by Juno Blake
Lucy scrabbled at her throat, fighting for air. The edges of the strap cut into her skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror of not being able to breath. The edges of her vision went black.
“Leave that!” barked the lead werewolf from over by the stone bench. “You think I want to fuck a corpse, you stupid shit?”
Gyre gave a guttural laugh, as though the idea excited him. Lucy gasped as the pressure on her neck released. A moment later, he threw her camera over the hedges. A distant tinkle of glass on stone made Lucy’s heart sink.
She was done for. Even if she survived whatever the wolves were about to do to her, she was done for. There was no way she was going to be paid for tonight’s job now, and without the money, and her camera…
Lucy bit back a sob as her future narrowed to a black hole in front of her.
Two months ago, she’d had the whole world in front of her. She’d had money, freedom. A career.
And now she had nothing. No savings. No friends who could bail her out.
No way out.
No hope.
Lucy sagged in her captors’ arms as they dragged her to the bench. This was it. The end.
The world around her seemed to fall away until it was nothing but a small, bright picture at the end of a dark tunnel. All her senses were numb. She couldn’t even feel the cold of the stone bench as the werewolves threw her onto it.
“Hold her down,” commanded the lead werewolf. The other two pushed her down, forcing her to lie lengthwise on the bench. They wrenched her arms down either side of the stone slab.
Lucy let her head fall back and she closed her eyes. Just let this be over, she begged silently.
Delauncey stood at the other end of the bench. She heard a metallic clink as he dropped his belt.
“Hold her head up,” he ordered. “I want to see her face.”
One of the other werewolves grabbed her head and forced it up so she was looking straight at Delauncey. He leered down at her as he grabbed her knees and forced them apart.
“Don’t—” she cried out, but the werewolf ignored her. He pushed her knees further apart and leaned forward, openly sniffing her.
A line formed between his eyebrows. “I thought you were a fever girl,” he growled, surprise and complaint mingled in his voice.
Lucy’s tunnel vision began to clear. She could have sobbed. Was her body going to force her to endure this fully conscious?
She tried to wriggle away from the werewolf’s gaze, but there was nothing she could do. She was spread-eagled on top of the bench, completely exposed, and there was no way she could pull her arms free and cover herself.
Her only weapon was her voice.
“What are you talking about?” she snarled. “Fever girl?”
“One of those sluts in white, begging for it from anyone with fangs,” Delauncey said absently, still staring at Lucy. “If you were, you’d be gagging for me and the boys right now, but instead…” He slid one finger along Lucy’s entrance, making her shudder. “Dry as a fucking desert.”
Lucy’s insides curled in revulsion at Delauncey’s touch, but his words sent a shiver of horror down her spine. Whatever she felt about what had happened with Ciaran, her body had welcomed him. Every time. She’d been wet from the moment she first looked into his eyes.
A flicker of hope sparked inside her. If I’m not a fever girl—maybe this is my way out. Maybe they’ll let me go.
“You’re right,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m not a, a fever girl. So you should just let me go, and—”
Her voice trailed off at the smug look in Delauncey’s eyes. “What do you say, boys?” he said, a vicious smile curving his lips. “Shall we let this poor lost lamb skip back to the safety of the party?”
The other werewolves laughed. The one not holding her head up grabbed her breast, crushing it in his hand until Lucy yelped with pain.
“No,” Delauncey continued, leering. “I’ve got a better idea. I think we’ll fuck you until you bleed.”
He pulled his cock out of his pants, jerking it as he knelt in front of her.
Please no. Please no.
She couldn’t turn her head away, but she didn’t have to watch. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Delauncey laughed. “Do you know how rare it is, some non-fevered girl coming to a pack-meet? This is like Christmas for me.” His finger moved lower. “Hell, you’re so dry up there anyway, I might as well—”
Lucy screamed as he jabbed his finger at her ass. “No! Please!”
