“What? Where is she, then?” Laird swivelled around in his seat, his eyes darting about. Most of the pub’s clients were young, half-drunk men watching football or chatting animatedly with one another about this or that sports rivalry; hardly the sort of sight that interested him.
But at a distant table sat a lone figure who was currently pulling a book out of her handbag, a large glass of red wine sitting on the table before her. A pretty young woman with dark hair and perfect skin, settling in for a solitary evening spent with no other company than a good read and a good dose of chianti.
Laird studied her for a moment before turning back to Roth. “Well, I’ll give you credit. She looks even better under the lights than she did last night,” he said. He took in two quick breaths, digging through the scent of beer, fish and chips and sweaty men to find his way to hers. “She smells awfully good, too.”
Roth shut his eyes and inhaled, pleasure painting itself over his features. His back was turned to the gorgeous creature, but Laird knew perfectly well that he didn’t need his eyes to picture her, sexy, black-haired angel that she was. The Alpha had watched her on enough occasions to have memorized her face by now.
Laird pressed his elbows onto the table and leaned forward. “You’ve got me hooked, you know. I want to know more about her. I want to know who she bloody is,” he whispered, sneaking a second glance in the direction of the woman. Much to his delight, she was staring back at him now, a curious, perplexed look on her face. But the moment his eyes met hers, she pulled her gaze away, yanking her paperback open and pretending to focus on a random page. Laird laughed when he saw that the book was upside down.
He turned back to Roth, grinning with pure amusement. “You still haven’t told me anything about her,” he reprimanded.
“I don’t know her name yet,” Roth confessed. “Don’t know much about her at all, except that she’s single. I’ve never smelled a man on her in the few weeks since I’ve been tracking her.”
“Stalking her, you mean.” Laird let out a deep, hearty chuckle. “Anyhow, single, you say? Well, that sounds promising at least, albeit incredibly vague. Perhaps you’re not so on top of things as I’ve always thought. Here I figured you’d have done your research. You know, you could have compiled a drawing of her family tree, charted her personal income and her preferred knicker material. Incidentally, I’m hoping she’s into red lace thongs. I’m an old school pervy bastard.”
Roth let out a snicker. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but much as I’d love to know all of that, none of it is crucial information, not to me. She could be called Grizelda McSnutch and wear woollen granny panties and I’d still want her.” He took a sip of his ale. “But—and hear me out, because I know this is utter madness—I think perhaps the best way to gather information is to actually speak to her.”
Laird pretended to choke with shock. “You’re serious, then? Tonight’s the night when you finally approach her? You must be giddy with excitement.” The g-word was the last adjective anyone would ever use to describe Roth’s moods, but Laird enjoyed the insinuation that his testosterone-filled friend might go skipping around, clapping his hands together out of a mixture of bliss and horniness.
“Yes, I intend to talk to her. Or you can. Or both of us. What matters is that tonight, the first of the Pack’s political unions between shifter and human will be initiated.”
Laird emptied his glass in one gulp before slamming it down and wiping his mouth. “Well, I must say, you are a hopeless romantic with a silver tongue. Political union is a lovely euphemism for a ménage à trois,” he laughed, signalling the bartender to bring him yet another pint. “I can just see our pick-up line now. Hello, lovely young woman whose name we can’t be arsed to learn. We would both like to unite with your nether regions, as we consider them a valuable political asset. And speaking of assets, those tits of yours are really something…” He dared a glance in her direction to run his eyes over her chest, which was irritatingly concealed beneath a thin white blouse, only a little open at the neck. Underneath the garment, she wore some lacy camisole or bra that teased his imagination, its intricate design just barely visible through the slightly diaphanous material. “Yes,” he repeated, “those tits are really something.” A profound desire to acquaint himself with her nipples was stirring his cock to life, and suddenly he wondered what she tasted like. Mango? Honeydew melon? Honey and chocolate and meringue?
He could only imagine was that she was delicious.
