by Unknown
"Good." Mark yawned, then winced and touched his hand to his throat. "I'm beat. Let's get home."
"We'd be faster if—do you want to—"
He shook his head again. "Let's walk." He wrapped his arm around Lacey's shoulder and guided her down the road. "I'd like to remind myself what it's like being human."
She hummed and leaned her head against him, relishing the warmth of his skin. "It'll be nice to get into our bed."
Mark hissed. "The bedroom's a mess." A grimace stretched over his lips. "We'll have to use the fold out."
She sighed. "Just so long as you curl up with me."
With the moon staring down, they left the complex behind and began the long trek down the rural highway, toward home. An unnatural silence closed in around them—not even a car on the road.
The walk took them hours, but Lacey didn't complain. She just squeezed Mark's hand whenever she needed a little reminder that he was real.
Even if the world seemed numb, like it had already forgotten the strange events of that night, she knew their lives would never be the same. No, in some ways their lives might be better, more authentic and ready to face whatever lay in store.
Gray predawn light peeked over the horizon as they approached the house. And as they walked up the front steps, she could see that the door was askew. Carefully stepping over the fallen cabinet, she groaned. So much for her good china. She flicked on the light and turned to Mark.
He took a deep breath as he gazed over the mess. "I can clean this up and secure the house. I just need some plywood from the shed."
But she shook her head. "Leave it for the morning."
Mark glanced at the lightening sky outside. "It is morning."
"You know what I mean." She gave his arm a playful slap. Then she knelt in front of the couch. "I'll get the bed ready." With a quick yank, the fold out mattress popped open.
Mark lifted the shirt over his head and tossed it on one of the few chairs left standing. "I should at least put the door in place," he said idly as he rubbed his hands together.
She paused, holding the sheet back from the bed. The muscles along Mark's back flexed as he lifted the solid oak slab and set it back against the frame. There were angry red marks marring his skin, indentations of newly healed wounds. He barely seemed to notice the scars, but Lacey couldn't tear her eyes from them.
Mark brushed his hands together before raking his fingers through his dark hair. He turned to face her and she blinked. From the front, his chest was perfection: hard-ridged, muscular and mouthwatering. Even with her exhausted muscles yearning for sleep, warmth flooded her body and pooled in her loins. She wanted him.
As she yanked her shirt off, he glanced up at her. His eyes flickered with surprise as they focused on her naked breasts and hardening nipples. Then he approached her with a confident smile on his face.
There was longing in his gaze as he sat at the edge of the bed, tender yet hungry. She cupped a hand over his cheek, and stared at those deep blue eyes of his. They'd been through so much together.
Desire, devotedness, triumph all flashed across his face: lowering his eyelids, tightening his jaw. And she knew that after everything, she was his prize. He'd fought for her, almost died for her. And now, as his hand cupped the bare skin of her breast, she knew he intended to claim her.
A smile played on her lips and she bent over to slip her pants off. She felt the hot wetness between her thighs as she stepped around to the side of the bed. Then she lay back, and parted her legs, tempting him with her nakedness. He hovered over her and smiled, the dim light sparkling in his eyes.
He bore down on her and their lips locked together, their tongues intertwined. His scent invaded her with his need, his animal longing. His raw strength compelled her. And she opened to him, relishing the fierce exploration of his tongue even as his embrace left her breathless.
He broke from her mouth and slid down her neck. Rolling her shoulders back, her lips parted in a long sigh as his rough stubble scratched the tender flesh over her throat.
Mark would forever be the perfect man for her. She remembered how easily he had let Cole into their bed. How accepting he was of their ménage with Rebecca and Jeremiah. She could tell he wasn't threatened by their little exploits. On the contrary, those experiences had only fanned the fires of their desire for each other.
She was his, always. There had never been any question.
"Mark," she breathed as he pecked light kisses across her breasts. Then she murmured his name again, slowly letting it trail from her lips, tasting it like a fine delicacy melting on her tongue. In response, he hummed deep in his throat.
Her face flushed as he licked her nipples, flicking the tight flesh. His hands explored down her thighs and up her hips. Moaning she pressed her pelvis to his chest, wanting to trap him between her legs. To contain him, savor him.
What did it matter that they were werewolves? They had each other. She should have realized that from the start and told him what she'd suspected. But instead, her fear had almost consumed her.
Not only that. She'd known something was wrong with the town—and with his work—but she didn't voice it. Maybe it had been easier to live in a cage than understand the truth.
But that door was wide open now.
Mark sucked at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and his hands cupped her ass cheeks. He massaged her, kneading her buttocks, and his thumb trailed down the crease of her backside. She whimpered to him, her fingers tightening in his hair, need burning deep in her core.
With a delicate touch, his tongue lapped over her clit. She moaned as her body twitched from the exquisite sensation. The palm of her hand pressed down on his scalp, encouraging him, begging for more.
He had her just where he wanted her. And he was taking his time. Playing with her, fine tuning her arousal like an instrument. Before they'd become werewolves he wouldn't have done this. No, he would have been gentle and considerate, not taken command.