“What’s the problem, staff girl? It’s going to hurt either way, you know.” He groped further. “Make that both ways, by the time we’re done with you.”
Lucy gagged on her horror. This was nothing like being with Ciaran. Even that first weekend, when he’d taken away her choice, some part of her had wanted what he did to her. But this—this was going to destroy her.
Tears poured from her eyes. “Please—please change your mind, please, I’ll do anything…”
Delauncey laughed. “I’m already getting everything I want, you stupid whore. Believe me, there’s nothing you can offer me that’s better than this.” She felt his foul breath on her cheeks again as he spread her legs further apart. “I’ll have to thank whoever fucked you and left you here, slut. I haven’t had such a treat in years.”
Lucy braced herself, but the next voice that filled the small courtyard wasn’t Delauncey’s, or either of his underlings. It was a low, cold growl that made her almost sob with relief.
“Get away from her, you bastards!”
CHAPTER 8
“Ciaran!” Lucy gasped. She opened her eyes, fighting against the werewolves’ grip, desperate to see him.
For a moment, she couldn’t see anything but shadows. Her heart sank. I couldn’t have imagined it—no—please—
Then Ciaran ran out of the shadows, his eyes blazing gold.
Delauncey turned, too late to get out of the way as Ciaran slammed into him. Lucy pulled her legs up to her torso, twisting out of the werewolves’ grip as the force of Ciaran’s tackle sent Delauncey flying.
The two werewolves who had been holding Lucy down jumped to their feet and raced into the fight. Lucy immediately rolled sideways, falling to the ground behind the bench. Her shoulders screamed as she wrapped her arms around herself. She was still naked, but she covered herself as much as she could.
Lucy knelt behind the bench, knees pressed tightly together, barely daring to look over the top of the stone slab to see what was going on.
Ciaran was standing over Delauncey, his fist smashing into the other man’s face. He roared with anger as Crothers and Gyre tackled him. Lucy winced, expecting him to be thrown to the ground, but Ciaran kept his feet.
For a moment, all four men seemed to be still, white moonlight pouring down on them from the half-moon in the sky. Then Ciaran howled.
Lucy’s eyes widened. Ciaran had flung his head up to the moon, his howl an eerie, rage-filled threat that made Lucy’s skin prickle.
The howl seemed to awaken something inside him. Ciaran’s body grew larger, seams ripping as his suit was torn to pieces by his suddenly larger frame. Long claws flexed out from the ends of his fingers, and his eyes glowed an unearthly gold.
Lucy rubbed her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. Ciaran was transforming—but it wasn’t full moon.
This shouldn’t be possible, she thought, her heart in her throat.
But it was happening. As she watched, Ciaran’s face changed, becoming sharper, more predatory. His winged eyebrows grew thicker, shadowing his gold-blazing eyes. Below jutting cheekbones, razor-sharp fangs sprang out from his howling mouth.
In this form, Ciaran towered over the other werewolves. One of them—Crothers, Lucy thought—dodged back, swearing.
“What the fuck?” Crothers’ piggy eyes darted from Ciaran to where Delauncey lay on the ground. “Shit, Delauncey, you were right, he really is a freak!”
&
nbsp; The wolf-man Ciaran swung his huge head around and laughed in Crothers’ face. “Freak? This freak is going to tear your guts out through your throat for touching my woman.”
He lashed out with one clawed hand and struck Crothers across the face. Crothers spun through the air, landing in a crumpled heap ten feet away.
“Oh, shit!” yelled the other werewolf, Gyre. He shifted his weight, lowering his center of gravity and spreading his arms wide. A look of intense concentration crossed his face. “You piece of shit, you just wait—”
“For what?” Ciaran grabbed the second werewolf by the neck and lifted him easily off the ground.
Lucy clenched her fists on top of the bench. This was the one who’d tried to throttle her with her camera strap—Gyre. The sight of his eyes bulging as Ciaran lifted him up by his neck filled her with a fierce, vengeful glee.
