by Anne Marsh
She’d been right, though. This changed the game.
The white fox turned her head and looked at him as she slipped through the door. Yeah, he’d swear she was laughing at him. Riley had a wicked sense of humor, which was just one more thing he liked about her.
And he was sitting here on the bed, watching her go.
Damn it.
He came off the bed with a growl, shoving his jeans down his legs. He had a feeling she’d be a damned fast runner in this form. It explained plenty too. Why she’d healed so quickly and how she’d known Luc was a shifter. Like apparently called to like and his Riley had more than few lupine traits up her sleeve.
He straight-armed the door open, bare feet slapping against the deck and threw himself over the side, shifting as he went airborne. His paws hit the water, sending up spray, and her tail disappeared into the underbrush.
He wasn’t losing her now. Paws beating hard against the ground, nose to the ground, he picked her up her trail in seconds. The wolf loved this game. This courtship ritual was exactly what his beast understood. Deep inside the wolf, the man wondered if Riley Jones understood what she’d started. She called to his wolf on the most primitive of levels and both man and beast answered.
The breeze carried her scent, a spice that was musky and feminine, yet quintessentially Riley. Ten minutes into their run, the wolf stopped, eyes and ears pointing. Then tore after her with a long, low bay to let her know he was coming for her. She could run, but she wasn’t getting away. Not tonight.
Eventually, he caught his next glimpse of her. She’d crossed a shallow patch of bayou water, but she was upwind of him and the early morning breeze gave away her position. He inhaled, turned his head, and there she was.
Her fox running was a thing of beauty, furred paws eating up the bank in small, graceful strides, her head turning left then right as she swept the bank watching for threats. She put on a burst of speed, every bit as fast as he’d feared, but he had her in his sights now and he was bigger and stronger. The man laughed. He might not be smarter, but he damned sure could outrun her. That was good to know, because he had a feeling she’d lead him on hundreds of chases in the years to come.
Her sides heaved with the effort of staying ahead of him. Winded, she stopped for a minute, clearly considering her next steps. Had she really planned on heading back to town in her fox form? He wouldn’t put it past her. Now, he slipped towards her, moving stealthily. His boo wouldn’t see him coming. The closer he got, the faster he moved, staring her down.
Hell, yeah. The wolf loved chase. So did the man. He hadn’t played in years but if she wanted to play with him, he’d play. Play was wolf courting ritual and a sensual turn-on. So catching her too soon wasn’t part of his plan.
He burst from the bushes in rush of speed. She froze and, for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t run. Then, thank Christ, she did. His wolf responded, chasing her. Four long strides and he brought her down. His paws on her shoulders pushed as his body slammed into hers. They rolled in a tangle of fur and legs, growling and nipping, and Christ, he loved this. Loved her.
The wolf blinked as the man froze, considering the implications of that thought. She wriggled beneath him and he tucked the emotion away to examine later.
It was over quickly. He outweighed her four to one and she’d never had a chance. His wolf pinned her, howling victoriously.
###
She had no idea what she’d been thinking when she ran.
No.
She had.
Part of her had simply wanted to get back to town and get on with her life and protecting her girls. The other part of her—particularly the southern parts—had wanted to see exactly how far she could push her wolf.
The wolf pinning her was bigger. Almost feral in its intensity, her pursuer was definitely stronger than her fox. Even meaner, maybe. Dag was inside somewhere, though, so she needed to do some choosing. He’d made it clear he wanted to get close. Did she let him? He probably wasn’t thinking about the future of their relationship—she was fairly certain he had sex on his mind—but he also believed their relationship was a done deal. For him, she was his one-and-only mate.
But she didn’t know if she was ready for that kind of commitment, even if she was ready to do some exploring. Strangely, Dag was exactly the kind of man she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. He was strong and stubborn with a bedrock core of honor that lit her up in ways far beyond the sexual.
She had a feeling what she wanted was him.
She shifted.
