Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood)

by Sasha Summers

  Her words rolled over him, tempting him. She had no idea how she made him feel. She saw him as she wanted him to be—a wolf. Damn her, but she made him want it. All of it. The mate, the wolf, the pack. Her, at his side. It was right. Strong and vital. He pushed out of his chair, furious with himself. And her. “It’s that easy? I give in to this and everything will make sense? You believe that?”

  She was on her feet, eyes flaming, and hands fisted tightly. “You stupid man. Give in? My mate would see me as a prize not a burden to be endured.”

  God but her fury was glorious. His gaze lingered on the scar bracketing her left eye—tattooed with a crescent moon. The only scar on her face. He wanted to trace the scar, kiss the corner of her eye, slide his fingers through her short, silky locks, and let her scent drown him. It was all he wanted. Now.

  “You insult me then stand, silently, staring?” Her anger only fueled his hunger.

  “That was not my intent,” he managed, stepping closer. “You push and push—”

  She braced herself against his chest. “Because you are a fool.”

  His hands gripped her wrists… The thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips. Her scent wrapping around him. “I am,” he ground out, before crushing her against him. He released her wrists to clutch her hips. There was nothing hesitant about him. The need to have her wound about him was all that mattered.

  “You think I’d have you now?” She raged, wriggling against him. “You cannot have me.” She pushed out of his hold. “You don’t deserve me.”

  He released her, instantly stepping back. She was right. He didn’t deserve her. There had been panic in her eyes, fear. And it unleashed a tidal wave of self-loathing. Whatever sensations she experienced with him, fear wouldn’t be one of them.

  “I want to leave.”

  “I’ll call Mal,” he managed, feeling like an ass. They’d formed some sort of truce on the flight there—one he’d shattered in the span on five minutes. She rattled him, deeply, stirring shit that he wasn’t prepared for. The need to touch her. The blinding sense of ownership. What the fuck was that about?

  He didn’t know how or why she was tied to all of this. Items that spoke to her—items he’d collected, undeniably drawn to, over the years. Somehow he’d known they were important. It was getting harder to dismiss her whole fate theory as a pile of shit when everything seemed to indicate she was right. They were, in some weird cosmic way, together for a purpose.

  Could he buy into that? Accept that she was essential to his wolf and to him?

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve got some work to do here before I can leave.”

  She nodded, tearing her gaze from his and turning her attention to the specimens that lined every shelf and counter space in the lab.

  He texted Mal, then sat at his desk, straightening the piles of paper with unsteady hands. The numbers and notations on the page were blurred, his attempts to focus failing. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking? That she’d broken through his resistance and made him feel something for her.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, coming to stand by his desk. “One item at a time.”

  He drew in a deep breath, her scent sweet torture, before looking at up her. “It’s your choice, Ellen. It’s not my place to push.”

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, her eyes searching his.

  He nodded, his throat tight.

  “In time, perhaps I can filter through all the noise. But not yet.” Her gaze was fixed on the door, thoughtful. “You’re not the only one with questions.”

  Because she had no memory of her life before her head trauma. If he was curious about her past, he could only imagine how she felt.

  His drive to cure the pack paled beside her need for vengeance. But vengeance was dangerous. Especially when it required going against someone like Cyrus. She knew more than anyone what he was capable of, but she was too blinded by fury to recognize her efforts, alone, couldn’t defeat him. She was strong, she’d survived so much. But this time, she didn’t need to face him alone. His hand fisted against his legs. “Let me help you.”

  She glared at him.

  “Us,” he corrected.

  “Us?” she asked. “Finn’s pack?” She shook her head. “I have nothing to lose. They have everything.”

  He stood, slowly, taking pains to appear calm and rational. “Your life isn’t nothing, Ellen. I’m not sure one person, one wolf, can stop Cyrus. Or the evil of his pack.”

  “Cyrus is the evil. His pack is loyal, and they follow their Alpha, but when he is gone, they will look to and follow another. It might take time, but I believe Finn will be that leader.” She spoke with such certainty he almost believed her. “We are guardians, Hollis, protectors. We have the ability to do great things. Cyrus’s corruption has affected his wolves—making them weak. When he is gone, the wolves will recover.”

  He studied her, wanting to believe her. Was it really that easy? Kill him and remove the threat? Since Cyrus had learned of their existence, he’d been relentless in his torment.

  She walked away from him, staring around the lab again, shifting from foot to foot. Her gaze wandered to the door of the vault and she shivered. “Is Mal coming?”

  A quick glance at his phone told him they were on the way. “He’s coming.” Meaning she would be leaving, and he could concentrate on the work he’d come here for in the first place. So why wasn’t he relieved?

  She nodded and paced the length of the lab several times. “There’s only one window.” She frowned at him. “It makes me sad.”

  He glanced around the sterile white walls, high ceilings, and fluorescent lights. “It’s a lab.”

  “It’s cold.” She shook her head. “I’ll wait outside.”

