Marked By The Wolf (Werewolf Fever #3)

by Juno Blake

  MARKED BY THE WOLF

  Werewolf Fever—Book 3

  By Juno Blake

  © 2017 Juno Blake, all rights reserved

  CHAPTER 1

  Teasing fingers traced patterns on Lucy’s thighs. She moaned sleepily and stretched her legs, encouraging the fingers to venture further.

  Lucy had slept naked, as always, entwined in her mate’s arms and wrapped in cloudy layers of luxurious bedding. Now she felt the slightest breeze over her body. All the bedding had been stripped back, leaving her body on display.

  She could feel lustful eyes on her, leaving a burning trail on her skin. He was still only lightly brushing her thighs with his fingertips, but the force of his gaze was transforming her warm sleepiness into fiery need.

  Lucy opened her eyes. Ciaran Mallory stared down at her, all dark, tousled hair, coal-black eyes and burning passion. His body covered hers—almost. Lucy could feel the heat pouring from his bare skin, but he wasn’t touching her. Ciaran held himself over her, a teasing light in his eyes.

  She trembled with anticipation.

  “One day,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust, “you’re not going to wake up in time.”

  Before Lucy could react he thrust into her, burying his cock deep inside her in one smooth motion. Lucy cried out as her body adjusted to his girth. The sensation was just the right side of painful—or the wrong side. She wrapped her legs around his waist, greedy for more.

  Ciaran’s eyes narrowed to slits, gold sparking in their depths. Lucy caught her breath. How close is it to full moon?

  She had lost track, trapped inside the safehouse. The place was practically a dungeon: no windows, no way of tracking the time.

  For all Lucy knew, it could be full moon already. Or close enough, at least…

  Lucy gasped as Ciaran slid his full length out of her and thrust in again, slowly, teasing.

  Close enough? Close enough for the werewolf’s animal side to become stronger. Close enough for Ciaran, who prized his control over his urges, to begin to lose that control in the most thrilling ways…

  Ciaran grasped Lucy by the shoulders. His eyes burned into hers. “Even asleep, you are mine,” he growled as he thrust into her. Harder. Faster.

  “Yes,” Lucy agreed. “Yes—always—”

  Forever. The word seared across her mind and she didn’t know if it came from her, or…

  Gold flared in Ciaran’s eyes. He moved his hands to her hips and flipped her over, throwing her onto her stomach. Lucy pushed herself up. She grabbed hold of the headboard less than a heartbeat before Ciaran thrust into her again.

  Lucy’s hands juddered on the headboard as his cock filled her again and again. Ciaran kept one hand on her waist, holding her where he wanted her, but he reached forward with the other and placed it on her hand. His fingers tightened over hers as he pounded into her, silently enforcing his ownership.

  Lucy arched her back, offering herself to Ciaran. Her body was his. He could do whatever he liked to her. She’d made that decision months ago, and nothing would make her change it.

  She couldn’t change it. There was no going back.

  Mine. Forever.

  Electricity shot through her body, growing stronger with every thrust. Ciaran’s hand on her waist held her firm, his fingernails digging into her skin. She moaned, imagining what would happen when the full moon arrived. He would be stronger, bigger. More violent. Claws would stretch out of each fingertip, and when he dug them into her flesh—

  Lucy screamed as her orgasm struck, pleasure coursing like fire through every nerve in her body. Ciaran growled deep in his throat and increased his pace until he was forcing himself into her in a frenzy, driving more and more sensation from her convulsing body.

  Stars burst in Lucy’s vision. The muscles in her legs gave out and she sagged under Ciaran’s assault. If he hadn’t been holding her up she would have collapsed onto the bed.

  But Ciaran wasn’t done with her yet. He grabbed her waist with both hands. Lucy lost her grip on the headboard and slipped down until the only part of her off the bed was her ass. Ciaran yanked her back and forth, pulling her to meet each of his thrusts until he came with a roar that made Lucy’s bones shake. She felt his cock flex inside her as he filled her with his seed.