“Stop going on about her tits,” Roth retorted, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve told you before, we’re not just talking about sex. The Ritual is a rather more intimate thing than mere intercourse. More fulfilling. More erotic. Deeper, more sustaining. The Ritual is for life. It is life.”
“So I’ve heard. From you. A million times.” Laird rolled his eyes in mock irritation. Roth had often stressed to the Pack the significance of the moment of bonding that occurred between two male shifters and their female mate. It was a life-long link, he said. Eternal, defying separation, and even death. Such was the Old Way, he’d told them. The way of their ancestors, the ones who had first given life to the Wild Magic. “But you’ve said it yourself,” Laird added, “the Ritual hasn’t been practiced in generations. Our kind deemed it barbaric—ownership over a woman, they said it was. I’m not sure a modern woman would find it quite so fulfilling as one who lived centuries ago. Not to mention that there’s no guarantee that it will work. The Wild Magic went dormant in our kind long ago. Other than the capacity to shift, that is. Our power is now little more than brute strength.”
Roth shook his head. “More than brute strength. You know that I have keen instincts; keener than most Dire Wolves. The Ritual would enhance that power. It would grant me abilities, and you as well. Our senses would be strengthened, our minds sharpened. Our ancestors were strong for a reason, and I mean to find their strength. Imagine being gifted with the greatest skills of those who came before you.”
“It would be nice, I suppose,” Laird said, going pensive for a moment. He’d heard tales about his ancestors’ tricks of the mind; abilities that most people deemed impossible. “But there’s still the matter of a woman finding herself at the mercy of two very large males. The dating scene in the twenty-first century is rather a different thing from the middle ages.”
“She wouldn’t be at the mercy of anyone; you know that perfectly well. I would never rob anyone of her agency, least of all my own lover. Our lover. If anything, I want her to feel that she holds the power. She’s the goddess. She’s the one who calls the shots, and she decides how things should be done, and when. She also sees her needs tended on every possible front. Our sole purpose during the Ritual is to ensure her pleasure. Any residual effects are a pure bonus for us.”
“Effects?” asked Laird. “Effects like multiple, mind-blowing orgasms? I’ll take those effects anytime.”
The bartender, who’d just popped by, set another pint down before jogging back to the bar like a frightened rabbit. It had always amused Laird to watch humans in the moment when they sensed the strange, intangible threat that shifters posed. Though the poor bartender didn’t understand it consciously, he knew deep down that Laird could have snapped him in two, if he’d felt so inclined.
“Other effects,” Roth growled. “Better, even, than orgasms.”
“Well, then, who am I to argue? I’ll admit that the whole thing sounds like a lot of fun to me.” Seeing how irritated his Alpha looked, Laird leaned in close again, his tone going serious. “Listen, I’m not denying that it would be amazing to uncover whatever lost gifts I might have, not to mention the rest of the benefits of the Ritual. The love-making, the sexual rampage, the hours and hours of plunging my…”
When Roth shot him another grim look of death, Laird put his head down, feigning remorse. “I mean, it’s a very solemn occasion and should be treated as such.”
“Enough.” Roth glanced over towards the woman’s table. “Let’s figure out how to acquain
t ourselves with her. Unless you don’t want to, because you’re too preoccupied with what to do with your boner, you immature twat.”
Laird played with his glass for a moment, pondering his options. Roth was wise, and a good man, and there was no question that Laird’s Dire Wolf half was intent on finding his way to the dark-haired beauty sooner rather than later.
“Fine, I’m in. You’ve twisted my very twistable arm,” he said, taking his beer in hand. “Cheers,” he shot out, before throwing half the pint back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Here’s to fucking beautiful strangers alongside my best mate because the giant Wolves inside us think it’s the right thing to do.”
Not surprisingly, Roth didn’t look too pleased with the toast. “You need to take this seriously, mate,” he growled. “This isn’t some naked tumble I’m talking about. This is our lives. It’s her life as well.”
