Mated by the Pack
Page 1
Mated By The Pack
Broken Ladder Wolf-shifters Books 1-4 Box Set
Dizzy Hooper
Contents
Snowed In With The Pack
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
Pregnant By The Pack
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
13. Epilogue
Reclaimed By The Pack
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
19. Epilogue
Alone With The Pack
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Thank you
Sneak Peek of Healed By The Pack
Also by Dizzy Hooper
About the Author
Snowed In With The Pack
Broken Ladder Wolf-shifters Book 1
Chapter 1
It's official—I'm the worst kind of cliche.
Ready to cry from frustration, I turn the keys in the ignition one last time, but it's no use. The car sputters. I'm in the middle of nowhere, with no cell reception. Snow is falling faster from the sky, the sun just set. And I'm stuck.
Growling, I yank out the keys.
"Great job, Jessica," I mutter to myself. Great.
Dad always warned me that I needed to learn how to fix a car, but I never took the time.
Not that my father's advice matters now. Even thinking of him makes my eyes prickle harder. The wound is too fresh.
Just this morning, I was a happy, all but carefree woman, heading home to my father's compound to spend my season in the relative safety of our pack's ancestral grounds. Only to arrive and find him with a new mate. A wolf shifter with glinting green eyes and a snarl to her mouth, even in her human form. She's been feeding lies in my father's ear for who even knows how long now, telling him I'm a slut and a disgrace, that I've probably been taking it from every unmated wolf in the entire city where I've foolishly chosen to live.
Not that the idea doesn't have its appeal. My season is almost on me—the week that happens every handful of months when a female shifter's blood goes hot, her breasts full. I still have a couple of days before it takes me, but my pussy is already a constant, low, thrumming ache. The insides of my thighs are damp, and my womb whispers that it longs to be bred, to be filled with pups and claimed. It doesn't even matter that I'm on birth control. My entire body is crying out for a man—or men—to hold me down and fuck me.
I bang my head against the steering wheel and squeeze the leather tight. A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat.
My father cast me out because his mate convinced him I was a whore.
When in reality, I'm a virgin, desperate to be mated but untouched.
And now, not only that, but I'm stranded and alone.
Throwing open the door of the car, I step out into the fresh, falling snow. It's been coming down for the last half an hour, but the rate is picking up now. The layer of fluffy white covers the landscape, obscuring landmarks and blanking out signs.
I was so distraught when I left my father's home that I got in my car and drove—just drove. I couldn't go back to the city, not with my season so close. I couldn't stay on my family's grounds, so I'd just taken off, my vision obscured by tears, no destination in my mind other than not here, and now I have no idea where I am, other than there's nothing around for miles.
Well, not nothing.
A few minutes ago, I passed a house set far back from the road. Lights had blazed in the windows. It had looked cozy and warm.
I hesitate. Right now, this could go either way. I could run farther off into the wilderness, find a cave or an outcropping of trees and wait out my season as a wolf, burning alive with unsatisfied need. I'd be vulnerable to any other shifter who happened upon me. I'd have a miserable couple of days, hunting for food before the pain of sexual frenzy takes hold of me. I'm far off enough in the wilderness that it would probably be okay.
Or I can take my chances and go to that house. Pray that I can get a tow truck to take me back to civilization where I can make plans. Surely, there are cabins to rent somewhere within a day's drive of here. It isn't easy to ride out a season in human form alone, but I have a box of toys in my trunk. I've done it before. I'd be all right.
I have to decide now, though. Soon, it'll be too late.
I hesitate for a minute, but then the lure of warmth and comfort become too much. It's a risk, but I grab my coat and bag and start trudging off through the ankle-deep snow.
Ten minutes in, I'm debating my decision. This would be so much faster—and I'd be so much warmer—if I shifted and ran, but I can't afford to show up at these strangers' home with tattered—or worse, missing—clothes. So I keep putting one foot in front of the other.
But it's not until I hit the edge of the property that I realize the severity of the mistake I've just made.
The scent of red hot shifter male assaults my nose. No—worse. Red hot shifter males. Three of them, to be exact. I breathe it in, and my pussy throbs, my insides twisting themselves into knots as my breasts go hotter. Aching.
