by Alix Labelle
“As I learned,” Marcus said coolly.
“And the Johannssons?” Cecelia asked. “What of them?”
“They are tied together in a cave, heavily sedated so that they don’t shift. I think the Bear Hunters are waiting for backup before they wake them. They don’t yet know that none in the family is the healer. I managed to escape before it became an issue.”
Marcus zeroed in on the old man. “If you were able to escape, why didn’t you save the Johannssons as well?”
“Because my bones are slow and cracking. I shifted and slipped away while the Bear Hunters were preoccupied with the family. It was my first chance at escape I’ve had since being captured.”
“I don’t buy it,” Marcus said.
“I do,” Cecelia argued. “He risked his freedom coming back here. He could have just gone home, wherever that is.”
“Far,” the old man said. “Very far. And I can’t return home. They will only find me again.”
Marcus surrendered. “Fine. You can stay here. Rest in the house. I don’t know if you’re safe here, but at least you’ll be out of the woods.”
The old man nodded, grateful.
“What is your name?” Cecelia asked.
“Henry,” he answered. “I am Henry, the Grey Back.”
***
While Henry slept on the couch, recovering from his ordeal, Cecelia guided Marcus into her room where they could chat in private. “We have to go,” she told him. “Tonight, while it’s still dark. The sun will rise soon.”
“No,” Marcus said firmly. “We don’t know these woods. We need the light.”
“But what if their backup comes before then? We can fight off a band of four Bear Hunters, but no more than that. Not when it’s just us.”
“I want it to be just us,” he declared, caressing her cheek.
Before she could respond, he kissed her. She wanted to resist, but she couldn’t. Having Marcus near was the only thing holding her sanity together. There was something different in his kiss this time. It was hot, but there was an affection in it, an affection he refused to show her before.
It made her want him even more. They tore of their clothes the way they tore off their vulnerability. This was no longer just sex. Marcus meant something to her. That was the déjà vu she kept feeling when she was around him. It was an awakening. She wasn’t a bear, but he was her mate. She knew that now. It gave special meaning to the night.
Marcus set her on the bed. His cock was already fully erect, but he was in no hurry. He kissed her stomach gently, seductively, gliding his hand along her thigh as his lips touched her flesh. It was like a feather being dragged slowly across her body. Every kiss tantalized and aroused her. The closer he got to her core, the wetter she became. She wanted him to drink her in, to use his bear tongue to taste her.
When he finally did, a shock of electricity shot through her. His tongue was strong and warm, reaching the part of her clit that pleasured her the most. She grabbed his hair, struggling not to scream as he bobbed his head up and down, circling his tongue against her pink folds, igniting the spot within her that made her body hot with bliss.
Ready for him, she lifted his head to her and kissed him, leaving her core free for their bodies to connect. With his muscular, tattooed arm, he spread her legs apart wide, and he entered her, filling her core with his cock. As he pushed himself inside of her, they continued to kiss, their lips inseparable.
She began to pant, the heat within her rising with every thrust of his cock. He brought her to the edge, and then he sent her over, freeing her body into a haze of pure, golden bliss. They came together, their destinies united. He was her mate, and she was his. She was always his.
***
She slept naked by his side, wrapped in his arms. It was only for a few short hours, until the sun rose to light their path, but she was grateful for what time they had together. Her sleep was deep, anchored by her exhaustion. There were no nightmares this time. There was only peace.
When Cecelia awoke, she tried to turn towards her lover, blinking against the sunlight that poured in through the window, but she couldn’t. Something held her back, restrained her. Bleary, it took her a moment to realize her hand was tied expertly to the bed. And that she was no longer naked. Her flannel had been carefully buttoned around her to keep her warm.
“Marcus!” she called.
He didn’t answer. She knew he wouldn’t. He had done this to protect her, leaving to face the Bear Hunters alone.
***
Chapter Six
Marcus
The old man had been telling the truth after all. Marcus had suspected it was all lies to trap them in, but the Bear Hunters were as Henry told – three wolves and a cougar. They circled him in his bear form, leering at him as they guarded the cave that held the Johannsson family. The wolves had transformed, it would take wolves to fight a bear, but the cougar remained in his human form, holding a spear high, waiting for a chance to strike.
He didn’t regret tying Cecelia to the bed. It was something he’d very much like to do again, if he survived. It had to be done. She wouldn’t have let him leave without her, but he refused to allow her to risk herself, even for the lives of the family that slumbered in the cave.
A wolf attacked, snapping its jaws against his neck. His fur was thick, shielding him from the bite, but the weight of the creature dragged him down, allowing the other wolves to pounce. Growling loudly, he shook one of them off, but it came back, more vicious than before.
Cecelia, he thought, ignoring the pain as one of the wolves finally penetrated his fur with its teeth. I have to protect her. If I die, she becomes their captive. I can’t let that happen. I love her.
It was one thing to recognize a mate. It was another to fully accept her into his heart, removing the barbwire he had put up after the war. His strength renewed, he fought back against the wolves. He fought for her.
