Dire Wants

by Stephanie Tyler

  His free hand pushed up to cover a breast. He squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and she moaned into his mouth. He knew she would be so wet for him if he pulled her pants off, and he wanted to taste her, lick her, claim her until she had only his name on her lips.

  She pulled him more tightly to her, her hands wandering to grip his ass, wanting to come. And he would give that to her, would howl with pride when he did.

  He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, tugged it between his teeth and suckled on it until the lights blew out overhead and the doors slammed open and shut, until the orgasm ripped from her with a scream, shattering her.

  “Stray!”

  He held on to her, forced himself not to dip his hand between her legs as the wolf howled inside his head. Not now. Later—and there would be a later.

  He was never this damned possessive. He heard his own harsh breaths after he pulled away.

  She ran; you chased. That’s all.

  But it wasn’t.

  *

  Kate felt completely off balance and Stray looked so calm and collected, even as the aftereffects of the orgasm vibrated through her.

  “Sorry. The prey instincts are hard to control,” he said easily, and she mentally called him a bastard. “I heard that.”

  “I wanted you to.”

  He was too warm and too close. She took a step to the side and sat on the mat so he wouldn’t touch her again.

  In reality, her legs couldn’t hold her any longer.

  “What else is out there?” she asked after several long moments of trying to regain her composure. But what was the point? He knew she’d come, and in reality it was the best orgasm she’d ever had, because it wasn’t by her own hand. “Is this the part where you tell me that every Hollywood monster—that all those horror stories passed down through the generations are real?”

  He bent down, took her palm and placed it flat against his chest. “Do I feel real enough to you? Look, you have nowhere to go that’s safe. This place is.”

  “Only if I do what you want.”

  “Only if you do what’s right. The witch who died and left you her powers—most likely, she died running from our enemies. Leo’s one of them.” Stray paused. “In your heart, you know that has to be true.”

  “I really want to go home and forget all of this. Pretend it never happened.”

  She swore a hurt look crossed his face before he told her, “We all want something.”

  If she didn’t cooperate, what would happen to her? And, once she did, what was to stop him from killing her—or worse?

  She knew exactly what could be worse. Her job working with victims of violent crimes had taught her that in many brutal and equally terrifying ways.

  He stood and began to pace. “You’re better off here, away from the humans.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “I’ve had thousands of years to study humans,” Stray told her. “I know their ways.”

  “My ways,” she interrupted. “I don’t count myself as witch. I’m human.”

  “You’re fooling yourself.”

  “I’m happy to do so and stay in la-la land,” she told him. “I’m not denying I’m a witch, but I’m human still. That’s how I’ve always lived.”

  “That’s how you lived. Things change, Kate. Everything you know will change, too.”

  It already had. For one thing, she was no longer alone. And while she couldn’t be sure if this was some form of Stockholm syndrome, she realized that going back wasn’t an option. It never had been. “You don’t like witches.”

  “As a rule, no. They’ve never given my kind much reason to like them. And now my feelings toward them run strongly toward hate.”

  “You hate me for what I am. That’s not fair.”

  “Nothing in life is.”

  She wanted to slap him, clenched her fist instead. He saw it and laughed.

  “Go ahead and hit me,” he prompted.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is find a spell that works on you,” she said. “If I’m that powerful, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

  In seconds, he was on her, a palm splayed again on her brand, through the flannel shirt this time. Her entire body tingled as if on the verge of another climax. She was pleased to note by the lust visible in his eyes and the arousal against her belly that he was affected. But still angry at her last statement when he growled, “I don’t take threats lightly.”

  She smiled, glad to have the upper hand for this moment. “Then take it as a promise.”

  Chapter 12

  The werechick under him was asking for his number. Kill rattled off a fake one because he’d never see her again, rolled off, momentarily satiated, despite the pain after orgasm.

  Fucking Elders and their mating rules. Of course they’d make sure sex hurt like a bitch after coming—they wanted mating, not casual sex, but Kill refused to mate with the female Dires in Greenland. And after Stray had been born, they were all too scared to even think about it. So he was stuck with one-night stands for the rest of his too-long life.

  He grabbed his clothing and made a beeline for the door, had to get out of this cheap motel room even as the werechick cursed him for fucking and running. Slammed the door behind him and leaned against the outside wall, breathing hard after doubling over several times before he made his way to the truck, naked. Then he screeched out of the lot and turned off the GPS.

  He was at the house in less than fifteen minutes; for him, the scent of Dire was unmistakable, stronger than any Were’s scent.

  It was like coming home, except that it wasn’t.

  He knew he could easily tread his way past lights and the police cruiser he scented on the other side of the hill, toward the latitude and longitude points on Brother Wolf’s inner compass.

  His wolf could guide him to Steele—Stray—with his eyes closed.

  He left the truck at the bottom of the hill, hidden off the side of the road, and slunk through the tree-lined woods toward the mansion he clearly saw outlined in the darkness, as massive as the wolves who inhabited it.