“Are you trying to transform, you little creep?” Ciaran hissed into the man’s face. “Not having much luck, are you?”
The man spluttered. “How are you—?”
“Think about it.” Ciaran bared his fangs. Moonlight glinted off them.
Lucy had no idea what he was talking about, and no time to think about it. On the ground, Delauncey groaned. He was lying on his back but now, he slowly began to push himself up onto his elbows, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene in front of him.
“Ciaran—!” Lucy called out in warning.
Ciaran’s golden eyes glinted across the courtyard at her. He snapped the neck of the werewolf he was holding up and dropped him to the ground, then stalked over to where Delauncey was scrambling to his feet. Ciaran casually kicked him to the ground and then trod heavily on his chest. Lucy paled at the noise of bones cracking under Ciaran’s foot.
Delauncey collapsed again. Lucy could hear him breathing, his lungs bubbling wetly.
She gulped. I don’t think he’s going to be a problem anymore.
Lucy looked back at Ciaran.
He’d saved her. How did he know where I was? she thought dully. And why did he come back for me?
She stood up slowly. She didn’t know whether the other werewolves were dead, or just unconscious. She only knew that she and Ciaran were the only people left standing in the courtyard.
“Ciaran…” she began uncertainly.
“Lucy Abbotsford,” the wolf-man growled. “I knew I should never have let you out of my sight.”
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She was familiar with Ciaran’s possessiveness, but she’d only ever seen it as a trap—not as something that could keep her safe.
But what would he expect now, for saving her?
The wolf-man was Ciaran, she knew. Stronger, more powerful—but still human. Ciaran was unable to fully transform into a wolf; even under the full moon, this wolf-man form was the closest he came to embodying the animal side of his nature.
The creature might look inhuman, but he was still the same man who wore perfectly tailored suits and who kept his passion burning behind hooded eyes. But with less self-control over his instincts.
What would those instincts lead him to do now?
Lucy shivered as the wolf-man stalked up to her. The tattered remains of Ciaran’s suit still hung from his body, thick black hair and bulging muscles pushing through the rips and tears.
He stopped a few feet away and stared at her through narrowed eyes. Lucy braced herself. Last time—
Last time, she’d run. But she didn’t think she could move a step without collapsing now.
“Th-thank you,” she whispered. “For—for saving my life.”
She had been standing with her arms still wrapped around herself, but now she tentatively dropped them, revealing her naked breasts. She licked her dry lips.
“I don’t know why you did it. Or what you want in return.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself. Surely there’s only one thing he can want? “If you want to…”
She couldn’t say it. She knew it was what the wolf-man wanted—it must be what he wanted, it was all he’d ever wanted before—but her body was still cold and sore, and shaking with shock.
The wolf-man stared hard at her for a second that seemed to never end, and then snorted and turned away. He strode around the courtyard, his eyes sweeping the ground. With a growl, he snatched up something and stalked back to Lucy’s side.
“Here,” he muttered, holding out her ripped dress. Lucy reached out and he slipped the torn garment over her arms, draping it over her shoulders and covering as much of her as was possible.
Lucy touched the soft fabric. “I don’t understand—”
Tears pricked her eyes. She felt dirty, used—was that what Ciaran saw, too? Did she disgust him so much that even his wolf-man self didn’t want to touch her?
Ciaran sighed. His golden eyes flickered black as he looked down at Lucy.
“Oh, Lucy.” His voice was still an animal growl, but there was a softness to it. He lifted one hand to her face and ran the smooth backs of his claws along her cheek. “You poor, foolish girl.”
He stepped closer and picked her up in one smooth movement. Lucy let her head fall against his shoulder. The wolf-man’s arms were strong around her, holding her securely to his chest.
“I don’t understand…” she said again, her voice fading. She suddenly felt exhausted, as though a heavy weight was pressing down on her.
“Of course you don’t,” growled Ciaran. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “You don’t understand anything. I should have seen that the moment I laid eyes on you.”
