Taming the Beast: Eleven Paranormal Romances

by Alyse Zaftig

  Mary huddled against the sofa, eying him warily.

  He shook his head hard. “Not you. This…” He scratched over his heart, wondering if that was where the thing lived and if he could force it out for good. “This thing in me.”

  “The beast isn’t in you, son,” Adam said. “You are the beast.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The boys’ll explain when they get there.”

  “I don’t want anyone here. They can’t come.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have a say in the matter. You got him, Mary?”

  She dragged her tongue across her pink lips and then swallowed loudly.

  She was afraid of him. He didn’t want that—didn’t like that. She was a goddess. Goddesses shouldn’t be frightened of pitiful beasts.

  He took a step toward her, and she backed away.

  “I… I think I’ll be okay for a bit.” Her voice dripped with equivocation, but Adam didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t call her out.

  “Okay. Don’t wait too long to call me.” He disconnected.

  Mary didn’t go for the phone, wherever it was. She curled against the front of the chaise, pulling her knees up against her chest and staring at him.

  He stared back, uncertain of what steps to take next. He’d scared the hell out of her, and he was a goddamned werewolf. That was a lot to process all at once.

  Slowly, he crawled toward the heater. The controls didn’t make immediate sense, although he’d worked them countless times before. The memories of using the machine were disjointed and scattered, as if something had plowed through and pushed the parts to different sides of the road in his mind.

  Finally, the heating element glowed red.

  He sat back on his heels, head hanging, hands shaking.

  She moved behind him and he turned rapidly—too rapidly, perhaps—to look at her. He was faster, somehow. He didn’t understand the things his body was doing.

  She’d only moved a couple of feet, and she had her hands up as if he’d threatened her.

  “I was just going over there”—she pointed to a stack of moving pads near a support column—“to shake out some of the dust in one of those big blankets. Adam said that you needed to get warm.”

  “Why did you call him?” he asked pleadingly. “Why? Why would you send people after me?”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I was only trying to get you help, Andreas. Can’t you understand that? I called someone I could trust.”

  “And now they’re coming here to, what, kill me?”

  “No! Why would they do that?”

  “Wolves are territorial creatures. I know that much.”

  She backed slowly toward the column, looking alternately toward him and behind her.

  She needn’t have watched him so closely. Even if he’d wanted to leap after her, he didn’t have the energy. He barely had enough in the tank to keep his head up.

  He needed to lie down. Exhaustion tugged at him like the thickest quicksand. He needed to rest. Never before had he felt like if he didn’t sleep, he’d die.

  What’s wrong with me? He rubbed his eyes and rolled back his aching shoulders.

  “This isn’t their territory,” she said. “Norseton is, and that’s not exactly walking distance from here. Why are you so suspicious of them?”

  “Why did you call someone in Norseton? Shouldn’t you be more suspicious?”

  “No.” She pushed the topmost blankets off the stack and rooted out one that didn’t have too many moth holes, and that wasn’t completely coated in dust. When she shook it out a bit more, he could see that most of the fabric appeared to be clean enough, though it’d probably reek of age.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Using her hip, she bumped the settee closer to the heater. “Because I choose to. I’ve got to trust somebody, and trustworthy people in Fallon are in short supply.”

  He sure as shit couldn’t argue with that.

  “I spoke to Maggie first. Maggie told Muriel, and Muriel suggested that I talk to Adam.”

  “Muriel?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Swallowing hard yet again, she pointed to the settee, indicating he should get on it.

  He tried to think of any reason why he shouldn’t comply, but nothing floated to the front of his mind.

  He crawled achingly to the settee and climbed on.

  She immediately unfurled the blanket over him.

  Both coughed at the raised cloud of dust.

  “Warmer?” she asked.

  He shrugged, but she couldn’t see his movements, so he cleared his throat and said, “I’m cold down to my bones. I may need more.”

  “I’ll get you another blanket.” She started pulling away, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.

  “No.” He lifted the corner of the blanket and nodded to the sliver of surface beside him. “If you’d loan me your company, I’ll warm faster.”

  She dragged a hand through the hair that at some point in the day had come loose from its bun and shifted her weight.

  “I understand this is unorthodox,” he said.

  “That’s putting things mildly.”

  “But are we not different than others? Do we not have to make allowances for what we are and cope, in spite of the fact that this world would prefer that we fail?”

  “Are you telling me to abandon my standards?”

  “No.” He gave her a gentle, but pleading tug down toward the settee. He needed to feel her skin against his—needed to feel something real and warm. And something that was his.

  She could be his mooring.

  “You needn’t abandon your standards, whatever they may be. I’m merely asking for help. If my nudity offends you, I apologize. Somewhere in this dusty pit, I have spare clothing, though if I shift again…” The word was somehow sour in his mouth. “I’ll ruin them. I would have to go without until you could fetch more for me.”

  “And that’s less than ideal.” She let out a tittering breath and pushed her hair back from her eyes. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t have a problem with nudity, and especially not yours.”

  “Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m certain you’re well aware of what you look like when your clothes are off.”

