Wolf Pack Complete Series : Mate (Silver Mountain Wolf Pack), Alpha Bait (Russian Wolf Pack One) and Wild (Russian Wolf Pack Two)

by Zoe Perdita

  “I. . . don’t. . . care,” he breathed.

  Caleb dropped Wild’s legs, the burning pain fading to nothing but a memory. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What? No! Claim me. Please!”

  The white wolf’s eyes dropped, and he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Wild’s.

  “Please,” the little wolf begged again, his eyes stinging worse than before. “I don’t care if it hurts. I want you. I want you to claim me.”

  The taller man shook his head, and his lips brushed Wild’s temple. A hand grasped the little wolf’s aching cock, and the world blurred again. Lips brushed down his chest, and the hand on his shaft trembled.

  “I’m so sorry, Wild,” the man muttered again as his tongue slipped over the little wolf’s aching erection.

  The white wolf lapped at the head, exciting every nerve in Wild’s body at the gentle touch. A strong hand gripped the base, holding his hips steady as they fought to buckle into the source of pleasure.

  Caleb’s mouth engulfed the shaft, and the smaller wolf’s eyes rolled back. Heat enveloped him, the smooth pressure squeezing, sucking and licking all at the same time. Wild dug his nails into the couch and gasped – the world narrowing to nothing but that moment and the white wolf’s perfect touch.

  Large fingers groped his balls, rolling them in circles as the assault on his shaft continued. The man devoured him whole, his tongue trailing over the shaft in a circular motion, then teasing the head until Wild couldn’t stand it anymore.

  The coiling snake in his groin slithered throughout his body – the pleasure waking up his entire being. At least the white wolf never did this for Sam, he thought blearily as his mate nudged him closer and closer to the edge. With a final swish of his tongue, Wild bucked – the sensation flooding over and through him like a strong gust of wind. A moan lingered on his lips as the heat of his load seeped into the other wolf’s willing mouth.

  Then Caleb’s lips popped free and the man peppered Wild’s thighs with kisses. When he leaned back, he slowly sat on the coffee table and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said for the third time.

  The little wolf’s chest heaved, and he stared at Caleb’s blond hair – the way it brushed the nape of his neck and his ear lobes, the ends turning up into the slightest of curls. His heart felt ready to burst, and he swiped his hands over his eyes and cleared his throat.

  “Why are you sorry? Because you didn't claim me?”

  The man sneered. “No. Because I almost did it in the worst way possible. I – I shouldn’t have done that, Whelp.”

  Wild’s eyes flashed and he sat up, ignoring the protest in his back. The white wolf’s length was still rock hard – pleasuring the little wolf must’ve turned him on. “I wanted it. You don’t have to be sorry. I liked it.”

  “You–” the man started, but Wild cut him off.

  His slender, calloused fingers grasped the meaty length. It pulsed beneath his palm, and the white wolf’s eyes widened. Slowly, the little wolf’s fingers trailed over the slick head, and Caleb took a sharp breath, as though he’d been hit. The man gripped the table he sat on, his knuckles whitening.

  At least he didn’t tell the smaller wolf to stop.

  Wild licked the blood from his lip and leaned forward.

  “No,” Caleb groaned, but it was hardly a breath of air.

  The little wolf flicked his tongue over the slick head, all salt and tang and musk. The heat of the white wolf’s cock throbbed, the man’s muscular thighs went rigid like twine wound too tight. Closing his eyes, Wild focused on his mate’s labored breath – the pounding of his heart – and slipped his lips over the tip.

  Caleb let out something between a groan and a growl. “Wild. Don’t,” he huffed, though he did nothing to stop the little wolf.

  Wild’s cheeks burned. Every sound his mate made urged him forward. The shaft slid into his mouth easily, and he tried to emulate what the white wolf did for him. His tongue traced the length and he gripped the base while his lips pursed and sucked.

  “Fuck,” Caleb moaned, and the little wolf smiled at his handiwork.

  For once, his mate wasn’t pushing him away.