It wasn’t enough.
His will held strong, but his momentum faded, and he began to black out. He stayed conscious long enough to see Cecelia stand in the sunlight, his last vision of her before he lost to the wolves.
***
Cecelia
“Marcus!” Cecelia shouted as he fell to the ground.
She wanted to run to him, but she couldn’t. The wolves blocked her, turning their attention to her. She could almost see the humor in their eyes. To them, she was only a human, nothing special. Confronting them was a joke.
I’ll show you who the joke is, she thought, full of rage.
Henry had set her free, leaving her with strange words before she left. You are more than what you seem. Where there is power to heal, there is power to destroy. Help him. Help them all.
A wolf sprang towards her. While it was midair, she flung her hand towards it, imagining its leg breaking in half. The wolf yelped and missed her, landing on its side. When it rose, it stood on only three legs.
The other wolves froze, uncertain. Now they knew what she was. And so did she.
Where the wolves faltered, the cougar took their place. He dropped his spear and charged at her, changing as he did into an enormous cat. She willed the air to be knocked out of his lungs, and he collapsed to the ground, panting.
It wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre, and they knew it. The wolves darted away, the injured one limping behind. As soon as the cougar regained his breath, he did the same, sneering at her briefly before running into the woods. She would have chased them, made sure they never hurt another family again, but she had to see to Marcus. He was badly injured.
She made a transition of her own. The peace and light she needed to heal overcame her rage, calming her blood, and she set her hands on Marcus. It didn’t take long before he was sitting up in his human form. Without hesitation, he wrapped her tightly in his arms.
“What were you thinking?” he asked solemnly. “I could have lost you.”
“I was thinking that there was a family to save. And a mate to learn more abou
t, a mate who brings out the light in me.”
Together, with their hands held tightly around each other, they went into the cave to wait for the Johannssons to wake. Cecelia was relieved to see the family slept serenely and without injury.
“It won’t be easy,” Marcus said. “They’ll tell the other Bear Hunters about you.”
“Let them,” Cecelia professed, unafraid.
Marcus squeezed her hand. “I know you’re this super soldier now, but I’m still going to protect you. I cannot not protect you. You’re a piece of me, Cecelia. The best piece of me.”
“I’ll let you,” she said, “because I can’t imagine you not in my life. I’m sitting in a cave after the most hellish day of my life, and yet I’m happy. I’m so happy.”
Marcus kissed her hand, sealing their promises to each other, just as Michael stirred.
The little cub sat up, rubbing his eyes. Upon seeing Cecelia, he grinned brightly and spoke. “Hello, angel.”
THE END
Wolf’s Ending
A Werewolf Romance
Wolf’s Ending
Chapter 1: Dark
“I can feel it, this wild inside of me. It thrashes and howls and growls, until all I can do, is scream just to cover the sounds. If I had known that the solution to my darkness was so simple, I would have done a lot of things differently in my life. I would have acted sooner. The best way to keep my wild at bay is to embrace it. And if that makes me too dark for this world, so be it.”
Tears were streaming down Sharee’s face. Of all the things she would have ever expected him to say, that really wasn’t it. He wasn’t supposed to give up and in. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She felt heartbroken and more than a little betrayed…which she was sure was exactly the effect he had been shooting for.
Damn him, she thought furiously. Damn him to hell and back.
“What are you doing?”
Sharee jumped. She hastily wiped the tears off her face and pushed the chair back, the little wheels rolling her away from the screen she was not supposed to be looking at. On the page, the word “END” still taunted her with its final, Arial Bold characters.
She looked up and was not surprised to find the shadow of an amused grin on Tristan’s handsome features. She was not supposed to look at his work until he asked her to, but they both knew she could never resist the temptation to peek. He hardly pretended to be annoyed by it anymore. Besides, he knew she didn’t do it out of an impulse to pry; it was just that she couldn’t help herself. Sharee lived for good stories, and Tristan’s words were just too beautiful to pass up.
They were not the only beautiful thing about him, either. By then, the two of them had reached a high enough level of intimacy that he didn’t even bother to cover up when he got out of the shower in the morning—and Sharee would never dream of asking him. Presently, he stood across the desk in the studio with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Sharee knew that if she looked, she would see the lines of his hipbones disappear past the fluffy white waistband of the towel. She knew that if she let her gaze run along the impressive length of his figure, she would be treated to lean, strong muscles and smooth skin.
But Sharee didn’t look and didn’t let her gaze run, because Tristan was not her boyfriend. Tristan happened to be her boss, and despite the intimacy that inevitably came with assisting a genius author practically 24/7, Sharee still prided herself in her professionalism. She only allowed herself to fantasize about him within the privacy of her own apartment.
So, even then, she forced herself to ignore his nakedness and just meet his eyes—dark blue like a stormy sea, and sharp as a razor blade. Sharee swallowed past her suddenly dry mouth. Sometimes professionalism was really hard to keep a hold on.
Focus, goddamnit, she reprimanded herself sternly.