She looked up at him. The big ass wolf pressing down on her was one part scary as hell, one part Dag. Deliberately, she turned her head to the side, baring her throat. He’d get the message.
Sure enough, he shifted. One minute, he was all wolf and the next the man weighed her down, still heavy as hell.
And naked.
God, he was naked and so was she. His position pressed his dick against her mound, so there was no missing just how much their run through the bayou had aroused him.
“You’re a shifter,” he growled. He threaded the fingers of one hand through both of hers, drawing her hands up over her head. She had a feeling she was about to pay the price for her run, which ratcheted her arousal up another notch. Dag liked to dominate. No, scratch that. He needed to dominate and she’d challenged him. He’d be all about the payback now.
And she couldn’t wait.
“Surprise?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’ think you should have shared that?”
Not at all. “Single white shifter looking for hot wolf?”
He shook his head. “Boo, you don’ wan’ to keep pushin’ me.”
“Or?” She was pretty sure she didn’t know how not to push.
“I caught you.” He had and he sounded damned satisfied with himself. “Twice now. Guess you really are mine, seein’ as how you’re a wolf and all.”
“Fox.” She was absolutely not a wolf. He needed to get his names straight.
“Hell.” He stared at her. “Really? You’re practically tame.”
“Am not.” Sure, too many of the foxes in this country were the results of breeding experiments because some people wanted a furry companion. She wasn’t aggressive. Sometimes she even liked people. She’d learned to live with who she was, but she’d never advertised her shifter side. That was between her and her family.
The family was the issue.
Arctic foxes were family-oriented to the bone. Her kind liked to stay together, entire families and multiple generations living together. Hell, even her brothers still lived together with her parents. They were already making noises about finding mates of their own and breeding.
She didn’t want that.
She really, really didn’t. Plus, there was the whole cross-species thing. She had a feeling her mother would frown on bringing a wolf home for dinner. But the sex… yeah, sex with Dag Breaux was definitely something she wanted to do again.
And again.
No. Bad libido. “I think we need to do some talking. Get to know each other.”
He nodded slowly. “You wan’ to date.”
He adjusted his hips, sliding his dick between the thick outer folds of her pussy and sending bright sparks of pleasure dancing through her body. Oh, God. If they were dating, he’d be hitting a homerun.
“That’s not what you want?” She ignored the little pang of disappointment. Maybe mate didn’t mean what she thought it did. After all, it had been months since she’d dates and maybe a year since she’d bothered going to bed with a guy. None of the men she’d met had been interesting. None of them had set her pulse to pounding or made her want to moan like crazy.
Dag did.
He leaned into her, giving her more of her weight, and nipped her ear sharply. God, he was no gentleman. He was barely civilized and yet her pussy wept for him, so slick and wet she knew he could smell her arousal.
“I’ve never dated,” he admitted casually, like she’d asked him
whether he preferred beer and wine.
Shock was a visceral punch. “No way,” she got out. “You’ve got to be pushing thirty, Dag Breaux, and you’re telling me you’ve never taken a girl out?”
“On a date?” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be bothered. I’m a wee bit more than thirty, boo. I don’ know what kind of shifter you are, but my kind, we live a long time, centuries even if things don’ end badly. I wasn’t much for countin’ at the beginnin’, but I’m goin’ on three hundred now.”
Holy. Hell. He was a three hundred year old werewolf? No wonder his attitude was so medieval. He’d come by it honestly. “That explains the chest thumping,” she said weakly.
“And I’m not sayin’ I’ve never taken another female,” he said, his expression intense. “I’ll always be honest with you. I’ve had women in my bed, sure, but none of them meant more than pleasure. I’ve never dated any of them.”
“Or asked them to be your mate?”
“I don’ recall askin’.” His mouth found the side of her neck and she shivered. He knew all her weak points.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “There was a whole lot of telling.”
“If I asked, what would you say?”
