Trapped By The Wolf (Werewolf Fever #1)

by Juno Blake

  Every ache in her body was his. And she wanted more.

  The collar tightened around her neck as Ciaran led her upstairs. She made a small noise as they passed the bathroom, and Ciaran chuckled.

  “Don’t think you can wash it off, pack-chaser. I want to smell myself on you when I take you again.”

  Again? Lucy clenched her legs together automatically, and Ciaran laughed out loud. He dropped the leash, and for one moment, Lucy had a crazy thought of running away—but before the thought was even fully formed in her mind, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder.

  He sprinted to his room and tossed her onto the bed. Winded, Lucy barely had time to push herself up on her elbows before Ciaran was on her again. He flipped her over, winding her leash around one thick wrist and pulling it tight.

  Lucy’s hands flew to the twisted-shirt collar as it pressed against her throat. “Stop!” she cried.

  Ciaran knelt over her, a mocking look in his golden eyes. He tied the end of the leash to the carved wooden headboard, tight enough that Lucy gasped.

  Ciaran ran his hands down her body, squeezing her breasts and kneading her ass. His hands were so big each one covered a whole cheek, and his fingertips groped between them. Lucy gasped and bucked away from his exploring fingers.

  “Don’t like that, do you? But I know what you do want.” Ciaran slid one hand between her legs, running the pad of his thumb along her slick folds. Lucy trembled, moaning despite herself as his touch sent tendrils of desire twisting through her center.

  The collar pressed against her neck and Lucy realized she had slid down the bed, leaning into Ciaran’s teasing strokes. If she went any further, she’d choke.

  Lucy turned pleading eyes on Ciaran. He touched her cheek, the expression on his inhuman face fierce with lust.

  “Look at yourself. I’m barely even touching you, and you’re choking yourself. Literally gagging for it.” He grabbed her and rolled sideways, pulling Lucy on top of himself.

  For a moment, the collar twisted cruelly around her neck, cutting off her air completely. Then Lucy was lying spread-eagled on top of the naked wolf-man, the pressure on her throat easing.

  Panting, Lucy followed the line of the leash to where it was tied to the headboard. Ciaran had the rope looped loosely around his hand—loosely enough that Lucy could breath. Could move.

  He was sitting back against the intricately carved wooden headboard, smug expectation glowing from his eyes. As she felt the hard thickness of his cock between her legs, Lucy understood why.

  He expected her to mount him. She could see it in his eyes. She was dripping wet, Ciaran’s seed mixing with her own juices, and even though every part of her hurt… the press of his cock against her folds was making her throb with desire.

  “Go on,” Ciaran murmured. “You know you want it. Give in.”

  Ciaran thought he had tamed her. Broken her with lust, until she stopped asking questions, stopped resisting. Until she begged him to let her take him into herself again.

  What has he done to you? she asked herself. He tricked you. Lied to you. And back in the garden, he could have ripped out your throat. He’s a werewolf, and he’s dangerous. how can you still desire him?

  Lucy gave a gasp that was almost a sob. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, but her body moved as though she was in a dream. She lifted herself up—and lowered herself, every muscle in her body aching with need, onto Ciaran’s cock.

  She moaned as he filled her. Straddling him like this, she could control the speed of penetration and she lowered herself slowly, slowly, savoring the pressure that grew inside her. She shut her eyes, focusing on keeping control.

  Lucy rested her hands on Ciaran’s hairy chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palms as she took him fully inside herself.

  A tear squeezed itself out through her closed eyes. What are you doing? she berated herself, even as her whole body thrilled for Ciaran’s touch. You can’t even pretend you don’t like it. He was right. You are a slut. A pack-chaser, whatever that means.

  She opened her eyes and stared at Ciaran. He was watching her with his eyes hooded and his mouth slightly open, revealing a hint of fang. He was primal, a coiled spring of violent animal passion who could destroy her with one snap of his sharp white teeth.

  Lucy wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

  “Oh, Lucy,” Ciaran murmured, stroking one clawed finger down her cheek, wiping way her tear of shame. “It’s just not as fun when you stop fighting, is it?”

