by Amira Rain
In the underbrush along the path, something stirred like a small, subtle, but persistent wind through the tall grass and the bushes. Megan hardly gave it any thought at all, so intent was she on her thoughts of Pearce and Nash and what would happen soon when she returned to the house, which she was now determined would keep happening long after this week was over. Her thoughts focused on them, and on her craving for their bodies and the erect bounty of their loins, and so she paid no attention to the rustling in the thicket that followed her subtly down the path. It was nothing more remarkable than a little breeze.
But had she not been so preoccupied, had she looked a little more carefully, a little more curiously, Megan might have seen that the breeze had a shape. It was not a solid shape. It undulated and flickered through the grass like a dark mirage.
It had sparks, like the sparks from the Maguire brothers’ fireplaces, for eyes. It had four legs. It had pointed ears pricked up and a cold snout taking in her scent. Its mouth hung open, its tongue lolling and fangs glinting. The shape, moving along like a ghost in the brush, following her every step, watched her—hungrily. It was as hungry as Megan was.
And it sensed how well Megan could feed it. The eyes of the thing flickered at her. Soon, very soon, she would feed it well. It was already slipping into her mind, through the unguarded back doors of her most private thoughts. She would not know it was there—yet. But it would wait for the right time. Just the right time…
_____________
Megan returned to the log house at the end of the day. No sooner had she reached the top of the hill up to the house and come into the paved area surrounding the property than her phone pinged at her. She took it out of her purse and saw a text from Nash. We’re finishing up in the shop for the day; just let yourself in and we’ll be right there soon.
They had given her a spare key and she admitted herself through the front door. As soon as she was in the house, Megan wobbled a bit on her feet and yawned deeply. Her sudden, heavy weariness surprised her a bit. But she realized she should not be so surprised, considering that she had just spent the day walking around town after spending a three-day weekend being constantly ravished by twin hot, horny werewolves who would in just a little while be at her again.
The pangs of craving for more of Nash and Pearce’s sex mingled with her fatigue. She needed to lie down by herself for a little while, before they lay down with her again. A little recharge would prepare her for them. Megan made her way upstairs to the master suite to lie down on the bed where she would soon receive them.
She plummeted into sleep the second her head hit the pillows. A delicious darkness wrapped itself around her mind like the quilts beneath she’d lain with the twins by the fire, and she was gone, her awareness disappearing into it. Sleep was deep and comfortable and serene—until, suddenly, it was not.
Confused, bewildered, suddenly and intensely frightened, Megan found herself on the run through a forest; a strange, dark place where the trees stood like columns in the dark, their gaunt limbs arching over her as if to enclose her, their leaves seeming to want to enshroud her. She spun about in every direction, looking for some place in the dark that was not crowded with thick, tall grass and shrubs, or canopied with the limbs and leaves of the overreaching trees.
But nothing was there but the forest and the impenetrable dark beyond it—and the path on which she stood, which extended in both directions into infinite blackness and limitless forest. Megan wanted to cry out—but for whom? Who would even hear her in a place like this? How did she get here? Was it only a dream? It felt so real. So real…
Megan broke into a run. The forest and the darkness couldn’t go on forever. They couldn’t—could they? Somewhere there must be a break in the trees. Somewhere there must be a light, from a house or someplace where she could be safe. She did not know why she believed it, but there must be. There must be… All she had to do was find it. So, she ran along the path, ran through the dark and in between the rows of trees and grass and shrubs that nothing human could penetrate. She ran. Somewhere she would find a light. Somewhere there was safety. Somewhere…somewhere…
Her foot caught on something in the path. Gasping and crying out, she fell. Whimpering, almost sobbing, Megan brought herself up into a crouch, ready to bound back to her feet and start running again. That was when she heard it. The sound made her feel as if electricity were dancing on her skin—an unnerving, alarming sound. It made her freeze in place. The sound pealed again, seeming to come from every direction. She did not know where to look. From somewhere in the surrounding forest, which she could feel closing in on her, it kept coming.
It was a howl. Long and deep and sonorous—the repeating howl of a wolf.
What kind of wolf? And was it only a wolf, or someone else in a wolf’s shape?
The howling stopped, and Megan’s breath turned hot in her lungs at what immediately followed it: the sound of heavy rustling in the brush. The rustling of something coming through the forest, coming her way. Now the sound had a definite direction—right in front of her. The rustling was coming right in her line of sight. She looked and saw the tall grass and brush swaying at the approach of something. In a moment it would step out. Heart pounding, Megan scrambled to her feet just as the brush parted and the shape emerged into view, big and massive and black. The mighty wolf strode forth onto the path and fixed her with the stare of large, luminous wolf eyes.
Frozen in place again, Megan looked at the wolf, wondering—fearing—what the creature might do. And from somewhere in some disbelieving corner of her mind came the knowledge that this was no random wolf out of the deep wilderness. This was a beast she had seen before.