  He led her out, acknowledging coworkers with a nod, a quick word, or handshake. Ellen hung back, unwilling to engage in small talk or polite introductions. She seemed more agitated and uncertain than usual, her posture defensive and her expression forbidding. When they stood on steps leading to the parking lot, he looked at her.

  Words failed him, so they stood silently, considering the asphalt parking lot and ocean of employee cars.

  The black SUV they were using turned in to the parking lot and down the main drive.

  “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe fate doesn’t exist. Maybe the life we were meant to live together is pure fiction and your cure will save your pack. Maybe Cyrus will leave you all alone so you can live, happy and uncomplicated, and human,” she spoke softly, eyes trained on the SUV as it headed their way. “If you need to believe that your path is the only way, I won’t stand in your way. But my path is set, and neither you nor Finn will stop me from doing what must be done.” Her gaze met his, briefly, before she climbed into the SUV.

  …

  “It’s so hot.” Ellen downed the rest of her sticky-sweet melted drink and fanned herself with her napkin. Even with the sun long gone and a light breeze blowing, sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts.

  “It’s Texas,” Mal answered, laughing. “You’ve been stuck on the refuge too long. Montana’s weather is cooler.”

  And less crowded.

  She stared around the festive hotel courtyard, her senses on high alert. Anders had assured Mal and Olivia there had been no Others sighted in Texas for weeks, but she couldn’t relax. She signaled for another margarita and turned away from Mal and Olivia, who were wrapped up in each other. As mates should be.

  She didn’t want to think about Hollis, still working in the big, cold building with his name on it. She didn’t want to think about his research or his need to erase what they were so he could classify and category things into neat little boxes. But how could she ignore the truth? Even her wolf was considering defeat.

  Mate or not, he’d never give in to her or the future they could have together.

  It hurt. She hurt. From Hollis, and the vault’s unfiltered emotions, which had literally knocked her off her feet.

  She shuddered, her ears an
d head aching vaguely.

  Whatever was in that room contained powerful magic. Hollis might not understand it, but he was right to keep the room locked up. But now that she knew of its existence, now that she’d had time to accept what was inside, she hungered to explore it. Voices. People familiar and unknown. Places long forgotten. She’d been too blindsided to make sense when it was happening. But now, with her mind clear, she was able to sort through some of what had reached her in the seconds she’d been in that room.

  “Ellen?” Olivia interrupted her thoughts. “Was Hollis’s lab all you thought it would be?”

  “It was big, white, and cold.” She stirred her margarita with a funny, little green plastic stick topped with a parrot. “I was not impressed.”

  Mal laughed. “Don’t tell him that. No man wants to hear he left his woman unimpressed.”

  “I am not his woman.” She growled back.

  Mal shot her a curious look. “Here I thought you were going to bring the wolf out of him.”

  “That is his choice.” Her irritation increased so she downed the entirety of her margarita. “One I will play no part in.”

  “You look so pretty,” Olivia said.

  Ellen scowled at her. “If you say so.” Olivia had insisted she’d feel better if she pampered herself—and showed Hollis what he was missing. Which had meant an endless afternoon of shopping. Olivia had loaded her down with underwear and bras, things Ellen avoided wearing as much as possible. After a few glasses of wine, she’d let Olivia drag her to the salon. Her hair was trimmed and styled, and her face had been painted.

  Never in her life had she felt so ridiculous.

  And yet, there was no denying the responses of the men present. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not—to have so many eyes fixed on her.

  “Ellen,” Olivia whispered. “Looks like someone’s going to be brave.”

  “You can’t kill anyone here,” Mal reminded her.

  “Dance?” a man asked. A very tall, fit, handsome man. He was smiling down at her, the glint in his eye telling her what he was really after. The dance was just the beginning.

  Ellen slammed her glass down and stood. “A dance. Only.”

  He grinned and took her hand. His touch was unsettling. Her wolf didn’t like it. At all. Not that her wolf was in charge. No, if she were, she’d be pining for Hollis—wondering where he was now? Was he with Kim? Working late? Poring over artifacts in the hopes he could cure them and save the world? Stupid, foolish man.

  “You’re hot,” the man said. “Seriously hot.”

  “It’s hot outside.” She stared at him.

  He laughed. “Fine. Right. You’re gorgeous.”

  She smiled. “That is a compliment. Thank you.”

  The music pulsed and the strands of brightly colored lights, weaved back and forth over the courtyard, swayed in time. She closed her eyes, giving in to the rhythm and the need to move. Today had been a test. The airplane, no shifting, the lab, and now this. People. Bras. Dancing. And a strange man’s hands on her body. Strong hands, sliding along her back.

  The scrap of material that made up Olivia’s dress choice left little to the imagination. She’d been shy of her scars, but no longer cared. He clearly didn’t mind. No, the pure appreciation on his face made her smile.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Ellen. You?”