  His veins burned, like the white wolf’s body set fire to his own, but he relished in the delicate taste of the man all the same. It was the first time his mate truly gave into him. Their bodies were connected by more than just the instinctual tug, but by something deeper.

  Is that what being claimed was like?

  Wild hoped so.

  “Wild,” the man gasped, and his body tensed for a moment. Then his warm load burst into the little wolf’s mouth.

  He coughed, pulled back and wiped his mouth as he looked up at the taller man.

  What would he find in those eyes? Seething anger? Annoyance?

  The man’s chest heaved, and he frowned. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  The little wolf glowered. “I wanted to, and you didn’t stop me.”

  The blunt tip of Caleb’s thumb slipped across Wild’s swollen lip, and shadows fell across the man’s face. “I know,” he said softly.

  Was he going to say more? Admonish Wild for pushing him? Tell him he shouldn’t have? That it was wrong? That they weren’t really mates?

  Instead, Caleb stood up slowly, as if every muscle in his body ached, and held a hand out for the little wolf. “You need your rest. How does your back feel?”

  Wild glowered at him and shrugged. “Fine.”

  The white wolf raised a weary eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s all you have to say? You’re not even going to explain why you didn’t claim me? Why you did that but you wouldn’t–”

  A strong arm slipped over the little wolf’s shoulder, the bicep pressing into the back of his neck and silencing him with the gesture. Caleb was hugging him? He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the man’s hold, his hands groping at the white wolf’s back as if they would keep him from tumbling into a void.

  “It was fucked up. This whole situation is fucked up.”

  “But we’re mates. How can that be fucked up?” he whispered into Caleb’s chest.

  The man didn’t answer.

  Chapter 10

  The dim light of morning shone through the dusty blue curtains, and Wild twitched in his sleep. His long dark lashes fluttered and he let out a whimper before tightening his hold on Caleb’s chest. The white wolf stared at the window, listening to the relentless chirp of cheery birds in the forest, though his mind was on anything but the day to come.

  He gripped the smaller wolf’s shoulder and frowned. The universe must be laughing at him. After what happened with Peter – after what he did to Sam – after years of living alone in the woods – this is what he got.

  An eighteen-year-old lone wolf. A headstrong, defiant, infuriating little wolf.

  When Peter told him they were mates, all those years ago, the words sent a shiver to his very core. It sounded so exclusive. Special. Even as a horny eighteen-year-old himself, he couldn’t deny it made him feel like he belonged somewhere for the first time in a very long time.

  But that lying sack of shit didn’t mean a damn word he said. Mates. It was nothing but a lie – a figment of his imagination. How the hell did mates even find each other in the big, wide world? How could two wolves from different packs come together in a bond more powerful than any they’d ever known?

  It was a bunch of bullshit, that’s how.

  It’s something wolves said to explain away attraction – nothing more than simple lust. And the ridiculous sentiment tied you to another wolf for the rest of your life.

  Caleb took a deep breath, and focused on the little wolf’s heart, beating gently.

  That’s what he thought before he met Wild. And it was getting harder to go on thinking it now, especially after last night.

  Why the hell did he give in to the desire like that? His stomach knotted when he thought of what he’d almost done, how willingly Wild submitt
ed to him. The idiocy of youth was almost unbearable sometimes. The little wolf had no idea how badly it would have hurt, and worse, Caleb wanted to use that as a lesson to forestall the whelp.

  Some plan that turned out to be.

  He’d apologized, of course, and even given in to the passion for a change. He let it flow through his body, the lust that overwhelmed him. Wild tasted like an absolute dream. Every inch of his body, slick with sweat and want – intoxicated the man.

  Maybe that’s why he didn’t push the whelp away when he returned the favor. Or maybe it was something more sinister, lurking in his animalistic ways. He wanted the little wolf to touch him like that.

  That could be, but why did he take Wild to his bed? Why let the whelp steal his blankets and cuddle against him? Was it the little wolf’s startling eyes? Or was it his willingness to protect Caleb, no matter what? No one was that selfless. Not Sam, and certainly not Peter.