She didn’t know. She wanted to say yes. But Dag Breaux wouldn’t be an easy keeper. He didn’t know much about compromise and neither did she. So she gave him back a question for a question. “You know how to ask?”
“Oui. You just don’ know how to answer.”
True.
They were both private people. Partly by necessity, she knew, because shifters never advertised their presence. Her brothers had taught her that. At best, they’d be a curiosity. At worst, they’d be hunted. So she’d learned to hide what she really was and to enjoy herself where she could. The bayou had fewer rules than any place she’d visited, so she’d had no problem living here. Dag Breaux was one sexy man, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for his rules or his world.
And then he kissed her. Again. He might not have bought a damned book—and she was fairly certain he hadn’t because, last time she’d checked, Barnes and Noble hadn’t set up shop in the swamp—but he’d figured this kissing business out. His lips moved over hers, sweet and sure. His tongue teased the closed seam of her lips and she kept them closed as long as she could, to prolong the sweet anticipation. Until he cheated, nipping her lower lip. The small sting had her opening up with a gasp. His tongue pushed in boldly, while his free hand, oh God…
His hand cupped her ass. Her naked ass. Shaped and squeezed.
Unabashedly, unashamedly traced her rear cleft.
He had her naked on the bayou floor, acting raw and wild. The scent of crushed grass drifted up from beneath them, the raw sounds of sex mixing with the whine of insects. With sun was going down, there shouldn’t be anyone out here but the two of them, but anything was possible. God. They were both living proof of the impossible. When she tried to tear her mouth away from his, his mouth followed her, swallowing each breath she gave him.
There was nothing she could do but feel.
When his finger found the puckered rosette, she froze with anticipation and sweet dread. His taking her ass was going to sting something bad. Even now, as he pressed with that single digit, her body resisted, holding out. To her surprise, he stopped, switching hands so he could drag his fingers through her folds. He didn’t touch her clit though and she wanted to whimper. Beg some. But she wasn’t giving in to him that easily. Not this time.
He went back to her rear hole, spreading her own moisture over the puckered entrance. When he lifted his mouth from hers, his lips resting against hers, she knew he could feel and hear her needy whimper as he pushed the first finger into her ass.
“See, I think this works better than talkin’, boo. I know you’re listenin’ to me now.”
“Dag,” she pleaded, not entirely sure what she was asking for.
He’d shoved his dick inside her there yesterday and her rear passage burned and clenched as he pushed his finger deeper. The sting was so good and he didn’t hesitate, shoving deeper until he’d penetrated her completely.
“I’m goin’ to give you three,” he growled.
He did exactly as he’d promised, withdrawing his finger and then pushing back inside her. One finger, two. Three. She was stuffed full of him, each bold stroke finding raw nerve endings she hadn’t know she possessed.
For a long moment, they lay there, his rough breathing filling up the air around her, her full of him. Liking this hadn’t been part of her plans but God, she did. She loved his attentions and his determination to make her come every which way.
He looked at her. “You know what I wan’ to hear.”
He was going to make her admit it.
“You’re my mate,” she said. The first word came out tentative, but the last, well, she might be his, but he was hers too. Her fucking match.
His fingers scissored her sore ass, stoking the sweet burn higher. “When you sit tomorrow, boo, you goin’ to think of me, oui?”
The heat blazed through her and it was too much, too Dag, too something. She came, shoving her ass back against his hand, screwing his fingers deeper and tighter as her empty pussy convulsed.
“You got this?” The familiar, deep voice sent her eyes flying open.
Dag didn’t even look at Luc. “Hell, yeah.”
Oh God oh God. But Luc didn’t join them. She could see his booted feet from the corner of her eyes, could feel the blush painting her cheeks but there was no holding back the orgasm rolling through her. She came, riding Dag’s fingers and taking him deep, but all Luc did was drop a blanket and a stack of clothes next to them.
His feet disappeared. “I’ll stand guard,” he called and Dag just grunted.
