by Bonnie Vanak
The Mating Season
Werewolves of Montana Book 6
Bonnie Vanak
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Copyright
Chapter 1
None of her fantasies had ever made her feel this alive, nor this free.
A handsome man carried her in his strong arms, his sensual nature swirling about him like the most intoxicating aroma. He planned to remove her clothing, tumble her onto his soft, wide bed and ravish her. Her lover intended to keep her trapped in his bed, giving her such pleasure that she would cry out his name over and over as she clung to him and he made her his own.
And when he was finished, she would be carrying his child, for his true purpose was to impregnate her with his much-desired heir.
“You are mine, Nikita. I will never let you go. I will make love to you until you scream with pleasure and your belly grows big with my child,” he whispered.
Nikita Blakemore opened her eyes on a dreamy sigh. And then she looked up to see her lover’s smoldering gaze.
He had not whispered those words in her imagination. He had spoken them aloud and this was reality. She was his captive and could not escape.
Her trembling arms hooked around the neck of Tristan, the powerful Silver Wizard, she closed her eyes again, wishing she were back inside her lonely basement apartment, with only girlish fantasies for company. Too weak and sick to escape his implacable grip, she could only hold on and plan a later escape.
Her captor barely spoke since spiriting her away from the only home she had ever known. He watched her, quiet, assessing, as if she were prey and he was a wolf about to devour her whole.
Nikita had feared him ever since he’d laid claim to her. He’d done so after her twin Nia won the heart and the hand of Aiden, the Mitchell pack alpha, back in Montana.
She was now the property of the wizard who had saved her from the parvolupus virus.
With his dark, silver-tipped hair and his burning black eyes, the wizard looked dangerous. Nikita hid her emotions. They would not serve her well. She’d been dying until Tristan had poured a magick potion down her throat. Then he’d spirited her away. And she had feared the immortal wizard virtually since birth.
All her twenty-five years of life, she’d been safeguarded and protected to keep Tristan from taking her.
And despite all the safeguards, the secrets and her twin’s determination that no one should know of her existence, here she was, captured in his secure embrace.
Her head ached, her throat hurt and weakness gripped her limbs. She could not fight him. Not yet. First, she must regain her strength. How could she fight a wizard who could flick a finger and turn a werewolf into ash with a bolt of energy? An immortal wizard who was the guardian of shapeshifters and ruled over them? They said he could kill with one look, and slay a woman with pleasure with another.
Deep inside, another fear tugged at her, a fear she did not understand. She could not trust this wizard or lose herself in his kisses and caresses because he had done something to her in the past.
Something terrible.
Tristan shifted her weight in his arms as they stood outside the entrance of the Sandy Dreams Grand Hotel on a Florida beach. All he had done was blink and they’d materialized here. The method of travel was efficient, but dizzying.
Moonlight dappled the wet pavement and stars glittered overhead like a fistful of diamonds against velvet. To pass the time while she was secluded in her apartment, she had surfed the internet and seen this hotel, fantasizing about staying here with a handsome lover who longed to become her mate.
And now here she was, with a handsome wizard carrying her as if it were their wedding day. It was a dream hotel, but the man holding her was her worst nightmare.
Tristan glanced down at her, his expression inscrutable. “We’re spending the night here. You’re too weak. You need rest.”
An ancient prophecy foretold that Tristan would take her away and then she would die. Lately, she’d experienced dreams that warned her they’d had a past life together. But in her dreams, the wizard didn’t kill her. He made love to her with such passion that it left her limbs weak and her sex pulsing when she awoke. And she wept, not from passion, but from grief because the lover in her dreams always died a painful death.
Prophecy or not, she was still ill. Tristan wasn’t going to ravish her tonight. Or, it seemed, kill her. She didn’t know which fate she feared more. He held her tightly, as if never wanting to release her.
Tristan nodded and a uniformed man opened the door for them. Niki blinked at the brilliance. The hotel’s Renaissance décor had appealed to her as she’d surfed the internet. Vaulted ceilings with elegant, gold-leaf trim edged reliefs that she knew were painstakingly hand-carved by artisans. Figures from Greek and Roman mythology pranced through the murals. Niki spotted an impish Cupid aiming his bow downward, as if to shoot at incoming guests.
Cupid, stay your arrow. I have no need of love. I would appreciate a way to get out of this, so if you could loan me your wings and I can fly home, I’d be much obliged.
She tried to avoid looking at her captor.
But she could not avoid the stunned gaze of guests as Tristan carried her through the lobby, over the thick wool carpet with its intricate design, beneath the glow of elegant chandeliers designed to mimic 18th century lighting. He walked with her past the tastefully arranged groups of chairs and sofas, banked by polished wood tables adorned by sprays of white orchids. At last they arrived at the check-in desk. Lamps glowed softly upon the wood counter, giving the impression of an elegant living room in someone’s grand private mansion.
The starched uniformed clerk behind the counter looked no less shocked at their appearance than the guests.