  Ciaran bore down on her, his weight flattening Lucy against the mattress. He slid one hand under her cheek, twisting her head around until he could see her face.

  His body was hot and slick with sweat, and he was still buried deep inside her, pinning her to the bed. Lucy was still panting with exhaustion from the force of her orgasm. Her lungs strained, but he was too heavy for her to take the deep breaths she needed.

  Ciaran bared his teeth. “Mine,” he growled. “Never forget it.”

  Lucy’s mind flicked back to the voice that had blazed through her mind during their lovemaking. Had it been her imagination—or was it Ciaran’s voice?

  She stared into his black eyes. “Yours,” she agreed.

  He lowered his head, scraping his teeth along her jaw. A dark thrill raced through Lucy. Yes, her deepest heart cried. Yes, please, do it—make me yours, truly yours—

  But Ciaran drew back. His chest and arm muscles flexed and then he was gone, leaving nothing but cool air behind him.

  Lucy sat up, staring after him. The words What’s wrong? were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back.

  She didn’t need to ask. She knew what was wrong.

  Ciaran Mallory was a werewolf—but he couldn't take wolf form. The full moon made him more passionate, possessive, and fearsome, but that was all. For other werewolves the full moon was a time of freedom, their wolf forms beings of pure and simple power, offering a cathartic release from human concerns.

  Not Ciaran. The monstrous wolf-man shape he took at full moon was anything but simple. As were the consequences of his inability to take full wolf form.

  Lucy was Ciaran’s mate. Her body burned for him, and over the last few months, that carnal desire had been joined by… something else. She wouldn’t call it love; it was too terrifying for that.

  Love was irrelevant, anyway. As mates, their lives were inextricably bound together, regardless of personal feelings. Ciaran had claimed her, and she had accepted his power over her; that was enough.

  Or it should have been.

  There was one problem with their arrangement. Usually, a werewolf would claim his mate by marking her. Biting her. The scar left by the bite cemented the mate bond, and marked the werewolf’s mate as untouchable to other werewolves.

  Ciaran could hurt her. He’d proved that, again and again, until her body was covered with bruises and scratches that left her quivering with desire. But nothing more.

  It was always the wolf who performed the bite. Without a wolf form, Ciaran couldn’t mark Lucy. And without his mark, Lucy had no magical protection from rival werewolves.

  Hence the safehouse.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Ciaran.” Lucy swung her legs over the side of the bed and followed him across the room. Her feet sank into carpet thick as meadow grass.

  There were no windows in the safehouse, just blank, featureless walls. Ciaran stood in a dark corner, staring into the shadows.

  His jet-black eyes were hooded, an expression Lucy recognized. She sighed and wound her arms around his waist, leaning one cheek against his back.

  “How long is it?” she asked. “Until the full moon?”

  “One night. Not long enough.”

  “But the trial—”

  Ciaran cut her off with a curt bark of laughter. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “We can try again,” Lucy continued. “The sentencing is tod
ay, and if the full moon is straight after…”

  “It won’t work.” Ciaran’s voice was heavy with bitterness. “Even in my half-transformed state, I can’t make myself bite you. And I know better than to force myself to make it work.”

  The muscles in his back tightened. “The wolf claims the mate. That’s the way it’s meant to be. Who knows what I would do to you, biting you in my wolf-man form?”

  “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” Lucy traced circles on his abs with her fingertips. “Except the ways I like to be hurt.”

  Ciaran turned to face her, tipping her chin up with one finger. “You trust me too much, Lucy Abbotsford. Even I do not trust myself that much.” He sighed. “I’m broken, Lucy. When I inherited the werewolf curse, something went wrong. I never thought I would find a mate, but now that I have you, I will not risk harm coming to you from my broken curse.”

  Lucy bit her tongue. She knew what she wanted to say—that, to her, Ciaran wasn’t broken. He was terrifying, exquisite—and wonderful.

  But she’d tried that before. She knew he wouldn’t believe her. Not really.