The next moment, he flipped her over onto the blanket, pressed inside, and proceeded to show her just how far he could push her.
Chapter Ten
A hand on her ass slapped her awake; the hand over her mouth, however, stopped her protests before they started. The houseboat was pitch black. Right. They’d screwed themselves silly outside and then he’d picked her up and carried her back inside the houseboat.
Now night had come to the bayou with a vengeance.
“We got us unwelcome company,” Dag growled against her ear.
His body pressed hers down into the mattress, but there was no holding back her spike of adrenaline. Memories rushed back in: the shack deep in the bayou. The vampire’s teeth tearing at her wrist as it fed. God. She couldn’t do that again.
“Secret hideout not so secret anymore?” she mumbled around his hand. The snark was second nature. Plus, no way she let Dag know just how much his bombshell scared her. Not that it really mattered. He was a wolf. He had a nose and he’d figure it out.
“I’m goin’ to let you up,” he continued, “and we’re goin’ to slip out into the bayou and run like hell for town. Luc says he tracked the vamp pretty close to Port Leon, so I’m thinkin’ I should check up on your place.”
Where she’d wanted to head yesterday.
Except he hadn’t let her.
“Nod your head,” he said, “if you understand.”
She nipped his palm instead and he grunted. “I’m goin’ to take that as a yes.”
He moved his hand away cautiously and shoved off the bed. She sprang up too. If the vamp knew where they were, she was on board with a quick getaway.
“Not interested in standing and fighting?” She bent over and swiped her clothes from the floor.
He shook his head. “Leave those. We don’ have time for playin’ dress up.”
“I’m not running naked through the bayou.”
He strode over to the armoire and yanked open the doors. She’d had no idea the bayou bad boy had himself a secret exit. Or a private swimming pool, depending on how you looked at it. She eyed the murky water skeptically and hoped he wasn’t recommending they go for a late night swim. Alligators loved dark water and there was every possibility of water snake
s. Plus, she was fairly certain she could smell some really nasty bacteria that had been percolating since the dinosaurs moved along. Getting in was out of the question.
He shot her a look and held out his hand. “And I’m not askin’ you to. We’re goin’ to shift.”
Something hit the roof of the houseboat hard. The boat rocked, water slopping onto the floor. “Now, boo.”
The water still didn’t look appealing. Not to mention she was fairly certain Dag’s escape hatch was almost too narrow to fit through. Panic clawed at her. “I’m voting for fighting.”
“Not recommended.” Those were two words she’d never expected to hear coming from Dag’s mouth. “Vamps fight like a bitch and we’re not in a good position.”
“You’re saying we’re sitting ducks? Because I thought you were the almighty, all-powerful warrior wolf.” She couldn’t get into the water.
“Shift,” he snapped without answering her question.
“No.” She yanked on T-shirt. Bra, bra… she’d be going without because she had no idea where he’d tossed it. “Did I mention that I’m claustrophobic?”
The boat rocked again, more forcefully, and she heard the keening sound of metal being ripped from the foredeck. God. The vamp was taking up the deck one board at a time.
“Now,” he roared. Since the vamp apparently knew they were here, she guessed silence didn’t matter anymore.
“I can’t.” She yanked up her jeans as he scooped her up into his arms. The canvas strap of the bag tossed over his shoulder bit into her cheek. He shouldered the doors wider and stepped inside the armoire.
“Please—” She hated that whimper of sound, but the armoire was too narrow. Dag certainly wouldn’t fit and she barely would, although she’d never get the leverage or speed she needed to make it down and out. She’d be stuck in there forever until she drowned and died.
“We don’ have many choices here.” He didn’t look at her as he fished a glass Coke bottle out of the bag. Lighting the wick with a quick flick of a lighter, he tossed the impromptu Molotov cocktail onto their bed. The cotton flared up with a bang of light. Feeling nostalgic was a luxury whose price tag she couldn’t afford.