It must be the dress.
Gone were the jeans and shirt she’d worn at the ranch when the Silver Wizard abducted her. Instead, with a wave of his hand, Tristan had covered her in a violet and silver velvet gown, with flowing sleeves adorned with silver embroidery, her long blond hair caught up in a silver snood. Niki caught sight of herself in a nearby mirror: it wasn’t an average, every-day outfit.
Loneliness gripped her. It was bad enough, being hidden away inside her basement apartment for more than two decades like a fungus, never venturing out unless she’d imitated Nia, her identical twin. And now, on her first appearance in society, she looked like an escapee from a medieval movie set.
The mirror rippled, like a pebble tossed into a still pond. Suddenly she no longer saw the glittering hotel, the lights, and Tristan holding her in his secure, unyielding grip.
She saw a blonde woman, dressed in a long amethyst gown with silver thread embroidered on the bodice and sleeves, standing in a room facing a table. No longer did her body bear the ugly dark streaks caused by the parvolupus virus.
A man in black, his long-legged stride filled with purpose, approached her from behind. The dark-haired man caught the woman in his arms and tore her gown off, leaving her nude. He bent the woman face-down upon the table, spr
ead her long legs open. Nikita caught a glimpse of the female’s wet, pink sex.
The man loosened his breeches. Nikita saw his thick, long phallus and her own sex pulsed.
Fisting a hand in her long hair, he drove into the woman with a harsh growl, and the woman shrieked, whether from pleasure or pain, Nikita could not tell. Over and over he plunged into the woman as she moaned, then he licked her spine and growled. Seizing the woman’s plump hips, he threw back his head and howled, jerking and convulsing as the woman screamed, this time the cry one of undeniable pleasure.
Nikita blinked and the mirror became an ordinary mirror once more. But the vision had been so incongruous with the elegant opulence of the hotel that a deep flush ignited her body. She felt wanton and shamed, as if the Skins, the word Others used to describe humans, had caught her viewing a porno flick.
Sensual excitement twined with fear and dread. The man in the mirror had been fierce, nearly driven to a mating fever, the blood frenzy of Lupine males denied the touch of their mates for too long. More brutal than a mating rite, the fever was all consuming, and could last for days until both lay panting with exhaustion, and the female carried his young in her belly.
She shivered, the sensual excitement fading. Was she destined to become nothing more than a brood mare to suit the wizard’s purpose?
The Silver Wizard glanced down at her, his full mouth curved in a knowing smile. She looked away. Was this a vision of the future? What did Tristan plan to do with her?
The night clerk looked over Tristan’s black velvet tunic, his leather pants and doeskin boots. “May I help you?”
“I need to book your penthouse oceanfront suite for two nights. We just got married.”
The clerk relaxed a little. “Oh, so that’s why you’re dressed that way.”
“It was a Medieval wedding.” Tristan gave the woman an intense smile, and she melted like hot wax.
“I’m a history buff. I adore the Dark Ages!” the clerk gushed.
“They were quite dark,” he murmured.
The clerk looked at Nikita, who felt another flush rise to her cheeks. “And this is the fair maiden you rescued, Sir Knight?”
“My wife.” He winked at the desk clerk. “I promised to carry her over the threshold, but our home is some distance from here.”
Some distance. Try a million light years. Tristan, the Silver Wizard, lived in Tir Na-nog, the afterworld. Niki wanted to laugh, but her stomach hurt too badly.
The young clerk blushed, obviously smitten. Fingers poised on the keyboard, she clicked and clacked over the keys, then nodded. “You are in luck, sir. We have the penthouse available. A beautiful view of the Atlantic, wet bar, king-sized bed…”
As she prattled off details, Niki closed her eyes. Her stomach tightened again. Goddess, I hope you have a bathroom because I feel sick all over again.
“I need a major credit card, Mr…?”
“Tristan,” the rogue said. “Mr. Tristan Kearney. With a ‘K.’ And this is my wife, Nikita.”
Tristan reached into his pocket and pulled out a black card, handing it over to the clerk.
As the clerk ran the card, the wizard looked down at her. “That is my true name.”
Niki looked away. She did not care.
He must be quite strong to hold her weight with only one arm. Most female Lupines were big and had plenty of curves, and she was no exception. She looked down and saw his arms relaxed at his side.
Oh dear goddess. He wasn’t holding her. She was floating in mid-air. The desk clerk was totally clueless. Nikita closed her eyes and tried to control her increasing nausea.
“You are all set, sir. May I get a bellhop for your luggage?”
Nikita opened her eyes.
“Not necessary. It will be arriving later. Please do not disturb us. We plan to be busy.” Tristan looked down at her again, his expression inscrutable, though she felt the incandescence of his brute sensuality heat her body like a fire. “Quite busy. Thank you and good night.”
She watched Tristan pocket the card, and then his arms slid around her once more—muscled, strong as steel and equally unrelenting. Through the heavy velvet she could feel the warmth of his skin.