  Ciaran shook his head. “You are right about one thing. After today, the trial will be over.” A thin smile whispered over his lips. “One less day until I can take you away from this lightless cage.”

  “The cage hasn’t been so bad,” Lucy lied.

  “Liar.” Ciaran bit her gently on her lower lip. “Besides. I want to see the moonlight on your skin again.”

  Lucy held him closer, molding her body against his. “As soon as the sentencing is carried out.”

  Ciaran’s arms tightened around her. “As soon as itis safe,” he agreed, bitterness lacing his voice like poison.

  Lucy trembled in his arms. The trial. She hadn’t attended any of it—Ciaran had protected her from that, at least. She didn’t want to see the men who were on trial ever again, even if they were being locked up.

  A month ago, three werewolves had attacked her while she was working as a photographer at a pack-meet, a werewolf social event. She was there as an employee of Blackpaw Pack, not a participant in the mate-taking ritual—but the rogue werewolves hadn’t cared about that.

  Ciaran had saved her from them, whisking her away to his own territory and refusing to let her go. She had been his more than willing captive ever since that night. The moment her attackers were taken into custody, Ciaran had arranged for her to be brought to this safehouse. She had no idea where it was—Ciaran and his security team were the only people who knew the house’s location, and how to get in.

  She could be on an island. Deep underground. Or even in the center of London, or another city. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, so long as she was safe.

  Every time she thought of that night, she remembered how helpless she had been. The terror of being completely exposed and vulnerable.

  “I hope they lock them up and throw away the key,” she said. She meant the words to sound tough, but they came out wobbly.

  Ciaran swept his hand around to the back of her head and held her close. She breathed in, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent, and her the thudding in her ears softened.

  “Werewolf justice doesn’t include imprisonment,” he said gently. “Delauncey and his associates will be cut off from their Pack, and exiled.” He paused, and Lucy could hear the frustration in his voice when he continued: “It’s all very civilized. A few decades ago, the sentence would have been justice by combat.”

  “I would have liked to see that,” Lucy said sharply, surprising herself.

  Ciaran chuckled. “No, sweetheart, you wouldn’t. Trials by combat were always held at the full moon—and I would have been the one fighting them.”

  “You fought them before,” Lucy reminded him. “I know you can’t fully transform at full moon, but you’re strong, you’re—”

  “—Not strong enough.” Ciaran’s voice was flat with certainty. “Not against a werewolf in wolf form. This is the best possible outcome, Lucy. Exile means Delauncey and the other two are forbidden from contact with other werewolves, and no longer under the protection of Pack law. If they approach their previous Pack, or another, they can be run off, or even killed. That is why sentencing is always held just before the full moon, so that punishments for breaking exile can be quickly meted out.” He paused. “And being without a Pack has… consequences, for werewolves. What remains of their lives will not be happy.”

  “Good.” Lucy knew she shouldn’t feel happy for other people’s misery, but in this case, she felt the rogue werewolves were getting just what they deserved.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of them attacking other women. She couldn't even stand remembering what they had done to her.

  The memory of that night was like a heavy black shroud, threatening to blot out everything that was good about her new life now. Lucy gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t let those bastards have any hold on her life. They weren’t worth it.

  “What time is the sentencing?” Lucy slid her hands up Ciaran’s chest, tilting her head back to look at him. She knew one guaranteed way to drive grim memories out of her mind…

  “One hour before sunset.” Ciaran’s dark eyes glinted. He knew what she was thinking, and his protective caresses became more possessive. “I will attend, of course, but we have some time yet…”

  Lucy relaxed into him for a moment, letting his attention drive the stress out of her body. Then she ducked out of his grasp, grinning impishly. “I’m going to have a shower. If you want to join me…”

  She could feel his predatory gaze on her back as she headed for the en-suite. She was still naked, and her skin burned where she imagined him staring: her neck, the long line of her back, the curve of her waist and ass… she swung her hips as she walked, trying to provoke him.