His finger slipped inside her as he sucked hard on her tiny nub, causing her to tense with a jerking whine. Her head whipped to the side and she bit her lip. Every nerve in her body hummed with pulsating pleasure.
As she writhed on the bed, a low rumble rolled through his chest. It could have been a hum of satisfaction, or the start of a chuckle, but she didn't have time to figure that out. He slid another finger into her sex and his thumb pressed against her tight rear entrance.
Lacey gasped and jerked upright, but Mark caught her legs. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and he grinned. "I could have sworn that you liked it."
"I do," she purred back at him. "But I need more of you." She gave a pointed glance at his rock-hard erection.
"I was getting to that." He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back on the bed. Rising over her, his body spread her legs apart. And she yielded to him eagerly, her hips rising to meet him.
Just like the games they'd played earlier in their relationship, he was her handyman: ready to fix everything, ready to take her.
The head of his cock brushed over her wet lips, and she pulled him down on her. His girth spread her open, slipping smoothly into her wetness. She moaned into his ear, relishing the feel of his length piercing into her tender entrance.
"I love how you feel," he murmured as his strong grip held her arms.
She kissed his cheek and her heart flushed with warmth. Grabbing his back, she held him tight as he slid in and out of her. I love that he cherishes me. That he wants to protect me.
But then his hand smoothed down the back her leg, and trailed over her rear. She gasped as his finger brushed the tender indent of her ass. With a devilish smile he bit her throat. "I'm not letting you get away that easily."
And I love his new boldness, Lacey thought with a grin.
He pressed against her hole, toying with her resistance, and she squirmed under him. Trapped by his penetration and the weight of his body, he had complete control over her. And he knew it.
The tip of his finger slid past her tight entrance as he rocked his hips. With his finger crooked, he pressed down on the thin flesh separating her holes.
Panting, she rubbed her mound against him, undulating her body, meeting his thrusts. Deep inside, his cock filled her, stretching as he worked his finger up her backside.
His hot breath blew on her neck as he increased his pace. She smelled his alluring skin, and sweat was slick between their bodies. Moaning, she felt the first spark of pleasure building in her.
He pounded harder, and she lifted her legs in the air, allowing him to go deeper. His hand worked at her rear, his finger probing to a place that shone with sheer pleasure. She whined as he braced against the back of her thighs to get leverage, pushing her knees almost to her shoulders. Soft grunts escaped his lips as he bore down on her crotch, his cock thrusting into her depths again and again, bumping her cervix.
Little tremors rolled through her body, and then her nerves hummed. A wave of bliss surged inside her, making her gasp. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her face flushed as she spasmed.
Mark hissed through his teeth, and she glanced up at him. He stared down at her, love and ecstasy straining his face as he exploded into her. His cock throbbed, her pussy clenched, twitching against each other with the heat of their shared passion.
"God, I love you," he breathed as his arms gave out. He collapsed on her, his face resting perfectly in the crook of her neck.
Lowering her tired legs, she kissed his forehead, and stroked his back. "I love you, too," she whispered gently. "More than anything."
They rested for a bit as the morning sunlight shone through the kitchen window, but they didn't sleep. When he was ready, they made love again. It was longer, slower, more sensual as they coupled. And she relished the feel of him, wanting their bodies to stay locked together.
As the sun moved across the sky and the afternoon light waned, they lay together, exhausted, discussing life, wondering about the future. She intertwined her fingers in his, focusing on the feel of his skin, the heat of his breath.
This man—her husband, lover, friend—was all she needed in life. Together, she knew they would get through anything just fine.
Epilogue
Rebecca stood quietly in the long hall, taking even breaths to settle her mind. They'd been waiting for over an hour, and there wasn't a single chair in sight. The sterile, black-painted walls reflected little of the harsh fluorescent lighting that hummed above them. And it gave her a headache.
At her side, Jeremiah tapped his foot impatiently, and fidgeted with the buttons on his coat. At least he'd stopped complaining about the two piece suit. As much as she loved him, she had rolled her eyes when he suggested attending the meeting in baggy clothes and bare feet.
But she admired him for cleaning up his appearance. It was difficult for him to adjust to the dense urban sprawl after living so long out in the wild. However, he looked amazing with his black hair cut short, and his smooth, freshly shaven chin. She wanted to ravish him when he stepped out of the shower, his muscles glistening in the light of their room. Her only regret was their lack of time.
The sound of footsteps snapped her out of the daydream. A steward appeared from a door, and strode briskly toward them. He was dressed in black slacks, and a red suit jacket with a high collar. His lips were pursed tight, matching his stuffy look.
"This way," he said briefly, and turned before they could acknowledge him.
She followed, her high heels clacking sharply down the corridor. Jeremiah grumbled as he shuffled behind her. She shared his nervousness but she kept her face blank, and her chin held high.
The attendant ushered them into a large, dark room with a pillar of focused light. It beamed down from the shadows above, illuminating a small circle in the center of the room. Seated at podiums in a semicircle, the Council glared at them, their grim faces lit from below, like some cheap horror film effect. Rebecca scoffed to herself. They always had a flair for the dramatic.