“And you, Mrs. Kearney. Best wishes. Is there anything you require?”
Niki looked at the woman, who appeared to be about her age. She wanted to say “a one-way ticket home,” but courage failed her. She remained silent.
Seeing more strangers stare in their direction, Niki closed her eyes again as Tristan strode with her toward the elevator.
When they reached the room, he carried her inside and snapped on the lights. Niki opened her eyes. Her dreams paled in comparison to the reality. Gold and white silk paper lined the walls. An elegant white and gold sofa with matching armchairs, whitewashed furniture and an elegant marble coffee table overlooked a wall of sliding glass doors. These opened to a long balcony overlooking the ocean. There was an eight-seat dining table with cushioned chairs, a sideboard holding a spray of fresh lilies and a small chandelier made from seashells.
A small kitchenette opened to the living space, and next to it was a mirrored wall. She caught her reflection and shivered. No vision now, this was the ugly reality. The black streaks still marked her neck and her face looked pale and smudged with purple shadows.
Tristan gazed down at her. “I created an illusion for all the Skins that you do not look ill. The marks will fade when you rest. You will return to normal, I promise.”
She didn’t know what normal was anymore.
Tristan walked across the carpet into an adjoining bedroom with more elegant white furniture and a lounge chair by the sliding glass doors opening to the balcony. Waving a hand, he turned the covers down. Blue and white decorative pillows floated from the bed to pile neatly upon the lounge chair. He set her gently upon the king-sized bed. She curled into a ball, too miserable to appreciate the soft mattress beneath her, the fine Egyptian cotton sheets.
Tristan pressed his mouth to his forefinger, a whisper of a kiss, then reached out to touch her. Niki jerked away.
He sighed as he shook his head. “I see it will take you some time for you to become accustomed to my touch. I’ve waited more than eight centuries to have you in my arms again, my sweet. I am patient.”
Can you wait another full century?
Her stomach pitched and rolled as if she lay upon the deck of a ship in the midst of a churning ocean. Niki bit her lip.
Tristan waved a hand and suddenly she was clad in flannel pajamas with little hearts and flowers, her long hair done in her favorite French braid.
Niki looked down in stunned amazement. No silk nightgown or worse, bare skin.
“The pajamas are your favorites. I thought you’d like something familiar.”
It was sweet, but she was far too miserable to appreciate the gesture. Her bones ached and her stomach felt full of ground glass. Then he went into the bathroom and returned, carrying a gold waste bucket. Tristan set it on the floor next to the bed.
He sat on the bed. Niki turned, staring at the moon that glinted on the ocean through the partly-drawn drapes. It was lovely. Soothing, much more so than the intimidating man whose thigh was intimately pressed against hers.
He reached for her, but she shrank back, fearing the prophecy. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his expression. Tristan sighed. He waved a hand and the drapes opened to display the stunning vista. She glanced at him.
“I’m afraid you will not enjoy the view, no matter where you are. You are in for a rough night, my sweet. The potion I gave you has saved you, but it’s changing your cell structure. Your body is changing and the process can be…”
Nausea churned in her stomach and her throat tightened. She reached over the bed and retched into the gold bucket he held out.
“Brutal,” he finished. He stroked her hair as she continued vomiting. “I’m sorry, Nikita. I never intended to make you sick on our first date.”
She raised her head, taking the
wet, warm washcloth he offered. Niki wiped her mouth.
She had not spoken much to him since bidding good-bye to her twin back at the ranch before Tristan whisked her away.
“Usually women don’t get sick of you until the second date?” she croaked.
His dark gaze twinkled. And then she flung herself over the bed and vomited again.
He sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Eventually, she slept, a deep dreamless sleep. When she awoke, the sky outside was leaden, the sun peeking over the horizon of the ocean. Hugging her pillow, Niki rolled over. The most delicious smells pierced her senses. Sharp, pungent cedar, the salty tang of the ocean, and the sweetness of orange peels.
“I can vary my scent according to my mood. Or yours, and what pleases you the most, my sweet,” a deep voice murmured.
Clad in the same black tunic, black leather pants and soft doeskin boots, Tristan sat in the chair by the sliding glass door, looking at the view. The slider was open, allowing in a gentle ocean breeze that lifted the edges of his silver-tipped hair.
He glanced at her and his gaze softened. “Good morning, Nikita. How do you feel?”
“A little better.” She reached for the water glass he had refilled and drank. “I slept through the night.”
“You slept for a full day. You needed the rest after your ordeal.”
An entire day! No wonder she felt like Sleeping Beauty. Daring to sneak a peek in the dresser mirror, she was relieved to see her complexion back to its normal color, and the horrid black streaks gone from her neck.
“It’s the first time I didn’t dream in weeks.”
“I know. I gave you a little mental push so you could rest.”
Niki set down the glass with a steady hand. “You’re the one who sent me those dreams I’ve been having for the past month.”