  “Of course, though you sound as though I spend an inordinate amount of time in that state.”

  “If I did, I didn’t mean to. I apologize.”

  “You’re stalling, sweet Mary.”

  “What?”

  “Please.” He gestured to the space on the settee yet again. “Would you like a promise that I’ll be a gentleman?”

  “A gentleman and a wolf.” She laughed and, gingerly, perched on the edge of the seat. “Quite a combination.”

  “Perhaps I’ll let you finish your interview.”

  She grimaced. “Could you believe that just that quickly, I’d forgotten what I came here for?”

  He reached across her body and nudged her hip. She wasn’t moving quickly enough, and he did still require her warmth.

  “Okay. Behave, Mr. Toft.”

  “You called me Andreas before.”

  “In the heat of the moment.”

  “I don’t believe you can so quickly reverse our familiarity. After all, you’ve seen me nude. You’ve seen the…thing that I am. Seems only proper that you call me by my given name.”

  “This is Fallon. No one gives a shit about what’s proper.”

  “But you do?”

  A muscle in her jaw twitched.

  He’d struck a nerve, obviously, but he’d needed to. He needed to shake her loose from her course and rid her of her misconceptions of him. More than anything, he craved her acceptance. He hadn’t let anyone else get so close to him in so long, and he wouldn’t dare squander his chance to finally connect with someone.

  “Please?” He guided her down beside him, and she didn’t resist.

  She lay on her back staring a
t the ceiling rafters, and he brazenly slung half his body over hers. He’d already had her permission, and he was going to assume her acceptance was carte blanche. He closed his eyes, weary and aching.

  “Your questions?” he asked, trying to ignore the slight shifting of her leg beneath his body, and the things the movement did to his cock. He was poorly positioned, but he wasn’t dead. Of course she’d arouse him. She needed to only breathe in his direction to ignite his fire.

  “I don’t give a damn about the case. I’m getting the hell out of this place as soon as I can.”

  Scowling, he lifted his head. “Just like that, you’re leaving?”

  “Are you asserting that you won’t let me?”

  He ground his teeth together to still his tongue.

  “I wasn’t just talking about this building. I mean Fallon.”

  Stunned, he put his head back down. The muscles in his neck felt as though they’d been stabbed through with icy steel. “Truly?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice. Seemed some odd combination of eagerness and exasperation. “I think I just needed the right kind of kick in the pants. I could go to Norseton. There’s a job waiting for me there, and at least I know the clan leaders would be welcoming. I could have a fresh start and leave some of my old ghosts behind here.”

  “You’ve nothing left to stay for?”

  With her brows knit and the flush of passion in her cheeks, she tipped her lovely face toward him. “Do you?”

  Chapter 8

  Mary had fallen asleep. Granted, she’d needed the rest. She rarely got a good night’s sleep because she spent so much of her nighttime hours overthinking every little thing in her life. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the settee, though. Darkness had arrived.

  Andreas’s breath against her neck was measured and slow, and his hold on her sure. He’d behaved, as promised, but he apparently wasn’t going to let her flee, either. Oddly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to. Having spent the day with him, and learned a little something about what made him tick, she’d earned an investment in him. More than that, the man fascinated her. That didn’t happen anymore. No one else ever sparred with her the way her father had, not even at the office.

  She turned her head and tried to spot her tote bag. She’d left it nearby, and she wanted to see if Adam or his wolves had sent her messages. She had no way of knowing what the time was, except that it was after six-fifteen. That was approximately when the sun went down.

  “Ah.” The bag was just within reach, though she’d have to dislodge Andreas a bit to grab hold. She squirmed under his weight, extending her left arm to toward the strap.

  “Mmm,” he groaned.

  “I’m just trying to get my bag.”

  “Be still. I was enjoying my dream. I hope to get back to it.”

  “Oh? What was happening in your dream?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She wondered if he had gone back to sleep, but he disabused her of that notion when she reached for her tote again.

  He pulled her against him, her back to his very protruding front, and her breath hitched.

  “Does that give you some idea?” he whispered.

  Gods, yes.

  The man was shameless, and she didn’t really mind so much anymore. In fact, she liked the idea that she drew the attention of the town kook. She liked that he was different and that he had his own ideas. He wasn’t a man who moved with currents.

  In fact, he was moving against her, and she’d never before wanted to be fucked so much.

  “Um.” Tote all but forgotten, she dragged her tongue across her dry lips and tried to control her breathing. “You said you’d behave.”

  “I am. I can’t control biology. I can’t help what you do to me.”

  “Me?”

  “Of course, you. Are you not laying here against me, all curves and soft skin? Your hair…” He drew in a ragged breath as his fingertips skated down her forearm. “Your hair smells like a tropical cocktail.”

  “So, I’m to blame?” She’d wanted to scold, but there was no heat in her voice. It’d been a long time since she’d been pressed so intimately against a gorgeous male, and though Andreas may have been a wolf, he was no monster.

  She was done with monsters.