“I do take this seriously.”
Laird’s smile faded and he narrowed his intense, bright eyes to focus on Roth’s. “Don’t give me that look of judgment, O great Alpha with the stick up his arse. If you like, henceforth I shall say love-making instead of fucking, if it pleases your Highness.”
“Sex will do. I just want you to show a little respect. You don’t fuck a goddess. We’re not here to get our sodding rocks off.”
“Bah, you’re so fucking dull sometimes, Roth. But fair enough.” Laird took another swig of his drink, his head turning towards the other end of the pub once again. After staring into the distance for a moment, he set his glass down and savoured the broad smile that spread over his lips. “She really does want us, you know. I can smell it from here.”
* * *
Roth leaned back and twisted around in his seat, setting his eyes on the object of his attraction for the first time since the previous night.
She sat alone, a glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other. Her seat faced theirs, her dark, alluring eyes visible above its rim, fixed on his face. But as soon as she saw him looking, her eyes shifted quickly to a distant television as though she was trying to convey the impression that she wanted to be left alone.
But Roth didn’t let up, and even as he stared at her, the woman couldn’t seem to help pulling her gaze back to his. Curiosity, perhaps, or pure attraction?
I know how you feel, muttered Roth.
The woman wore a white blouse, its top few buttons undone. Under the table he could see that her ankles, sealed up in tall leather boots, were crossed politely over one another. He’d always suspected that she was a lady. Modest, quiet, unassuming. She wouldn’t be expecting two men in a pub to check her out in such a way.
On the other hand, she didn’t seem to mind too much.
Her lips were full and slightly damp, as if she’d recently run her tongue over their surface, her cheeks flushed with either heat, makeup, or excitement.
When his eyes locked on hers for a third time, Roth resisted the desire to smile at her. Instead, he held her in his intense gaze, trapping her for a moment, his mind latching onto hers. He wasn’t as adept as Lumen at entering others’ heads, of course, but any shifter could capture a human for a few seconds, drawing them into a world of curiosities before releasing them.
As he searched her face, he watched her lower lip drop open as if she were letting out a gasp of shock. He saw her body tense, her spine going rigid, her chest sticking out as she straightened up in an attempt at resistance. Her mouth set itself into a hard frown, as though she was trying to fight whatever force had temporarily paralyzed her.
Finally Roth released her from his grasp, pulling his eyes away to turn back to Laird. “Tell me,” he said after a few seconds, “how is she behaving right now?”
“She’s slouching down,” Laird said, “pressing a hand to her chest, breathing hard. What the devil did you just do to her? She looks spent, like you just shagged for five hours straight.”
“Oh? Strange, I simply looked her way. I was pleased to see that she’d noticed us,” Roth said with a poorly executed attempt at an innocent tone.
“You ensnared her, you devil.”
“All right, maybe I did play with her mind a little. I let my Wolf come to the surface to sneak a peek.”
“She felt him,” Laird replied, raising his eyebrows. “She doesn’t know what it was, but she felt him. She sensed his presence.”
“Yes, I think she did,” Roth replied, a smile of satisfaction pulling the corners of his mouth up. “I dare say she approves.”
“Do you suppose she’s aware that you’ve been following her through the park at night, you pervy, cunning, stalking bastard?”
Roth’s brows knit together. “It’s not like that, you ponce,” he reprimanded, but he chuckled and took a sip of his beer. “I’ve been guarding her, and you know it.”
“I know. I’m taking the piss, Mr. Sensitive. Anyhow, you’ve chosen well for us. She’s a beauty, that one. A body worth guarding to be sure. But I thought you said you were going to make a move? You should really go talk to her before she decides to leave.” He glanced over once again, turning back to Roth almost immediately, his mouth gaping in mock wonder. “She’s looking at us again, incidentally. Whatever you did to her lady-brain, she wants more of it.”