  Or maybe it was the ache in his gut and groin? The twist in his heart when he noticed Wild surrounded by the Eurasian pack, his lip bloody and his body sagging between those damn Russian brothers.

  If anything happened to the whelp, how could he live with himself? After he’d done so much to protect him? To help him – and now he had more than just a hunter to worry about. The Eurasians would want blood for what Wild did, especially if Sam couldn’t talk them down.

  A bird whistled right outside the window, and Caleb ran a large hand over his face. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Wild, even if he couldn’t tell the little wolf that.

  Caleb did his best to wipe the previous night from his mind, and thankfully Wild didn't assault him with his usual questions. Instead the little wolf glanced at him from under those thick black lashes, his cheeks flushing as if he had a fever. They went to work as usual, spending the mornings in the workshop and the afternoons in the woods. He couldn’t deny they made an excellent team.

  Wild’s senses were keen, and he could track down the hunter given the chance. Not to mention how eager he was to prove himself, almost to a fault. He could do anything, or so he claimed, and the white wolf didn’t deny it. At least, the little wolf took responsibility for his actions, and he wanted to fix things.

  Was Caleb so mature at his age? No. Far from it. He blamed everyone for his circumstances. Wild did something about it. The whelp no longer reminded him of himself, or even Sam. He was better than both of them.

  They didn’t dare step foot back into the valley. If the Eurasians wanted to clean up the traps in their territory, they could do it on their own. Good thing there was no sign of them skulking around the mountain – yet.

  Unfortunately, they still had few leads on the hunter, besides that stray piece of cloth and the man’s scent, but that didn’t surprise Caleb. The only hunter he’d ever met came out of nowhere, and if it hadn’t been for Peter, the white wolf would be just as dead as that bastard. Hunters didn’t live long if they weren’t experts, but that meant they had to catch him quickly before he did any real damage.

  The white wolf wasn’t sure how it happened, but ever since that night Wild seemed to end up in his bed every evening. The little wolf, his musky scent rich and warm, cuddled next to Caleb and fell asleep like it’s where he was meant to be. Every time the white wolf opened his mouth to shoo the whelp back to his room, the words didn’t come out. After five days, he got so used to Wild’s habits, sleeping without him seemed almost impossible.

  Caleb realized this when he woke one morning with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. The sun shone through the canopy of trees, lighting up the blue curtain and dying the whole room with the cool light. He stretched and noticed the space next to him was empty.

  Wild was gone.

  He sat up as quickly as a heartbeat. “Wild?” he called.

  The little wolf didn’t answer. Sniffing the air, Caleb caught the faint odor of blood and fur – maybe he was in the lean-to skinning a kill. Or the Eurasians decided to attack. No. He didn’t get a hint of their musk.

  He jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans, forgoing a shirt. The weather inched toward warmth with each new day, though the air still held the chill of spring. The true heat of summer never set in until July, similar to Glen Arbor.

  Caleb peeked into the kitchen. Empty. Shit! Where the hell did that damn whelp go? Without bothering with shoes, he rushed outside. The lean-to reeked of old blood, but it always did. The smoky scent of cooked meat fluttered through the air from the smoke hut. The hint of Wild’s fragrance hung on everything.

  “Wild,” he bellowed again.

  The forest rustled. A crow cawed from high in a tree, but the little wolf didn’t respond.

  He sighed and checked the lean-to and smoke hut. Both were empty. Not a surprise, but he needed to cover his bases. No point assuming the worse if the whelp decided to get an early start, for whatever reason.

  The bridge creaked under his bare feet as he jogged toward the workshop. Locked. No way Wild could be inside.

  “Whelp!” he called and spotted a footprint in the sand next to the creek – a bare footprint.

  Sunlight streamed through the canopy, the yellow light tinted green by the trees overhead. The long grass sloped into the stream, which babbled next to him over rocks and around fallen logs. The water was too quick for moss to grow on anything but the trunks of trees.

  The smell of the water cleansed other scents in the area, but he caught the fleeting tinge of Wild. What the hell was the whelp doing? Swimming?