  With a deep sigh, he let his head rest back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

  Lucy gaped at him, her shameful desire twisting into horrified frustration. He couldn’t just leave her like this. He couldn’t.

  But he was. He was asleep—and she was trapped.

  She waited, but he didn’t move. She bit back a sob. She was still tied to the bed—tied to Ciaran, it was the same thing. The leash wasn’t long enough for her to roll off him. He had her exactly where he wanted her: begging, humiliated, and unable to move from his body.

  New tears joined the one that had already trickled down her cheek. She felt hollow with shame. She had finally given in, and what had he done?

  Refused her. Rejected her. And collared her, so she couldn’t even go and lick her wounded pride in peace.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucy slept, eventually. She didn’t remember lying down against Ciaran’s chest, or the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling her to unconsciousness, but it must have happened.

  She dreamed of the forest again, tall pines silhouetted black against the silver full moon. In her dream, she was still hunting, but this time she knew what it was she was trying to find. A fierce joy filled her, bright and hot, as she raced through the trees.

  Until she woke up, and all her certainty vanished like mist in the dawn.

  Lucy drifted slowly from sleep back into consciousness. She felt the sun on her face, and the twist of blankets around her legs and hips. The warm dent in the mattress where she’d curled up in sleep.

  She stretched, and hissed as her body cried out in pain. Every inch of her skin seemed to hurt, and every muscle under her skin ached.

  Lucy pushed herself slowly upright, teeth gritted. As she sat back against the carved headboard, she pushed the blankets out of the way and looked down at her body.

  Her skin was marked with dozens of small cuts and grazes. Bruises ringed both her wrists and ankles, where the werewolf had held her down. There were dark marks around her waist, too—fingerprints, edged with scratches where his claw-like nails had raked her skin.

  Lucy caught her breath. It was horrific… but she’d never been so turned on by the sight of her own body before.

  She ran her hands down her sides, seeing how small they were compared to the marks from the werewolf’s hands. Her pussy ached, too, but it was a heavy, satisfied ache, not the pain of damage. Lucy bit her lip.

  How was that possible? The werewolf’s cock had been so huge, and he’d been so relentless, that she was sure he would have hurt her. But this morning, the only evidence he’d left of his rough treatment were those bruises, this satisfied ache…

  …and a need for more that left Lucy breathless.

  “Hello, Lucy Abbotsford.”

  The sound of Ciaran’s Scottish burr made Lucy jump. Her hands reached automatically to the blanket, to cover herself—but what would the point of that be? Ciaran had seen her naked body already.

  Seen it, and marked you as his own. The thought burnt through Lucy’s mind like wildfire, searing everything in its path… and leaving Lucy almost panting with desire.

  She held herself still, trying to pull herself together before she looked up at Ciaran. She shouldn’t have bothered. Whatever calm she managed to gather around herself went up in smoke the moment she looked into his eyes.

  He was human again, sitting in a heavy armchair in front of the fireplace. A thick bar of sunlight from the le
adlight windows fell across his bare chest and face. In the light, it should have been easy to read his expression, but Lucy couldn’t decipher the emotion that flickered across his face as their eyes met.

  She had thought that werewolves were like two sides of a coin: one human, one animal. But Ciaran was different. When he was human, his eyes flashed wolf-gold, and when he was transformed… he’d still been so human. Like he was now. Smooth, sophisticated… but with danger lurking beneath the surface.

  “Good morning,” she said quietly.

  “Is it?” Ciaran’s voice was reserved. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at Lucy. “Well. Perhaps you’re right. You are alive, after all.”

  His eyes slid sideways, and this time Lucy did recognize the expression that passed over his face. Bitterness.

  Her stomach twisted. Is he upset that I’m alive? Is that it?

  “Did… did you think you would kill me, last night? Is that why you told me to stay in this room after dark?”