  An eerie glow that looked similar to blood on the moon engulfed it.

  “Witch spell,” he muttered, and his wolf growled at the mention of witch. He flexed his hands to get rid of the tingling sensation that was quickly overtaking his entire body but realized it was no use. His pull to Stray was stronger than ever, and no doubt, so was Stray.

  But he wasn’t ready to see him or the men his flesh and blood called family now. Ended up in his truck, driving around until he happened upon a bar called Howl, with plenty of Weres and a smattering of humans.

  He was aching for a fight and, when he kicked open the door of the crowded bar, he knew he’d find as many as he wanted here.

  *

  Threatening Stray hadn’t been her brightest moment. But, to his credit, he hadn’t said anything more, just released her and told her to follow him.

  Kate did. She had no fight left in her at that moment. And she was embarrassed that, even after all that had happened, she would’ve given her body up to him if he’d asked.

  But he didn’t.

  Stupid, stupid brand. It gave her a vicious stab of pain as if in retaliation, and she paused, doubled over.

  Stray was at her side in seconds. He picked her up without hesitation and carried her back through the maze of hallways and up the stairs, all while she refused to look at him. Her body snuggled first against his chest and then into the soft mattress as she pretended she’d fallen asleep and he pretended to believe that. She heard the door close behind him but not lock and she breathed a little easier at that.

  The pain ceded after a while and she was able to sit up, which she did cautiously in order to get her bearings. This room was as big as the other, but it was far more lived in. She looked to the left and saw clothes piled on a chair, a large dresser stacked with books and papers, a computer glowing in the darkness on a desk across the way.

&nb
sp; This is Stray’s room, she thought. She was being let in further and she wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.

  She’d lost track of time. The need for sleep was lacking, the way it had been for months. It was close to dawn now and, even though her body felt drained from the recent telekinetic episode, she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes and drift off no matter how badly she wanted to.

  And she shouldn’t want to, should be trying to think of a way out of here, away from Stray … and to what, exactly? She had nowhere to go.

  As tired as her body was, her mind raced with questions and even bigger fears than she’d had earlier. But as her eyes began to adjust to the dark, she saw that Stray hadn’t left her alone—he’d simply closed the door to the room.

  He was standing by the window, his bare back to her. If he heard her stir, he made no indication, and so she grabbed the sketchpad he’d left next to her and began to draw.

  Her cheeks flamed as she—her body—recalled her earlier mistake of running. One that kept her body on edge every time Stray was near.

  All she had to do was close her eyes to see him half naked in front of her. Abs rippled, shoulders so impossibly broad he didn’t look real. And a dark tribal wolf staring at her from his right pecs.

  Like it was real. The scar that bisected his chest ended right at the wolf’s mouth.

  Now she saw the massive portrait of the wolf taking up his entire back, its eyes alive.

  The very wolf that had run her down. It had stared at her like it knew what had happened and had accepted it. It would be far longer before Stray did so.

  The only people looking for her would be the police. But, according to Stray, Shimmin knew what she was, had been using her.

  She was a wanted woman all around. And she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t wanted in the dead-or-alive way, so she did the only thing she could do right now—she drew.

  Maybe they were both lulled in by the scratching sounds of pencil to paper or maybe he paid her no mind, but at least half an hour passed while she finished her drawing.

  The scars. You had to be close to see them through the wolf—it was almost covering them protectively, camouflaging Stray’s pain from the rest of the world. There were some along the back of his biceps as well. So many, some clean, others bumpy and all of them held a story—she was sure of it.

  “Can I see it?” he asked finally, without turning. She got up and brought it to him, unable to read his expression as he stared at it.

  “I never look at them in the mirror,” he confessed. “I never wanted to see them.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay. It’s not so bad, seeing them through your eyes. And Brother Wolf looks good.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that; instead of words, she pressed her lips to his shoulder, then pressed her forehead to it. Part apology for earlier, part plea to continue helping her even though she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  As if he understood, he turned to her and his hand moved to caress her lower back—it was as if every time they connected like that, they grew closer.

  “Who … did this to you?” she asked finally, her hands moving to touch the scars she’d drawn.

  “My family, a long time ago, before I was a part of this pack.”

  “Why?”

  “They marked me. I’m guessing that’s something you understand.”

  She wanted to say that the woman wasn’t her family, but technically, she was. She’d passed the gift and connected Kate’s bloodline to her forever. And now, as her hands remained on Stray’s back, he opened up a little more for her and she saw things through his eyes, read his mind the way she had with so many others.

  But this was so very different. It was like a direct link to his every memory—and it was so easy to get lost. It felt like home.

  “Bad things are going to happen,” she murmured. “My God, Stray, such horrible things no one would believe. I don’t want to and yet …”

  “You know them to be true,” he finished for her, his voice tight.

  “We need an army to fight what’s coming. I can’t see all of it clearly, but I know that.”

  “We’ve got eight Dires and you. And some Weres. That’s got to be enough.”