  He didn’t take the bait. At the bathroom door, she swung around—and he had vanished.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed. Where…?

  “Looking for me?” whispered a rough voice in her ear. Ciaran slipped one arm around her waist, drawing her backwards into the bathroom.

  A shiver ran from the top of Lucy’s head down to her toes. Ciaran’s voice always did things to her. His soft Scottish brogue made her skin prickle with anticipation.

  “How did you sneak past me?” she demanded, trying to sound indignant instead of helplessly aroused. Ciaran laughed.

  “The best hunter doesn’t need to chase his prey. He waits where he knows it will come to him.”

  Ciaran reached around her, switching the light off and pulling the door shut. Lucy blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust, but the darkness was inky-black, like a blindfold.

  She heard the shower start, and a moment later, Ciaran took her hand.

  “Come,” he ordered her, and she obeyed, sliding her feet carefully over the marble-tiled floor.

  She felt the heat of the shower spray before the water hit her body. The shower was waterfall-style, and Ciaran placed her in the middle of it. Lucy dropped her head back, eyes closed, and let the hot water stream over her.

  Ciaran’s voice was so low she could barely hear it over the rush of the water. “It was thoughtless of me to wake you so selfishly this morning. Taking you so soon after you woke up… It’s much more fun when you have longer to squirm.”

  Lucy gasped as his fingers ghosted up her side, his touch even hotter than the water.

  “Ciaran…” she breathed, desire flooding through her.

  She reached out blindly, aiming for where she thought he would be. Her fingers found nothing but empty air.

  “Tsk, tsk, sweetheart.” Ciaran’s voice came from behind her. “That’s not how this game works.”

  He took hold of her wrists and raised them above her head. “Stay,” he commanded.

  Lucy obeyed him, keeping her arms up even after he let her go. She could feel him prowling around her. Even in human form Ciaran’s vision was supernaturally stronger than hers—she was blind in the darkness, but he could see her.

  Hot water sluic
ed over her body, rinsing off the evidence of their earlier lovemaking. She smelled a hint of mint and other herbal scents—but only a hint. Ciaran preferred unscented or gently scented products.

  He didn’t like anything to get in the way of his mate’s natural scent.

  Lucy shivered. Feeling the heat of Ciaran’s body near to hers, she stretched, pushing out her chest and hips. She wasn’t allowed to reach out to him with her hands, but he was standing in front of her. If she leaned forward—just a little…

  Ciaran chuckled. “None of that, sweetheart.”

  Lucy moaned her displeasure, but stayed where she was. Her reward came a moment later. Ciaran ran a sudsy bath sponge down her neck and across her collarbones. He worked slowly, with tantalizing care, first washing her arms with long strokes, moving around to her back…

  …And never touching her. Lucy ached for the sweet sensation of his skin against hers, but he only touched her with the sponge, never his hands.

  “Patience, dear one,” Ciaran murmured. He reached around her, soaping up her belly. Lucy fought the urge to let herself fall back into him. That’s not how this game works. And she wanted to play it through to the end.

  She trembled as Ciaran moved upwards at last, making circles around her breasts. Her skin tingled as the slow circles became smaller, closer to her stiff, sensitive nipples.

  The sponge was slick with soap. Soft. Too soft. Lucy wanted him to rub it over her nipples, over every part of her, but it wouldn’t be enough. She needed his touch, his hands, his tongue, every part of him.

  Lucy gasped and arched her back as he brushed over one nipple. Ciaran repeated the motion, harder this time, and electric shocks of desire jolted from Lucy’s breast straight to between her legs. She was slick all over, inside and out.

  “Please,” Lucy begged. Liquid fire was racing through her veins, hotter than the water rushing over her. If he didn’t touch her soon, she would drown and burn in it at the same time.

  Ciaran didn’t reply. Instead, he left Lucy moaning with need and moved lower, barely ghosting past the aching center of need between her legs. He soaped up one thigh, then the other, until Lucy thought she would collapse from desire.