They'll be able to smell my season on me in an instant. Hell, if the wind is blowing the wrong direction, they might all be standing up right now, cocks thickening, desire coiling inside them. A male shifter is at the mercy of a female in need. Consent is still required, at least for honorable wolves, but the lines can get blurred. Rational thought can get driven out by the desire to take and breed and claim. With three of them? They'll be fighting for the right to fuck me first.
And I'd be panting for it, ready to spread my legs for the victor, to have a thick shifter cock thrusting deep inside for the first time.
I should turn around now. I should shift and run—only my scent is all over their property by now. Even if they can't sense me in this storm, my presence will all but announce itself to them the instant they leave their house. They'll track me to whatever hiding place I might find, and by then I'll be out of my mind with lust, begging them to fuck me regardless of who they are.
No. I have to go on. Better to face these males now while I still have some of my wits about me, before my scent becomes too compellingly strong. It is the worst kind of dishonor to violate a female without her consent. My best bet is to take my chances that it's early enough for honor or decorum to still matter to these males…
…or to me.
Chapter 2
Maybe I miscalculated the timing of my season. By the time I reach the house, I feel like I'm going out of my skin. Forget the frigid temperatures. Beneath my clothes, I'm sweltering, and nothing is hotter than the point of need between my legs.
>
The scent of the males within is intoxicating, each layer richer than the last. There's spice and caramel, dark cedar and something I can only describe as liquid gold. They combine and blend, beckoning me closer.
I have second thoughts, of course. This is dangerous both to my virginity and to my sanity. With every step forward, I consider turning back, but then there's a flash of light in one of the upper windows. I dart my gaze up in time to see a set of glowing—if human—eyes staring at me through the darkness. Whoever it is is backlit; I can only make out those eyes and the outline of a rugged face, maybe a beard, but it doesn't matter. My desire flares.
I've been spotted. It's definitely too late to turn away now.
The handsome face disappears, a heavy curtain falling back into place. I steel myself and forge ahead.
It's a big house, three stories with at least a dozen windows facing front. At night, through the snow, it's hard to tell the color or much else about it, but it seems old yet well maintained.
The snow is falling faster, now. Even though the walk has been cleared at some point, I have to brush a heavy layer from the railing on the steps leading up to their porch. The wood creaks beneath my weight, but it's solid. I stride toward the door with my chin up and shoulders back, trying to project strength, even though the heavenly scent of strong, virile male makes me want to fall to my knees and present myself for mounting.
And would it really be that bad to give in like that? I'm not looking for a mate, but I'm not opposed to one, either. I'm just looking for the right guy, and the odds seem stacked against me finding him here, in the middle of nowhere.
My resolve solidifies.
A phone call and a safe place to wait for a tow truck. That's all I'm here to ask for. Nothing else.
With my breath in my throat, I lift my hand toward the old, brass knocker on the door.
But before I can, the door swings slowly open before me.
The wave of scent within hits me like a freight train, nearly knocking me over in its mouth-watering intensity. Every note is stronger here, more pronounced, yet there's no conflict. Often, the scents of competing males will do just that—compete. These swirl together in perfect harmony, though, making my skin prickle with heat and my pussy hum.
Not helping matters is the gorgeous man standing in the slice of light pouring through the open door.
He's young—younger than me, so maybe twenty or so. His golden hair is just long enough to fall into his bright blue eyes. He has a strong, smoothly shaved jaw line and a runner's build, with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and long legs, and I want those hips between my thighs, those plush lips on my throat.
He smiles, a crooked, boyish grin. The sharpness of the lust in his eyes proves he's all man, though, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me.
"Yes, ma'am? Can we help you?"
His voice is honey and heat. It flows over me like a good bite to the back of the neck, making me ready to submit. Surely, with his keen nose, he can smell the nearness of my season on me, the scent of the slickness flowing from my body. But he gives no sign of it.
To any outside observer, this would like any normal interaction between two normal humans.
So I play along. "I'm so sorry to bother you. My car broke down." I wrestle my useless phone from my pocket and hold it up. "I can't get any reception. I don't suppose I could come in and call a tow?"
Concern flashes across his expression. His gaze skates down my body. For a second, it feels like he can see my needy curves through my clothes. His nostrils flare, and mortification and desire twist in the pit of my abdomen. He can definitely tell my state, and when he meets my gaze again, it shows. "You sure you know what you're asking for there?"
Yes. No. Being this close to a red-blooded, gorgeous shifter male is throwing the heat in my blood into high gear, confusing my thoughts.
