He stalked to the desk and snatched up the tiny envelope. “Fine.”

  “Choose your words carefully, wolf. She does not have to answer your summons.” Spoken like a god. She’d obviously worked for Latham a long time.

  Maxim’s scowl deepened. He bloody well knew that.

  “And don’t lie to her, either.”

  How did she… Mind reader.

  She handed him a silver pen across the desk.

  Maxim snatched it up, twisted the end, and retrieved the card from the envelope.

  Meet me on the rooftop.

  Yours,

  Maxim

  “Short and sweet. I like that,” she said, tucking the card into the envelope.

  Maxim could not afford to utter the biting remark that popped to his brain, so he shielded his thoughts.

  “I’ll see that she gets it immediately.”

  Despite his temper and foul mood, he thanked her and left. It wasn’t until the elevator stopped on the roof level that Maxim realized he was going to be in for a wait. The sun was just getting cozy with the horizon and Ceara-with-a-C was too young to suffer daylight, no matter the hour.

  As he made his way toward the rooftop bar, he glanced over at the far corner where they’d watched fireworks last December. He could still hear her gasp ringing in his ears as the first explosion lit the night sky. And then, her breath, deep and sharp with each accompanying percussion. Her hands had gripped his forearms tightly as she’d charmed him. Seduced him.

  He needed a drink.

  Tension crackled in the air as Ceara made her way across the crowded rooftop to the Skyline bar. She smoothed a hand down her raspberry-red corset dress, hoping her anxiety didn’t show. The fabric hugged her figure like a glove, giving her a much needed boost of confidence. And at the same time, made it hard to breathe. She was aware of each man who turned to watch her progress, her sensitive ears detecting their racing hearts, but she was searching faces, looking for the man who made her heart race.

  Valencia had taught her how to listen. Not to hear, but to listen for the subtle differences in heartbeat, even from across the room. A man in lust would watch her movements, his heartbeat accelerating as she passed by. As usual, V was right.

  A moody jazz tune poured from hidden speakers. She glanced at the bartenders, dressed from head to toe in black, spreading cheer via ruby-red cocktails, shots of whiskey, and the occasional beer. Every stool was occupied and lust raged.

  Izzy had taught her how to use body language. And how to read it. She’d learned a lot since she’d last been on this roof. Her lips curved into a smirk. She couldn’t wait to use all her new knowledge. But most important, was keeping her confidence.

  She’d found it here once before. Now she just needed to hold tight with both hands.

  A familiar heartbeat snagged her attention above the chatter and anticipation sizzled through her veins.

  He’s here.

  His note had said he would be, but until that moment she hadn’t truly believed he was on the island. The bouquet of roses, his terse command to meet him… it seemed like a daydream. Valencia and Izzy had warned her to be careful. But he was here, waiting to see her again.

  He’d made her promise to return this Yule season if she was still single. After that incredible night in his arms, he’d invaded her dreams every night since they’d parted. She was most certainly single. Anxious to see him again and pick up where they’d left off.

  Lucky for her, they were meeting again ahead of schedule. Lucky for him, Avery had taught her a thing or two about pleasing a man. She couldn’t wait to show him.

  Keep your shoulders back, chin level, play it cool, Valencia’s voice whispered through her mind.

  Measured strides carried her past the bar. There, in the dimly lit corner, surrounded by potted palms, sat Maxim Ciolek.

  She started to smile, but bit back her excitement. His warm brown gaze was far off. Tortured. He’d let his hair grow until it brushed his shoulders.

  She felt a slow heat bloom inside her. He was just as big and incredibly handsome as she’d remembered. T
he dark suit did marvelous things for his frame. But the top button of the bright white shirt was undone, suggesting he’d been waiting a while. His big hand grasped a tumbler of amber liquid. How many drinks had he sipped, waiting here? Waiting for her.

  Though she’d come out of her shell in the past few months, there was still the fear that he wouldn’t recognize her. She’d let her bangs grow out. And this dress… She trailed her fingers over the delicate boning in the bodice, it wasn’t a style or color she would have worn last year.

  Avery and Izzy had made good on their promise to burn the contents of her closet and had taken her on a shopping extravaganza. Even V had gotten in on Operation Makeover Ceara. She’d donated jewelry from her newest collection at Shimmer. Ceara twisted the sparkling bracelet on her left wrist.

  Staring at his hunched shoulders, she noticed the taut lines on his face. She cocked her head. He seemed older, distant, tired. Sad.

  In that moment she knew the rumors were true. She hadn’t listened to the gossip, not wanting to believe it because she understood how devastating his loss would be. How much time he would need to heal. His Alpha was dead.

  Where did that leave him?

  As if suddenly sensing her, his head snapped right and his gaze collided with hers. She took a single step forward into the lantern light and held her breath as his brown eyes darkened when he looked her over. A muscle ticked at his jaw and he leaned back in his seat.

  He didn’t look happy to see her.

  Her previous lack of confidence came rushing back and she started to back away. But she heard his deep voice in her mind.

  Running away again, vamp?

  The question was so smug, so unlike the man she’d welcomed into her body that she stopped cold. All of her excitement fizzled and popped like a bubble.

  His lips lifted in a half snarl/half smile.

  Ceara had studied her covenmates relentlessly these last few months. The exotic beauties who enraptured wealthy businessmen and royalty with their curvy bodies and come-hither smiles… They’d taught her how to hold herself, how to look at a man, how to snare his attention. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.