“Sorry,” she offered, although they both knew she really wasn’t sorry at all. “You said you might finish it during the night, I had to check.”
Tristan grinned openly this time. “Sure you did, darlin’.”
Sharee shivered. He had begun calling her “darling” the very first day she had started to work for him, over two years back, and he had not stopped since. The word rolled off his tongue like sin.
“What did you think?” he asked as he took a seat on the bright red armchair.
Sharee really wished he would go put on some clothes; it was hard to keep track of a conversation with him lounging about half naked.
“I thought it was very dark,” she said honestly. “Maybe a little too much.”
Tristan arched a dark eyebrow. “Too dark?”
Sharee hesitated. Tristan was generally good with constructive criticism, but even after two years, she was still mindful of not crossing the line.
“Go on, darlin’,” he said. “You know I can take it.”
She knew. She took a deep breath and resolved to get all of her thoughts out. “Tristan, this is the third main character you kill off in a year. Don’t you think it might be a little too much?”
Tristan Jacobsen was a prolific writer. His latest series centering on werewolves was going at a particularly steady pace. Like anything else that came out of his pen, it was selling by the thousands. No one could write horror like Tristan. He was generally viewed as Stephen King’s heir…even by Stephen King himself. There was something gripping and real about the way Tristan wrote about the things that go bump in the night, something ancestral that spoke to the reader.
But no matter how dark those terrors might be, his books always contained a message of hope in the end. Not so much lately. Lately, his books had gotten scarier, darker, of a darkness that left no escape. It certainly left no way out for the protagonists.
“I mean,” Sharee continued when Tristan did not react, “how do you expect people to get attached to your protagonists if you keep offing them at the end?”
“Eric Stratham is not dead.”
“He lost his battle with his were nature and went dark side,” Sharee argued. “He might as well be.”
Tristan shrugged.
Sharee stared at him. “Tristan, I mean it,” she said, as gently as she could. “People need redemption. They need hope. It’s why they love your books so much, because you always gave them that no matter how terrifying the rest of the story was.”
“Yeah, well,” Tristan stretched his arms above his head, yawning hugely, “redemption and hope aren’t always in the cards.”
“Fair enough,” Sharee admitted. “But do they really need to not be in the cards for three books in a row?”
Tristan huffed, exasperated. “Look, if they don’t like it, they can read something else.” He got to his feet and walked out of the studio, presumably in search of clothes.
Sharee stared after him, stunned. “I’m just saying,” she called out. “This is a series. You may want to consider leaving some of the characters alive for your next book!”
“I’ll think about it!” Tristan called back, in the absent tone of someone who most definitely was not going to think about it. At all.
* * *
Tristan emerged twenty minutes later carrying two steaming mugs. He handed her one wordlessly, and Sharee accepted the coffee for what it was—a peace offering to placate the fretting assistant within her. Admittedly, she should have been the one brining him coffee, but over time, roles had become somewhat blurry.
He was dressed simply, in a pair of faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that hugged his body in all the right places. Sharee couldn’t help but let her gaze linger. Boy, but he was a sight! She snapped out of it quickly and looked away before he could notice the appreciation shining in her eyes. She took a long sip of black coffee, relishing the warmth of the liquid in this gray Oregon morning.
“Sabrina called while you were getting dressed.”
Sharee delivered the information casually, but she felt a pang of irrational jealousy whenever the woman renewed her attempts at whisking Tristan away. The fact that he want
ed nothing to do with her felt somewhat irrelevant to Sharee when she was forced to hear her overly chirpy voice on the other end of the phone line.
Tristan cringed visibly as he took a seat behind his desk. “Again?”
Sharee shrugged. “She wanted to know if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night.”
He looked at her with something akin to terror. “You said no, right?”
Sharee hid a smirk behind another sip of coffee. “I said I’d let her know once I’d talked to you.”
“Why on Earth would you do that?”
“Look, I told you time and time again,” Sharee said as she absently shuffled some papers around on the table that served as her desk, “I’m happy to assist you with anything and everything regarding your work, but your personal relationships are your own business. I’m not going to interfere with them.”
“Maybe you should,” Tristan grumbled.
Sharee looked up sharply. He seemed startled, as though he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He swallowed visibly. “Nothing, never mind,” he said quickly, disappearing behind the screen of his iMac.
Sharee watched him curiously for another moment or two, and then she decided she was probably better off not knowing just what was going through his head.
“Before you start typing away,” she said when she saw him get ready for one of his intense writing sessions, “should we go over your plan for tomorrow?”
Tristan looked around the computer at her, a lost expression on his face. “What’s tomorrow?”
Sharee stared at him. Was he serious? “You’re meeting Derek for lunch, to discuss the tour for the new book.” You know, the one where you kill off the protagonist, again? she wanted to add, but she didn’t. She figured she had made her thoughts on the subject clear enough.
“That’s tomorrow?”
Sharee sighed. Like most geniuses, Tristan was always prone to distraction, but lately his brain seemed to be more scattered than usual. “Yes,” she said patiently, “that’s tomorrow.”