Roth dared another look across the room. Sure enough, the woman was gawking at them, her eyes wide with confused curiosity. “Seems she’s checking us both out,” he replied. He sniffed the air in a quick, deep intake of breath. Damn. Her arousal had only deepened in the last few minutes, and all he wanted was to walk over, push her table aside and bury his face between her legs. Patience, you horny bastard. “Good. Much better for her to be eager to meet us than the opposite.”
“Yes, well, who can blame her for it?” Laird chuckled. “Two strapping lads like us must appeal to her excitable lady parts. Or maybe she somehow knows that we have massive cocks. Perhaps she’s got x-ray vision or something.”
Roth rolled his eyes. “Yes, Laird. She can see through clothing,” he said, sarcasm dripping off his deep voice. “Because that seems ever so realistic a theory.”
“Oh, so now we’re concerned with realism? Do I really need to remind you that we can turn into giant fucking Wolves at the drop of a hat, not to mention the fact that some of our closest friends in London are half-Dragon?”
“You raise a valid point.”
Laird pressed his hands into the table top and pushed himself to his feet, shoving his chair backwards. “Listen, if you’re not going to chat with her, I will. One of us needs to make a move.”
Roth clasped his hands behind his head and pressed his back into the chair, a wry grin on his lips. Well, well. This was going even better than he could have hoped. Laird was not only on board; he was as eager to meet their future mate as she was to meet him. “Be my guest,” the Alpha said. “Why don’t you approach her and tell her that two Dire Wolf shifters would like to take her home tonight, convince her that she’s their destined, eternal mate, and then ask how she feels about a three-way that’s sure to bend her mind and extract hidden powers from somewhere deep within her body and mind? I’m sure she’ll be all over it.”
“You might be surprised, actually.”
“I might indeed.”
3
The two men—if Emma could even use such an inadequate word to describe them, given that they were so much more appealing than most of the blokes who hung about this very dull city—were sitting at a table on the other side of the pub.
Occasionally one or the other would turn her way, his eyes scanning her face, her body, like they were sizing her up. If she hadn’t known better, she might even have surmised that they both—gasp—wanted her.
But of course, that was a ridiculous thought. More likely they were playing with her; there was no way that such sexy beasts would ever pursue a plain Jane like her. Men like that didn’t go for her sort: ordinary, dull, workaday women with nothing interesting going for them. A nerd in tights, that was what she often called herself. A
science geek with little to offer other than the capacity to ramble on about how a DNA strand was assembled, or how the genetic components of a banana differed from one’s own.
But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be allowed to gawk at the two huge hotties just a little. Gorgeous, broad-shouldered, masculine behemoths, they looked like swarthy Vikings, ready to leap off a ship with iron claymores in hand and attack a rival band of brigands.
Well, sort of.
Emma had to admit to herself that brigands weren’t exactly a twenty-first century phenomenon. Neither were claymores, for that matter. These two were modern-day Vikings, if anything. Their weapons of choice were sexy eyes and amazing physiques.
They probably had some rather impressive weapons in their trousers, as well. Not that she was thinking about it.
At all.
Both of the men had dark hair, their stubble well-tended yet manly. Their colouring was so similar that they could almost have been brothers, though something told her they weren’t related. Perhaps it was the stark difference in their clothing styles that made them seem too divergent to be blood relatives.
One was wearing a worn leather jacket, his hair a delicious mess of randomness on top of his head. A look of permanent amusement was etched on his face, his eyes bright, inquisitive and intelligent.
The other had his coat draped tidily over the back of his chair, as though he were about to head off to a business meeting. When he’d turned to look at her, she’d noticed that he wore a dark blue suit jacket that mostly covered a white shirt, its collar open just enough to reveal a neck that Emma wanted quite desperately to lick.
She tried not to let her gaze pull itself over to them too often, but she couldn’t seem to get her sodding eyes to stay on her book for more than a millisecond at a time before they would veer back to the sexy pseudo-Vikings, like she was afraid that if she stopped looking, the men would cease to exist.
Alpha’s Mate Page 3