He began to walk, his long strides bringing them to the pavilion in a matter of minutes. Lucy hid her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t face any of the other guests. And if Sibby saw her…
God. Sibby. I hope she’s safe. Lucy blinked, surprised at herself.
Of course she’s safe. She knows what she’s doing. Everyone here does. You’re the only one who gets everything wrong.
Lucy felt as though a lead weight was hanging from her heart. Her limbs were as limp and heavy as they’d felt when the three rogue werewolves had pinned her down.
She bit back a sob as the memory of Delauncey’s foul breath on her rose up in her mind. His probing fingers. His rough hands.
Ciaran was right. She was a fool. She’d thought she would be safe at the pack-meet, as though simply not dressing like a packchaser was enough to keep the werewolves from trying to claim her body.
She should have known better. Werewolves were dangerous.
Dangerous… she thought, wrapped in Ciaran’s strong arms. She could feel his heartbeat, and every muscle in his chest and arms as he held her. She didn’t feel as though she was in danger. She felt… safe.
Lucy was already half-asleep by the time Ciaran carried her out to the street and gently laid her in the back seat of a waiting car. The purr of the engine lulled her further into unconsciousness, and she let herself fall into sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
It was still dark when Lucy woke up. She stretched out, bracing herself for the shock of cold air as her feet shot over the edge of her too-short, too-narrow bed.
The shock she got wasn’t cold air. It was the sudden realization that she’d woken up in someone else’s bed.
She sat up quickly, blinking sleep out of her eyes. The room she was in had soft gray walls and pale wooden floorboards. A floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall looked out onto the Thames, where the slow-moving water glittered with city lights.
Somewhere out there was the moon, Lucy knew. And somewhere in here…
“Ciaran?”
“Lucy.”
Lucy turned around. Ciaran was crouching by the other side of the bed. He was still in his wolf-man form, and a shiver of trepidation clawed up Lucy’s spine as she looked at him.
“What am I doing here?” she asked cautiously.
She remembered him carrying her, and placing her gently in the back seat of a car… and nothing after that. She must have fallen asleep.
But how
was that possible, after everything that had happened last night? How could she have felt safe enough in Ciaran’s presence to let herself be so vulnerable?
Lucy was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she jumped as Ciaran answered her question.
“This is my London flat,” Ciaran said, then added in a harsh voice: “Where you belong.”
Before Lucy could open her mouth, Ciaran jerked back and rubbed his face, growling low in his throat.
“No,” he muttered. “This isn’t right. This isn’t… ugh.”
He jumped to his feet and stalked around the bed. Lucy followed him with her eyes, ready for him to pounce.
But… there was something different about him. At the castle seven weeks ago, the wolf-man had been all uninhibited desire. There had been an arrogant looseness in his gait, as though nothing could stop him doing what he wanted, and he knew it. But now, as he walked around the bed, Lucy could see the muscles in his arms twitching, as though he was straining not to reach out and grab her.
Straining not to. He was stopping himself. Holding himself back.
“This is all wrong,” the wolf-man snarled, running clawed fingers through his thick black hair. “It isn’t even the full moon, and I—”
“You can’t change back?”
“Change back? I can barely control it.”
Control. Lucy gulped. “Delauncey and the other two—what happened…?”
“I should have killed them,” Ciaran growled, not facing her.
“You broke his neck—”
“You should know that isn’t enough to kill one of us. You should know—”
Ciaran was at the foot of the bed. He swung to face Lucy. There was a thick bedpost at each corner of the mattress and he gripped the two in front of him so tightly his claws bit into the polished wood.
“Do you have any idea how difficult this is?” His eyes burned with unconcealed desire. “The things I want to do to you… but that’s where this all began, isn’t it? That’s where everything went wrong. Where I went wrong.”
He tore his claws from the bedposts and stalked away again, tension in every curve of his body.
Lucy leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was still wearing the remains of her dress. She remembered him handing the rags back to her.