  Suppose it’s not? she wanted to ask, but from the look in Stray’s eyes, she didn’t dare.

  He broke her hold on him and their connection broke. He started to walk out of the room. “This is your home now, Kate. Best get used to it,” he called over his shoulder. “I hope you’re smart enough to not try running again.”

  The door shut behind him and then it opened and closed again. Even though she hadn’t exactly controlled that directly, she smiled at getting in that last word.

  Remember, that’s how you got into trouble already.

  But she swore she heard Stray’s soft laugh before the door shut the second time.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked no one in particular before she buried her nose in his pillow, inhaling his scent deeply, the brand calming down. At the same time, she heard the door open and smelled the scent of hot chocolate. She closed her eyes again until she heard a tray being set down and Stray’s footsteps and then the door closed again.

  Her stomach growled and she sat up, grateful for the sustenance. Comfort food—chocolate and sugary cookies, still warm.

  The snack steadied her, but the isolation wasn’t sitting well. As strong as Stray was, had her powers scared him? She already scared herself and she wondered if it would always be like this.

  She noted that her witchcraft books lay on the bed next to her.

  Her mind flashed back to the psychic she’d visited at eighteen—the woman had handed her a book on witches and Kate handed it back and refused to think on it again. But the books Stray found in her apartment, well, she’d bought them months earlier, after browsing a store between sketches for Shimmin. She’d felt foolish for buying them, but she couldn’t not.

  The receipt was her bookmark in one—she’d gotten barely a third of the way through it before she’d stopped. It had made her uncomfortable, so much so that she hadn’t been able to stop the lights in her apartment from blinking, to the point where the bulbs had blown out completely, shattering glass everywhere.

  She reached out for them now, despite her reluctance to do so, and flipped one open to the marked page on familiars. Her face flushed as she remembered practicing calling for her familiar earlier that morning, before meeting with Josie.

  Nothing had happened. She hadn’t even spotted a stray cat, let alone a protector. Well, besides Stray, but that was something different entirely.

  “Hey.” Stray knocked on the door although he’d already opened it. “Thought you called me.”

  “Um, no.”

  “Okay. I’m right out here if you need me.”

  When he closed the door, something fluttered in her stomach. She didn’t want to read any further. Stray might be checking up on her because he needed her help.

  She curled up against the pillows and again she read the passage about witches and their familiars—a pairing as old as time and as necessary.

  If she couldn’t have love, she would settle for protection.

  Let me protect you. Stray’s words, echoing in her ear.

  And only then did she realize, for the first time, what exactly had been happening between her and Stray. She dropped the book as though it were responsible for it.

  No. Nonononononononono.

  Protector. Animal. Familiar.

  There was nothing in that book that said her familiar couldn’t be a wolf.

  Chapter 13

  Jinx was still having trouble thinking straight. Brother Wolf had shifted him and run from the massacre still happening at the last cemetery because he knew Jinx was done handling it.

  He’d forced Jinx to shift back, dress and drive to the nearest motel room, since it was morning light and not the best time for a wolf to be sauntering through town.


  He ignored his phone in favor of sleeping in wolf form, where the ghosts couldn’t get to him and the nightmares weren’t as bad.

  When he woke, he realized none of it had been a dream, no matter how hard he’d tried to hide from it.

  His own father had sold him out in order to stay … a ghost. A vengeful one. Jinx could’ve helped him cross back over—or he could’ve worked with Jinx to help the Dires send the Dire ghost army back to where they belonged once and for all.

  But he’d chosen his side, in death, as he had in life.

  Literal deals with the devil were made by humans almost every day around the world. The consequences rippled throughout the population. But the biggest loser in this case by far was probably the human who’d asked for the original bargain.

  There was always a price, and it was always too high. Jinx and Rogue had heard far too many sob stories over the years. Because dead men absolutely did tell tales, none of them pretty.

  Jinx always had a theory, that the more logical a person was, the more egregious their crimes.

  “People need to be a little less rigid,” Jinx always said. “Because that always comes back to bite them in the ass.”

  “Or else I do,” Vice would add. Vice, who’d no doubt been calling him all goddamned night. The wolf was good enough to have scented him here, which meant he had his hands full.

  If something had gone really wrong, Jinx would know it. And he comforted himself with that thought as he headed for the shower, letting the warm water beat down on his bare skin. Ignored the ghost that pulled back the shower curtain and attempted to explain why he was still there.

  Jinx didn’t want to hear it.

  In his early years, he’d been plagued by ghosts until he realized that ultimately, his best defense against them was to ignore them, rather than trying to help them pass over. Rogue did the same to the spirits that plagued him, because they had passed over and most of them wanted to come back. It wasn’t easy. Born-and-bred warriors, their abilities gave them a sensitivity not necessarily helpful to what their futures were supposed to be—warrior alpha pack leaders. The sensitivity was too distracting and the pretending soon became exhausting. The only relief they’d had was on their Running, when they didn’t have to pretend they weren’t different from the other Dires. Because the Dires they were running with were all as different as they were.