  Ciaran sat back and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Yes. Yes, I thought I would kill you,” he admitted, his voice harsh. “That’s why I bedded you in the first place. I hoped it would… slake my lust enough to keep you safe. You may be a naïve fool, but you didn’t deserve to die for it.”

  Lucy raised one eyebrow. “And… I didn’t,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  “No.” Ciaran didn’t return her smile. “No, for once, my… condition seems to have a silver lining. Hah.” He laughed mirthlessly.

  “Your condition? You mean, being a werewolf?” Lucy leaned forward, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She knew so little about werewolves, really. Oh, everyone knew the stories, but it was impossible to tell what was rumor, and what was real. Before last night, she’d thought werewolves transformed completely into wolves—but maybe that was just another myth?

  Ciaran frowned at her. “I know that last night cannot have been what you were expecting, but surely the wolf who broke you in explained some things, at least?” When Lucy didn’t reply, he shook his head. “I… I am not a true werewolf. If I had been, then when I caught you last night…” He expelled his breath sharply.

  “What do you mean, you’re not a true werewolf?” Lucy spoke without thinking. When Ciaran stared at her at though he couldn’t believe what she was saying, she waved her hands. “Okay, okay, can we start at the beginning? Like you said, I’ve got no idea.” Even if you didn’t believe that last night.

  Ciaran gave her a slow, considering stare that made her toes curl. “Very well. If you insist I treat you like a complete incompetent…” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “This really should not be my responsibility. Whoever broke you in should have explained… I came here to get away from all of that.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Very well. From the beginning. I am unable to complete my shift into a werewolf form, therefore, I am not a true werewolf. Had I been, the wolf would have torn you limb from limb when you ventured out of the castle last night.”

  “So last night—that wasn’t the wolf?”

  “I told you. I am not like other werewolves. The balance of wolf and man—I’ve never known it. Never felt the cleansing freedom of my wolf form, simple and free in the moonlight.” Ciaran’s eyes darkened.

  “But—you did transform,” Lucy said, confused. “Last night, you weren’t—you weren’t human.”

  “I wasn’t a wolf.” Ciaran’s expression darkened. “Make no mistake, Lucy, every time I claimed you last night, it was me doing it to you. Human cruelty and human lust, but in a stronger body. More powerful. Less… restricted.” He laughed bitterly. “Perhaps that is my balance, after all. The moon brings out the monster in me, as it brings out the simple beast in others of my kind.”

  “Then that was… you,” Lucy said slowly. “You told me to stay in the room because you wanted to keep me safe… from yourself. You thought that you would hurt me.”

  Ciaran met her eyes. “I did not know what I would do.”

  Lucy gulped. Neither did I. But I threw myself at you, regardless.

  She stared over her knees at Ciaran. When he’d caught her in the bathroom, he’d been cold, sarcastic—but now she could see the danger lurking behind his handsome face.

  If the wolf-man with the sharp fangs and claw-like nails was him, and not the wolf—then that primal, violent passion he’d forced on her the night before was his. Not the wolf’s.

  Somewhere behind Ciaran’s smooth exterior burned the fierce, single-minded desire that had wanted her, and taken her, only thinking of his own pleasure.

  Lucy felt light-headed.

  Ciaran took a long, slow breath. “I’ve always thought my full-moon form was unsafe… that’s why I stayed away from the pack-chaser parties. I feared what I would do to the women who threw themselves at my kind. But you…” His eyes smoldered. “I want to hurt you. I want to make you scream.”

  “You did make me scream,” Lucy breathed, trapped in his eyes.

  “Yes.” Ciaran stood up, slowly, his predator’s eyes locked on to Lucy. “I did make you scream. And tremble, and shake beneath me. I could have done anything to you…”

  Lucy blinked, and he was next to the bed. She jerked backward. How had he moved so fast?

  “I could have forced myself on you while you slept. Watched you scream as you woke up and saw me violating you.”

  He got onto the bed, crawling towards Lucy as he described the disgusting things he could have done to her. He talked as though she was a toy. Something he could use for his pleasure, picking up and discarding as he liked.