Before I can manage to form a reply, another voice comes from inside. It's gruffer, darker. More in control. "Let her in, Landen."
The blond—Landen lets out a nearly inaudible whine. But he steps aside, letting the door swing wider.
The room revealed within is an entryway decorated in a classic but masculine style. An oriental rug covers dark hardwood floors. The deep blue walls are home to landscape paintings, with everything leading to a huge, wooden staircase that sweeps up toward the next floor.
Standing halfway up is the male whose voice I heard, and he's just as much of a specimen as the first. His skin is a rich olive, his eyes dark. His black hair is cut short, and stubble grazes his jaw. I want to run my hands over it, find out for myself if it's as rough as it looks. I want his beard burn on my thighs, his tongue between my lower lips, and his cock…
Oh, how I want that.
I tremble with desire. But I'm not an animal.
At least I'm not one right now.
Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, I clutch the strap of my bag and plant my feet where they are.
"If I could please just use your phone—"
"Absolutely not."
His rebuke is sharp. It's a slap in the face.
It never occurred to me that they could deny me.
"Please…"
Then he's in motion. He saunters down the stairs, and I'm mesmerized by the way his muscles move and flex beneath his casual clothes. He's bigger than Landen, bulkier. Probably stronger, too. A better sire for my pups, the lust-crazed part of my brain supplies, but I tear my gaze away. Despite being told to stand aside, Landen hasn't backed down. He's still there, and compared with this new male's rugged looks, his beauty is even more striking. They're both eligible contenders.
They're not alone, though. I search the space for another, a missing note. There are definitely three males who live here, and the third's scent is unaccounted for in this room. Concentrating on it makes its potency all the clearer. It's the headiest scent of them all, rich and delicious, and the lack of a male here to account for it feels wrong.
I furrow my brow in confusion. My gaze flits back to the man approaching me.
Like he can read my mind, he shakes his head. "He's not here. But he will be."
I play dumb. "He—?"
"Our alpha. You'll meet him tomorrow. It…takes him a minute to get his head around new situations."
My head perks up at the word. Alpha. My breasts tighten and my toes curl. So we're not pretending to be normal humans anymore. Good.
Then the rest of what he said hits me. "Tomorrow?" I shake my head. "I just—"
He's on me now. The last few feet of space disappear beneath his heavy gate, and his scent hits me even harder.
"You just need a tow. So you said." He leans in closer, and I almost lean into it. But then he lifts a hand to point at the landscape behind me.
I glance back, and what's left of my rational mind sags. In the brief moments we've been talking, the snow has doubled. It falls in huge, wet flakes. Already, my footsteps are hidden. As I watch, the wind howls, and a swirl of white blows, making it impossible to see the road.
The male leans forward, his breath washing hot across my ear. "So no. You can't just use our phone. But you can come in." He waits for me to turn and look at him again. He holds out his hand in the most tempting, sinful invitation I've ever received. "In fact, I insist."
Chapter 3
I have two choices. At my back is the swirling storm of gusting winds and driving snow. My first option is a week spent huddled in that frozen blanket, slowly burning up from the inside. I can still run and endure my impending fog of lust alone—or worse, out of my mind with pleasure, letting any shifter who happens by use me in my delirium.
My second option is to take this male's hand.
The choice clear, and yet I hesitate. I only landed on this doorstep a few minutes ago, but that's enough to time to tell that there's something not quite right here. Two werewolves are staring down a shifter two days off from her season, with a mysterious third waiting somewhere in the wings. By all rights, one should have pu
lled me in by the scruff at the back of my neck by now and demanded my consent to breed me. I made a gamble coming here, hoping I would be able to pass through unmolested long enough to place a call for assistance. But I never imagined this kind of restraint.
I imagined blood and mating and my virginity lost on the entryway floor. The competition for first crack at my pussy should have driven these males into a frenzy and pulled their leader from the shadows to stake his claim.
But none of that is happening. I narrow my eyes, looking closer. The golden young man and this older, more grizzled one have a humming bond singing between them. It's not a mating bond, though that's certainly not unheard of. I can't quite name it.
It makes me feel safe, though. These two will not be fighting each other for me. They won't be tackling me to the ground or ripping off my clothes.
They're offering me safety and shelter, and maybe something more. They're showing restraint, but lust still burns in their eyes. They're not immune. They're just not animals.
It's the best offer I'm likely to receive.