Jeremiah marched forward to stand defiantly under the spotlight, and she took her place at his side.
"We came like you asked." He crossed his arms across his chest.
"Jeremiah." Charlie shook his head. "You're not in a good position to take that tone with us." The Leader of the Northern Pack dabbed at his wide forehead with a handkerchief. Rebecca could tell by the tension in his voice that this was serious.
"You've made quite a mess." The clean-shaven Leader of New England sat back with a sigh, his wire rimmed glasses shining from the shadows. "You know the agreement was only good if you kept to yourselves."
"It was the Hunt," Jeremiah spat back. "They were planning to exterminate my pack."
The room filled with the sounds of seats squeaking, quiet coughing, and shuffling of papers.
"Do you have proof of this?" The Leader of the North leaned forward, his brows raised.
"Well, of course not." Jer gritted his teeth. "The Hunt neglected to write a confession. But you saw what they were doing. If we hadn't acted, then it would have been worse."
"I seriously doubt that." The Leader of New England adjusted his glasses. "We survive in human society by maintaining our secrecy. You jeopardize all werewolf kind."
Jeremiah fidgeted with the cufflink over his wrist. "It was a rural lab in the middle of nowhere. Who would notice?"
"The media did," spoke the Leader of the West, his jaw clenched. He tossed a newspaper down at their feet. Rebecca gasped as she read the front page. "Vandals Cause Outbreak in Laboratory, Officials Search Woods"
"It was fortunate that we had an insider who edited the living hell out that." The Leader of the North crossed his arms. "There were witnesses. The original article would have been damning."
"You were given a lot of freedom, Jeremiah, and we had faith that you'd pull through on your own," spoke the Leader of the South, his chin quivering with contained frustration. "But you really fuck—excuse my French—screwed this to hell and back."
She saw the tension in Jeremiah's muscles, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jer. Don't," she hissed.
"I can still protect my clan without your draconian rule. I don't need the Council." His eyes flared, and he raised his fists. "I can protect them with my own power."
"Your gift—" growled the Leader of New England, "—is weak."
Shifting forward over the podium, the Leader of the West chuckled. "I think you've had your chance to prove your independence, or whatever it is you were doing out in the woods. It's time you stopped playing hide and seek. Your pack needs to integrate back into the civilized world."
"I will not lead my people back into your claws," Jeremiah shouted.
"That is correct," said the soft-spoken Leader of the Midwest. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and her eyes gazed back at the couple, through thick glasses. "You won't be leading them at all."
A wave of vertigo washed over Rebecca, and her heart leapt into her throat. They can't do this, she thought with anguish.
"But we are merciful and have decided to give you another chance," said the Leader of the South. "You'll join a different clan, under the guidance of their current leader." He leaned forward and jabbed a chubby finger in the air. "But do not squander this chance. You won't be given another."
"What about my pack?" Rebecca asked, her voice strained.
"We are currently working out a plan for relocation. They will be given new leadership unless you can offer a replacement," said the Leader of the North in an even tone.
She had known the northern clan leader a long time, and knew his subtle signs. He couldn't say it but he wanted her to pick.
"And if I refuse?" Asked Jeremiah.
"This is your only option." The Leader of New England looked ready to send them off without another thought. The north-eastern clan had been at odds with them since their move to isolation. She had no doubt he would bring wrath upon them if Jeremiah went any further.
"Jer," Rebecca urged. "Even if we managed to
leave here, we'll be hunted down without the support of a pack or clan." She swallowed hard and clutched his hand. "We should take their deal. There will be another day to fight this."
He ground his teeth, glaring back at the dark podiums. "We will pick the new leadership," he finally said.
Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. "Charlie, you remember the couple whose house was damaged?"
The old man nodded with a stony gaze.
"If the Council finds it suitable, Mark and Lacey would make excellent leaders," she said with pride. This was truly a sad day for her, but at least her people would be well cared for.
"We will consider it." The Leader of the West stood while gathering his papers. "Your new clan is in Seattle. Travel arrangements have already been made. You'll be leaving on a flight this evening."
The rest of the Council rose, and disappeared into the shadows behind the podiums.
In the quiet of the room, Jeremiah shook, and tears unleashed down his strained face. Hugging him close, Rebecca whispered, "My dearest love."
He keened into the empty room, his howls echoing off the barren walls. Then he collapsed into her grasp as sobs wracked his body.
"Easy, love," she soothed. "We still have each other. We've been through worse, and it only made us stronger."
He nodded, allowing her to lead him out the door.
Out in the hall, the steward offered his handkerchief, and turned his back to give them privacy. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for this monstrous change. We can do this, she reassured herself.
Then she caught sight of her old friend, the Clan Leader of the North, head of the Northern Pack. She raced down the hall.
"Charlie," she called out.
He paused as she caught up to him. "I'm sorry, Becca. I didn't mean to sound harsh but I have to appear impartial with the Council," he said as he placed a familiar hand on her arm. "I did what I could but my hands were tied. Seattle is a good place to settle. And the head of the pack is elderly. You will lead again someday."
"I know. And I appreciate what you've done," she said in a soft voice.