Her Wanted Wolf
Page 1
HER WANTED WOLF
The Were Chronicles
Renee Michaels
EROTIC ROMANCE
Secret Cravings Publishing
www.secretcravingspublishing.com
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A Secret Cravings Publishing Book
Erotic Romance
HER WANTED WOLF – The Were Chronicles
Copyright © 2012 by Renee Michaels
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-206-9
First E-book Publication: March 2012
Cover design by Dawne Dominique
Edited by Lori Paige
Proof read by Julie Reilly
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Secret Cravings Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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HER WANTED WOLF
Renee Michaels
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
They came hard and fast, working their way through the thick virgin forest, scrambling up the sharp slippery incline to the crag where he camped. A series of small rock falls gave away their location, and the repetitive reverberations of many paws hitting the ground hinted at the number of weres headed in his direction. Neither the urgent cadence of their footfalls nor the fact that they didn’t attempt to hide their approach elicited a reaction from Drew Lunedare.
It would take very little effort to discover if his unwelcome guests were friends or foes. A deep breath would give him a reading of their spoor. Why bother? He’d know soon enough.
His family knew better than to disturb him when he came up here in the grips of a killing rage. He wasn’t fit company for man or beast. If they weren’t allies, well now, that was a different matter altogether. A swift vicious fight might just be the thing he needed to get his blood pumping, to make him feel alive again.
God knows he’d done his damnedest to ignite a spark inside himself. Sex sure as hell didn’t work. It didn’t matter how many willing bodies he lost himself in. He couldn’t forget. The brief, intense moments when his senses were flooded with pure sensation faded all too quickly, leaving him as hollow as before, with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
Drew drank from the label-less liquor bottle in his hand and allowed the rotgut to slide over his tongue. Swallowing to save himself from choking, he gasped for the breath cut off by the harsh, throat-searing liquid and blinked rapidly. Not even the burn from the raw alcohol warmed his insides. Nor would it provide the oblivion he craved. Drew knew that from painful experience. The only thing he got from his overindulgence was a searing hangover that churned his stomach like a bile-filled mixer and pounded at his brain like a jackhammer.
The fact that they’d taken his sister under his watch and he’d failed to retrieve her ate at him. He should have kept her safe. Drew knew who took Aimee as an act of retribution against him. Bardo Redmaven. And he also knew why.
He’d sided with Justice Ambervane when the Redmavens tried to claim both the leadership of the ruling council and Saffa—this generation’s multimorph. At first, Drew was confident he’d bring Aimee home before they used her as breeding stock.
He’d located the members of the scattered Redmaven pack within a few hours of his sister’s disappearance, but there had been no sign of their alpha, that fucker Bardo Redmaven, or his sister. The frantic hours of searching for a small sign of her turned into fear-filled days, and the days into weeks of black despair.
He and his pack bro
thers had hunted for Aimee with single-minded focus for the two weeks since she’d gone missing. On his behalf, as supreme alpha, Justice sent the word out as far north as Canada, across the Atlantic to Europe and Russia asking for help. The complete erasure of their scent trail confounded them. He made the painful decision to cease their futile search, pull back, and wait for the kidnappers to slip up. All Drew needed was a hint of her trail, a small lead to send him in the right direction, before he headed out again.
Drew closed his eyes and clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. His self-recriminations and dark thoughts were non-productive, but they looped in his head like a tape.
Guilt was a relentless mistress.
Harsh, labored pants disturbed the birds enough to send them skyward in a panic. The thin mountain air was a bitch to breathe in, especially if you ran full out. His hand tightened on the neck of the bottle.
Instinctive wariness took over, and Drew lifted his head to sniff the air.
Fuck! Ambervane. They’d called in the big guns.
If Justice took the time to leave his mate during her difficult pregnancy, it had to be bad. The worst of his fears germinated, quickly took root, and sunk thorny tendrils of dread into him.
Drew rose to his feet and whirled around to face his supreme alpha who approached him on foot. Alone.
Expecting to hear the worst, Drew tensed and braced himself for bad news.
The hard planes on Justice’s face were grim, but Drew recognized the feral gleam of anticipation in his amber-gold eyes.
They were about to hunt.
“What?” Drew demanded, his gruff question rife with the insidious terror creeping through him.
A savage smile spread across Justice’s face. “A couple of rogue weres with Aimee’s spoor on them have been scented.”
A maelstrom of emotions rushed through him like a tsunami. An icy fury settled in Drew’s belly, and the wolf in him flexed violently, fighting to break free to exact a bloody retribution. The man, light-headed with elation, closed his eyes and fought back tears of relief. Shit, he wasn’t about to bawl like a baby before Justice, or he’d rag on him for the show of emotion for the rest of his life.
A new kernel of hope blossomed inside him, but he wouldn’t allow himself to ask whether his sister’s scent was of death or life. Putting his dread into words might make the unthinkable a reality.
Aimee had to be all right, for his sanity’s sake.
He didn’t need the additional confirmation, but he asked anyway. “Are you sure it’s her?”
Justice nodded. “She’s alive, but that’s all we can say. Her scent hinted at illness.”
Black, soul-eating rage blazed through him. Drew shook his head to clear it. “Where are they?”
Justice let out a choked, deprecating laugh. “Would you believe it? One of Jackson Roi’s cubs stumbled across them. They’re near the Ozark Plateau, where we lost their trail.”
Drew frowned. “I searched that area with Jackson. How could we have missed them?”
“Don’t know, but now that we have their scent-trail, we won’t lose them. Jackson set a watch on them. They’ll wait until you get there. It’s your hunt since the offence was committed against your pack.” Justice took the bottle from him, sniffed at its contents, and grimaced. “I hope you’re not piss-faced drunk out of your head because I’d have to kick your ass to sober you up fast, Andy.”