  Lucy moaned as he drew closer to her, his eyes as black as night. It was filthy, disgusting, degrading… and it was making her wet.

  Ciaran stopped inches from her. He was on his hands and knees, his face the same height as hers—but he wasn’t touching her. All she could feel was his breath on her neck, and the piercing, thrilling pressure of his gaze on her body.

  “I could do anything I want,” he murmured. “Hurt you. Break you. And you would beg for more, wouldn’t you? I took you on the dining table last night because I thought it would keep you safe, but instead, it’s only made my lust stronger.”

  Lucy’s lips parted. She leaned towards him, desperate for his touch. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “You naïve, foolish…”

  Suddenly, he grabbed her, throwing her against the headboard and pinning her in place, his hands on her shoulders. The carved wood dug into her back and Lucy wriggle to free herself, but it was no use.

  “Lucy—” Ciaran lowered his head to her breasts, groaning as he took her nipple in her mouth and sucked it hard. Lucy arched her back, shocked by the sudden assault on her body—and enjoying it. Wanting more.

  Ciaran moved slowly upwards, sucking and licking at Lucy’s skin from her breasts to her neck, where he paused, his tongue flickering over the pulse under her jaw. His stance shifted and she felt his teeth—Human teeth, she told herself, human teeth—rasping against her skin.

  Lucy’s pulse grew faster under Ciaran’s mouth, frantic, desperate, like a bird trapped under a cat’s claws. Human teeth, she thought, repeating it like a mantra, as though human teeth couldn’t draw blood just as easily as a wolf’s. Or a wolf-man’s.

  What time does the moon rise here? Lucy thought, her heart thrumming in her ears. How long do I have until…

  “You’re frightened,” Ciaran purred, his voice vibrating against Lucy’s neck. “Good girl.”

  One of his hands pushed between her legs, and Lucy whimpered as he dipped two fingers into her dripping center.

  “Oh, very good. Who broke you in, pack-chaser? Wait. Don’t tell me.” He drove his fingers deeper, making Lucy gasp. “We’re still pretending you know nothing, after all… Dear, naïve Lucy… I’m your first, aren’t I?”

  His voice was acid with sarcasm as he reminded Lucy he thought her ignorance was a façade.

  Broke me
in? Lucy’s mind reeled at the implications of that term.

  There was so much Ciaran said that she still didn’t understand. Breaking in, pack-chasers, whatever these parties he mentioned were… She needed to spend at least a week at her computer researching. Instead, she was stuck here with Ciaran. And every time she thought she was getting a handle on what was going on, he did something like…

  “O-o-ohh,” she moaned, flinging her head back as he curled his fingers inside her.

  Then, suddenly, pain blossomed on her throat. Lucy’s eyes snapped open.

  “Oh God—” she cried out, backing into the headboard, twisting her head away from Ciaran’s teeth.

  He didn’t stop her. As she stared at him in shock Ciaran’s eyes flared gold, and he looked away, rubbing a hand over his face.

  When he turned back to Lucy, his eyes were black again. Human. Except that nothing about him was human. Lucy was beginning to understand that now.

  Beginning to understand what it really meant.

  Cold blossomed at the base of her spine and rose through her, making her lungs constrict and her skin prickle.

  I can’t do this, she though suddenly. This is all like some crazy dream—and I have to wake up. He’s a werewolf. This isn’t safe. I’m not safe.

  I need to get out of here.

  She gulped, feeling the pressure of her collar around her neck. It had loosened while she slept… but it was still there.

  Last night, the wolf-man had said she belonged to him. But that was the wolf-man. Surely Ciaran wouldn’t…

  No. She was being a fool, just like Ciaran had said. Ciaran was the wolf-man, and she had to assume that everything he said then, he still meant now.

  “So,” she said, suddenly feeling very sober. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but… What happens now?”

  “Now?” Ciaran threw the question back at her.

  “Yes.” Lucy’s thoughts were flying in a thousand directions at once, and she struggled to pull them together. She took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s say that I’m… happy with what’s happened here already. But what happens next? I’ve got work to get back to, people expecting me home—”