  Did the hunter . . . . No!

  Caleb ran, dodged several trees and broke into a small clearing. The stream slowed here. Two large logs blocked its progress, and it bulged out into a pool. Wild hunched at the side with a homemade spear, a thin branch with one end sharpened to a point, clutched in his fist. He stabbed it into the water and pulled it out in a lightning fast movement – a fish wriggling on the end.

  At least he wore a pair of sweatpants; the bottoms soggy although he’d rolled them up, since he failed to put on his shoes. His sculpted chest shimmered with sweat and droplets of water in the morning light, and Caleb frowned at the whelp’s toned build and strong arms.

  “Fishing?” the white wolf said. “You came out here to go fishing, all by yourself?”

  Wild’s head shot up, and his eyes widened. Then he set his jaw into a stubborn pout. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you, and I didn’t know if you liked fishing or not. I thought it’d be a surprise.”

  Caleb closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists before he shoved them into his pockets. “It’s not safe out here.”

  Why did he say that? Wild already knew the risks, but the whelp was in his care. If anything happened –

  The little wolf stared. “I can take care of–”

  “Not against a hunter. Not if one found you out here alone and unprotected. Dammit. I thought you had more sense than that!”

  Wild lowered the spear to his side. This was it. He was going to rant about how he could do anything, even take on an experienced hunter, just because he’d been on his own for so long. The little wolf could do a lot but not that.

  “You were worried about me?” he said in a gruff whisper.

  Caleb’s heart skipped a beat, and he took a deep breath. “I don’t want that hunter eviscerating you.”

  The whelp grinned. “Neither do I.”

  “Are you finished?” the white wolf asked, his skin heating in the bright sunlight. Or maybe Wild’s smile had something to do with it.

  The little wolf lifted up his bucket and trotted across the fallen logs like they were a bridge made just for him. Caleb glanced in and counted about twenty different fish, all a decent size.

  “Let me guess. You want those for breakfast?” he asked as they wandered back toward the cabin. They’d already cleared that area of traps, but it didn't mean the hunter hadn’t laid new ones.

  “Yeah. I know this sounds weird, but I was tired of venison.”

  The white wolf chuckled.
“Fair enough. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Wild’s cheeks flushed, and he shrugged. “I wanted to do it on my own. You can catch all the deer we can eat, but I can catch the fish. We’re sort of equals in that way.”

  A branch snapped under Caleb’s foot, and he patted the whelp on the head. “Equals, huh?”

  Green eyes flashed when they met his. “You don’t think so? I’m not an omega anymore.”

  The smile that slid across the white wolf’s mouth felt more natural than any he’d ever given. “No, we’re equals, Whelp – even if you still have a lot to learn.”

  “Good. That means I can claim you, if I want to. That way we’ll be mates no matter what.”

  The man grimaced, his hand tightening on the little wolf’s shoulder. After Peter, no wolf was going to claim him again – even his own mate. “You most certainly won’t.”

  Wild stared at him, brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything more.

  When they got back to the cabin, he cleaned the fish and cooked them while the little wolf watered the garden. Caleb caught glimpses of Wild through the trees, the light bringing out hints of red in his mahogany hair, and frowned. How could he explain why he was so standoffish?

  He’d never told a living soul about Peter, save what little he revealed to Sam. And even that was unpleasant – and an accident. Telling the entire story wasn’t something he wanted to broach, especially when he spent the last eighteen years trying to forget it.

  When the little wolf came back in, the scent of cut plants hung about him as if he’d rolled in something. As Caleb set their breakfast on the table, he noticed what made the smell. Freshly cut wild flowers, a motley combination of purple and yellow, sat in a little glass.

  “They’re for you,” Wild grumbled and stared at his feet.

  “Me?”

  “Because it’s what humans do for the people they’re with, right? They give each other flowers to show how they feel.”

  Caleb’s father, before he’d died, always brought his mom flowers for her birthday. Even a simple bouquet of cheap chrysanthemums lit up her face. The big wolf’s heart ached at the thought. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to go back there. Not after how he left.