To anybody else it would seem like meaningless banter, but it was Justice’s way of gauging his condition.
“You can try. This is the first drink I’ve had in a long while. It’s Gustav’s latest effort. It’s fine if you don’t have any use for the lining of your stomach. And don’t call me Andy.”
Drew yanked the bottle out of Justice’s hand and poured the contents into the ground. And he’d be damned if the grass didn’t appear to wither a bit.
“I ought to beat the crap out of you to test your mettle. You need to be at your sharpest if you’re going up against Bardo and his pumped-up fore-fighters.”
Drew lifted his eyes to meet Justice’s watchful gaze. “Relax, Mommy. This isn’t my first dance.”
Justice’s expression changed. The humanity retreated and the primitive wolf emerged in his eyes. It was Drew’s only warning. He skipped back just in time to avoid Justice’s lethal claws raking his vulnerable stomach.
Justice grinned. “It seems like you still have few moves left in you. You know this could be a trap baited especially for you.”
“You think? But I’m a slippery guy, or so I’ve been told.”
Justice laughed. “Well, that’s what the women complain about, anyway. How do you want to handle this?”
“It’d be best if one wolf went in to do reconnaissance. I don’t want the scent of my pack dispersed all over the area.”
Justice nodded in agreement. “Then what? I’ll sanction any reprisals you wish to mete out.”
Drew turned to face the men who’d traveled up the mountain with Justice. They strained forward to hear him pass sentence. Eight battle-scarred, hard-eyed fore-fighters bristled with the same suppressed rage he felt. The Redmavens had taken one of their she-wolves from under their noses and kept her hidden. It stung, and there had to be some major payback.
Drew lifted his eyes to meet the expectant gazes of his men focused on him. The concrete resolution he saw in them mirrored his feelings.
“There’s only one way this can end. We’re killing every last son–of–a bitch who dared to lay hands on my sister.”
Chapter Two
Drifting between sleep and consciousness, Aimee caught bits and pieces of a conversation. Harsh, unfamiliar voices raised in anger filtered through her clouded mind. She shifted restlessly, trying to make sense of the words. Why couldn’t she understand?
Fragmented memories and impressions of traveling long distances flitted through her head. As hard as she tried to connect the jigsaw puzzle to form a clear picture, the wispy images drifted away like smoke.
Everything was so heavy. To think was a strain. Her body, weighed down by an oppressive lethargy, kept her floating. Something wasn’t right.
Sleep lured her back into sweet oblivion, but the menacing snarls and the recognizable slap of flesh slamming against flesh, signifying a fight, pulled her closer to full awareness. Frightened by the coppery odor of blood and the presentiment of danger, Aimee clawed her way to consciousness.
Her eyelids fluttered open to searing brightness. Turning her head away from the light, she blinked to give her sensitive pupils time to adjust.
God, she was so tired and thirsty. Tentatively, she licked her lips. They were cracked and peeling, and dried blood tasted metallic on her tongue. Aimee forced her eyes to stay open, and her breath hitched in her throat when unfamiliar moss-covered stone walls came into focus. This was so wrong. She was in the city, wasn’t she? Squinting at the light source, Aimee noticed that the eye-searing beam wasn’t coming from a light bulb but a lantern.
The long shadows cast on the walls doubled, then tripled. They flickered back and forth, doing an arrhythmic boogie. She let out a high-pitched squeak when they sprouted arms and gaping mouths. Black bottomless maws grew wider and wider the longer she stared into the images. She shut her eyes in an act of self-preservation. The darkness she’d just pulled herself out of threatened to swallow her up again.
They’re not real. They’re not real.
Aimee concentrated on what she knew was true. There were no such things as ghosts. Terrified and exhausted, she opened her eyes again, fearful she wasn’t imagining things. She sagged with relief when all she saw were the chalky walls.
What the hell was she doing here? The last thing she remembered was dancing in a club the night before. Was it the night before?
Groggily, Aimee pushed herself up into a sitting position. She listed from side to side as if the world shifted on its axis. Hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness, she swallowed hard to keep whatever threatened to come up from spewing ou
t. Dry heaves racked her body, sapping her pitiful reserve of energy.
Panic sent a gush of adrenaline pumping through her body.
Have to get away, have to get away.
The single coherent thought pummeled her. She rolled over onto her knees and pushed up onto her feet. Crap. She wobbled on rubbery legs, and stepped off the sleeping bag. The shock of the cold ground under her bare feet pulled her out of the fugue state that held her in its grip.
Dragging dank air into her lungs in great gulps, she wavered, but managed to stay vertical. Aimee’s heart raced like she’d run a marathon while hopped up on speed. For a moment, she’d have bet good money she’d fall back on her ass.
A frigid layer of sweat coated her shaking body, but she gritted her teeth. She took a faltering shuffle forward. The outdoors beckoned. She could smell it. Tangy sap, loamy dirt, the scent of freedom, all encouraged her to move forward.
Only a few steps more.
A cloud of musk filled her nostrils, and she stopped her slow sluggish shamble forward. A male were’s scent, rich with his virility, flavored the breeze. Her nose twitched as she drew in the fragrance to pinpoint its source. Alien. Aimee didn’t recognize the were. The fine hairs on her body rose.
Her head jerked up, and she looked up into the face of Oberon come to life. Dazedly, she gaped at the man standing before her. Who would have thought that the king of the fairies could get a shiner? Naahh, a fairy prince would be fair-haired, aglow in lightness, not dark and brooding. He wouldn’t be muscular. He’d be leaner and dressed in a bejeweled velvet doublet, hose and thigh high boots. And a codpiece. She heard a giggle, and looked around to see who laughed. Did that come from her?