  “I dreamed of raising your skirt in the back,” he whispered huskily. “The hose…they’re not really all that durable, are they? In my dream, I tore a hole in them. I nudged your panties to the side and entered you. You were so wet.”

  She was so wet.

  She rubbed her thighs together and peered again toward her tote. Responsibilities called.

  But why do I always have to be responsible?

  Approval wasn’t something she sought anymore in manners of love and lust. Opinions of her peers and so-called friends didn’t matter. Even if she hadn’t been planning to hightail it out of Fallon at her earliest convenience, she would have taken what she needed from Andreas. She had to start living life and letting herself have things again.

  “I like your panties,” he said low, working that hole into her hose. She didn’t stop him.

  “Why?” she asked in a rasp.

  His fingers were on her hip, working lower. “Because I like lavender.”

  “That’s a color that looks good on me.”

  “So you want to keep them? Your panties?” As his fingers danced down her thigh, they also inched up the fabric of her skirt.

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I’ll do my best to preserve them.” He leaned, then, and his soft, full lips were at her ear, her cheek, her jaw. “In my home, I have quite a large bed. I could imagine you sprawling in the middle, like some conquered princess waiting to accept her fate.”

  “I tend to do a little more than just accept. I tackle every task with the enthusiasm it deserves.”

  “Hmm.”

  Although the blanket was still pulled over them, the basement was quite cool, and she could feel the draft enter, chilling her ass and her wet thighs.

  But he was warm. So warm.

  “You’re hot,” she whispered, easing her thighs apart to allow his roaming hand access.

  “You warmed me.”

  “I should see what time it is.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  More kisses. He nudged down the collar of her blouse and sweater and tickled her shoulder with his stubble.

  “Will you let me?” she asked.

  “I believe I’m quite busy right now. Perhaps you should try later.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hmm.” He hooked his thumb beneath the strip of her thong and nudged the fabric aside, working his fingers into her wet core.

  Oh my. The whimpering sound she made would have embarrassed her more if it weren’t for Andreas’s own eager growls.

  “If you were in my home—in my bed—I might keep you waiting,” he said quietly.

  “Hmm?” She clenched tightly around his fingers and he swore. He had wonderfully agile fingers, and he knew how to work them. Spreading. Thrusting. Sweeping.

  “I’m not going to last long inside you…if I can even last getting into you in the first place. You might end up being my first spontaneous ejaculation since puberty. Gods, your body—”

  “What about my body?”

  “I think you know.” He grabbed the elastic of her panties and tugged it down over her hipbone.

  She leaned up a bit so he could work them down on the other side as well.

  Pressing his hand firmly against her backside, he put his lips to her ear. “Full and round and lovely.”

  “Goes with the hips.”

  “I like those, too. You’re built like a goddamned Valkyrie.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She rolled her shoulders back. “I’m missing the wings.”

  “You don’t need them.” He nudged his cock between her legs, sweeping the head along her exposed slit, just to acquaint it with her warmth, her wetness. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Are you…takin
g anything? I don’t have condoms. I don’t generally fuck Fallonites.”

  “Neither do I,” she muttered. Apparently, she’d found a kindred spirit in Andreas. “And yes.”

  “Thank the gods.” He gripped her hip and pressed his face into her tropically-scented hair, stroking in and out of the grip of her thighs for a few moments. “I’m clean. I had a physical last month.”

  “Even if you hadn’t, you’re a werewolf.”

  He stilled.

  “What?” she asked, and felt him shake his head.

  “I suppose I’d allowed myself to forget just that quickly, but you hadn’t.” He tried to roll away, but she slung her top leg over his and opened up for him. She wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. She wanted his sex, wanted to be owned by that male thing between his legs.

  Wanted to, quite simply, be fucked.

  “Werewolves don’t carry STDs,” she said. “Their immune systems are too aggressive. I read that in a couple of those books I sent to the Afótama.”

  “I…”

  Whatever he thought to say didn’t get voiced.

  “What?” she asked.

  He growled in response. “I was about to tell you that you sound preposterous, but perhaps you are correct. I haven’t had a single day of illness since this ‘gift’ arrived, and there’ve been at least two aggressive strains of flu in town.”

  He may not have been the most social of citizens, but he did have to interact with people regularly. He should have caught something, if only a common cold.

  “Hmm.” She was fairly confident he was clean and, besides, the psychic thrum she read off him indicated that he was being honest about his health status. He may have been hard to read due to what he was, but when she could read him, she read him like a book with large print.

  “Are you just going to tease me?” she asked quietly. “Did you change your mind about being inside me?”

  “Hell no.” He rolled his hips and found her entrance with the help of her hand.

  She guided him in, already spasming around him—and that was just the head.

  Gods!

  She began massaging the entrance of her sex as he pushed farther in.

  “Sweet Mary…” He sucked air in through his teeth and, when he’d seated himself as far as he could go, he snaked her hand up the front of her shirt. “I want all of you, but not in this decrepit place.” His rough palm over her engorged nipple sent electric fissions down her spine and made her pussy clench.