Trembling, Megan called a name into the darkness. “Tate…?”
In response, the wolf stood up on two legs—and transformed. The body shifted and morphed, the black fur disappearing, the contours changing, the entire shape of the figure rendering itself into something that was not a wolf. Something that Megan knew as well as she knew herself.
He was exactly as he had been all those years ago, all those times on the mattress in the little studio apartment, all those times in her bed at the dorm. Unbelievably, uncannily, he had not changed a bit, not a line on his face or his body—his perfect, delectable, lean, muscled, hairy, naked body. Even the erection was exactly as it was. And the face—the inhumanly handsome, dark, stubble-goateed face.
More bewildered than frightened now, Megan repeated the name. “Tate!”
He bounded onto the trail and at once was close enough to grab her and take her in his arms. At his touch, Megan’s clothes evaporated like fog, rendering her as naked as he. A thrill of sensuality, so well-remembered from so long ago, rushed through Megan like a hot summer wind. “Tate…” she sighed, a second before he took her mouth in the kiss that she knew so well.
At once, Tate had her on her back on the trail and was crouching over her. Megan’s mind spun, not knowing whether it was real or a dream. It felt altogether too real. It felt as if he were really here and he was really going to do the things that he had done to her so many, many times. The darkness surrounding her and Tate and the forest burst and exploded and melted into shimmering light.
And the next thing she felt was a hand on her shoulder.
Megan’s eyes snapped open. She gasped and bolted upright—on the bed in Pearce and Nash’s master suite.
Pearce sat on the bed at her side, regarding her with curiosity and amusement, drawing back the hand on her shoulder with which he had nudged her awake. Panting, Megan used his handsome, softly smiling face to focus herself back to reality. She put a hand on her chest to feel her racing heartbeat just starting to slow down. As confused now as she had been at the beginning of her dream, she gulped, “Pearce…?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Pearce said. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry.”
Now she put a hand on his shoulder, both to steady herself and to reassure him. “No,” she said, “I’m fine. I’m fine. I was just…dream
ing, I guess.”
“Must have been a hell of a dream.”
Megan furrowed her brow, trying to recall the dream, remembering how vivid and real it had been—and what it had done to her. She realized what kind of dream it had been. She had actually come while she was asleep.
“I…I don’t remember,” she stammered, flatly lying, hoping that his empathy would not catch the lie.
“You don’t? I could feel how you were reacting to it. Damn sexy dream, that was. I hope it was about my brother and me.” And he ran his knuckles along the contour of her bosom and made the most playfully lustful look at her.
“It must have been.” She chuckled slightly, grateful that werewolves could not read minds as well as sensing feelings.
“Well,” said Pearce, “we can do better than a dream. Nash is getting into the shower. Come and join us. Help us do some dirty stuff while we get cleaned up.”
Megan listened, and for the first time since starting awake, she heard the water running in the bathroom. She imagined Nash there, naked and hardening. She wanted very much to be there with him and Pearce.
“That sounds wonderful,” Megan said, brushing the strange dream from her mind. Pearce leaned forward and kissed her with the full intent of what they both wanted to happen in that shower.
She got herself up from the bed and they quickly stripped naked, Pearce’s member swinging free and ready for action, and together they stepped into the bathroom.
In the thicket outside, a dark figure stood on four legs and watched the home of Nash and Pearce Maguire and sensed what was happening in the shower. The beast licked his jaws and gave a low growl. The dream was only a taste of what it soon would have. The two lycanthropes now taking Megan would not keep her from what it needed. The brothers would not stop it, would not come between it and the female. It would go through them to have her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I forgot to tell you,” said Megan at the dinner table, “I saw some of your work when I was in town today. Or maybe your family’s work.”
She was clad in nothing but one of their pullover sweaters and they, once again, in nothing but those very, very short shorts that covered only what absolutely needed to be covered to prepare and eat a meal. The brothers looked up curiously from their steaks at her. “Some of our stuff? In town?” asked Pearce.
“Who had some of our stuff?” asked Nash.
“I found it at this store; you must know it: Moonlight Bay. The man who runs the place says it came from an estate sale or something…”
The brothers exchanged a comprehending glance, then Nash said to Megan, “Jules. You met Jules Bartholomew. He owns the place. It must be old stuff that he’s got, maybe stuff that our father or our grandfather made.”
“Good old Jules,” said Pearce with genuine fondness reflected in Nash’s expression.
“He’s kind of an institution in town,” said Nash. “Everybody knows him. Rendall Glen wouldn’t feel like home without him.”
“Jules is a lot like our old aunts and uncles we were telling you about before,” Pearce added. “He knows all those old stories too, about werewolves and all the stuff humans would call ‘spooky.’”
“Most humans,” Nash quickly corrected.
“Right—most humans,” Pearce agreed for the sake of present company.
“Of course,” said Megan, smiling a smile that the brothers found a bit enigmatic and looking down at her plate, saying nothing else.
Sensing that there obviously was something else, Nash asked, “What?”
Megan looked up again, with that same smile. “What, what?”
“That look,” said Nash. “What’s that look?”
“It’s nothing,” Megan replied, rolling her eyes to one side.
“It’s something,” Pearce insisted, knowing better. “Tell us. You know we can feel it. You might as well just say whatever it is.”
Megan sighed. Pearce was right, of course. This was the one time that the empathy of lycanthropes was a pain instead of a pleasure. What made them so great in bed could otherwise be a bloody nuisance. “Okay,” she gave in. “If you really want to know…Jules had a few words about what kind of an ‘institution’ you guys are around here. He didn’t go into any details or specifics. He was a gentleman about it. But he said everyone knew. It’s common knowledge. You guys have a bit of a reputation.”
The brothers made twin nods. Pearce admitted, “To be fair about it…yeah. We do have a reputation. Everybody knows. And it’s not like you didn’t know. We told you about ourselves at the start. And you were used to lycanthrope men—or you’d had one of us already—so you knew what we’re like. Screwing around is what we do until we find a mate.”
Megan pondered this. Pearce was being blunt and frank about it, of course, but this was their way. Lycanthropes were unashamed of their sex drive and their bodies, and always flatly honest about sexual things—much more candid, in many cases, than a human would be. To have any kind of intimate relationship with one of them, there was no choice but to accept this. They would not change.
“I know,” Megan said. “That is the way you are. But still…” She trailed off. In spite of knowing their kind so well, she did not quite have it in her to be exactly like them.
“But still what?” Nash pressed.
Realizing that it was futile to address them with anything but their own direct candor, Megan simply put it on the table, as it were. “Every woman from around here? All of them? And ones from out of town too? Really?”
The twins were honestly surprised that she seemed so surprised.
“Well, not every one,” Nash replied. “We don’t go for the ones who are too old, and they don’t go for us. They’re wolves, not cougars.”
At this, Megan could not help but sputter out laughing. The brothers, sensing the awkwardness of the moment was now deflated, joined in laughing with her.
“And not the really young ones,” added Pearce. “Hell, they need to be out of their teens. Let ‘em practice with pups their own age first. We like ‘em with some experience. We haven’t had a virgin since our own first time.”
“And the ones with mates—that’s bad news, screwing some other wolf’s mate. That’s liable to lead to bloodshed,” Nash chimed in.
“And some of them aren’t even attracted to men anyway,” Pearce noted.
A further peal of laughter went around the table. The entire mood of the discussion lightened considerably.
Pearce reached over and took Megan’s hand. “We’re only into one female now,” he said sincerely. Megan saw his sincerity matched in his twin. She squeezed his hand and knew that they sensed she believed them.
Lifting her hand and kissing it softly, Pearce said, “How about we start by the fireplace upstairs tonight, then move into bed?”
“Perfect,” Megan replied.
Back upstairs in the master suite, the three of them quickly tossed away what little they were wearing. The brothers repeated the ritual of dimming the lights and lighting the logs in the fireplace and the candles on the mantle, then turning out the lights. They began before the fire with Pearce standing behind Megan and cupping her breasts and squeezing her nipples, dry-humping her between the buttocks, sliding his hard-on up and down. Nash sat on his knees at her open thighs, eating her out and French-kissing her sex.
The brothers’ hands, and Nash’s lips and tongue, went to all the right places as always and Megan reached a climax both effortless and breathtaking. Pearce put her down on the rug and took the first turn mounting and humping her while Nash sat at Megan’s face and fed her his erection. Pearce came inside her, held himself in her until he was completely soft, then rolled away and let Nash have his turn.
Nash drilled her from behind in the spoons position while Pearce fingered her tender bud. The combination of penetration and strumming climaxed Megan once more, and Nash responded with his own fountain inside her.
The three lay next to the fire for a while, the brothers holding an
d kissing her, until they decided it was time for bed. They let Megan slip under the covers in the middle of the bed and slipped into bed on either side of her. By candlelight, the twins pleasured her with their mouths, fingers, and dicks, taking turns gloriously screwing Megan for the next few hours, until together they fell asleep.
Time passed in serene silence, in the golden dimness of ebbing firelight and flickering candlelight. Floating away into the dark behind her eyelids, Megan knew nothing but the warmth of Nash and Pearce’s beautiful male bodies on either side of her, their arms and legs over her, the post-coital slickness between her thighs and moisture on the sheets, the smell of sex all about them. It was the perfect way to go to sleep.
And then the darkness changed.
It was that darkness again, that same darkness as before. Megan was once again standing on that forest trail, with nothing but blackness in the spaces between the trees and the boughs. But this time—she was naked. Gasping, spinning about in shock and fright, she wrapped her arms around her bosom, vainly trying to cover herself, protect herself.