  “Dave.” His eyes slid down her neck to her breasts. Breasts that looked undeniably perky in the black lace bra Olivia had insisted she buy. “Damn,” he ground out.

  She shook her head. From his scent, he wanted to take her to bed. And while the drinks and music had taken the edge off her temper, she knew better than to think this Dave could ever satisfy her. Not that her wolf would give him the chance. She was pushing to get out, to scare poor Dave far, far away.

  But she wasn’t going to be ruled by her wolf tonight. Or her sad attachment to a man who didn’t want them. Dave wanted her. The lust in his eyes was promising and exhilarating. There was no reason she couldn’t enjoy his company a little while longer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hollis rolled the shirtsleeves of his white oxford to his elbows. He was tired. And pissed. He’d expected to eat at the hotel and work things out with Ellen. They needed to talk, to be rational, and to not let their emotions get in the way.

  Instead, he’d walked into his suite to find a note from Mal telling him where they were.

  What he had to say was for Ellen alone…without audiences or Mal’s I-told-you-so grin. He’d spent the afternoon reconciling trial data and developing a testing strategy going forward. But he’d been too distracted to trust himself, so he rechecked his work and then handed it off to Kim for a final review. If he hadn’t trusted his team, this would be harder. As it was, he gave up and left it in their capable hands. If they needed him, they’d call.

  What mattered now was this. Ellen. He didn’t know what came next or how the fuck it would play out, but he couldn’t let her go. Period.

  If she needed Cyrus’s head on a fucking platter, he’d figure it out. But right now, Cyrus, the Others, the pack, and the cure could all wait.

  He moved through the lobby and out the back doors to the courtyard. Music greeted him. Music, people, and the smell of beer. This was the last thing he wanted right now. Pushing through the crowd, he spied Mal and Olivia at a far table. They leaned close, heads together, smiling and whispering.

  He frowned, sweeping the crowd for Ellen.

  It would be all too easy to slip away from a place like this. God knows Olivia and Mal weren’t paying any attention to anything but each other. He stalked across the courtyard and scowled down at Mal.

  “Where is she?” he snapped. “If you’ve lost her, Finn will lose it.”

  Mal sat back in his chair. “Finn will lose it?” He shook his head.

  “I’m not playing with you, Mal.” He’d never wanted to punch his friend before. But now, it took everything he had to hold back.

  “She’s fine,” Olivia sounded off. “She’s dancing.” She pointed.

  Hollis spun, searching the crowd.

  Ellen was in a dress. Her graceful limbs swaying to the beat of the music. Eyes closed, head back, she was lost. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful he ached. But when the son of a bitch dancing behind her put his hands on her hips, Hollis saw red.

  “Easy,” Mal whispered. “She’s just dancing.”

  The words were barely audible, muffled beneath the roar of his blood. The roar of something raw and angry and primal.

  “Jesus, Hollis.” Mal stood, his hand clamping on his shoulder. “Keep it together. No scenes.”

  Hollis knocked Mal’s hand from his shoulder and headed straight for her. If the man didn’t stop touching her soon, he didn’t know what would happen.

  “Dude,” the man said. “We’re dancing.”

  Hollis didn’t bother looking at the man. He stared at Ellen, his control slipping away. Words rose up and lodged in his throat. Angry words. Pleading words. But nothing was enough—nothing was right.

  Ellen’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at him. “Hollis?”

  “She can dance with you next,” the asshole with his hand still on Ellen’s hip mouthed off.

  Hollis didn’t try to hide his rage, it was impossible. All he could do was stare at the man and imagine how easy it would be to rip his arm off…and remove his hand from Ellen. A low growl came from the back of his throat. She was his.

  The man stepped back, no longer touching her.

  Her eyes locked with his, then fell to his mouth, a hard shudder racking her body.

  Hollis grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. Through the crowd, past the lobby, and into the nearly full elevator. She stared up at him, flushed cheeks and breathing hard, her hands gripping his shirt.

  He stooped, running his nose along her neck. Her scent, arousal and sweat, made him groan against her throat. Her hand slid up, grasped his neck, and pulled his head to hers.<
br />
  It was a soft kiss, clinging just long enough to snip one of the few remaining threads of his control. He ignored the cleared throats and whispers of the others in the elevator. Her fingers twined in his hair, tugging until his gaze met hers. Her hunger gripped him by the throat and made breathing impossible.

  They reached their floor and she slipped out first, smiling at him over her shoulder. He followed, struggling not to chase after her. Instead he took his time, studying the sweep of her ass in that tiny, little green dress. Long legs. An almost bare back. And the strap of a black lace bra.

  She leaned against the doorframe, waiting as he fumbled with the key card in the slot. Her hand covered his, taking the card and placing his hand against her stomach. She lingered, waiting for him to move into her before opening the door—putting space between them again.

  The door shut behind them, sealing them in his suite—in silence. He stared at her, listening to the rapid thrum of her heart and the quiver of her breath. She was his. There was no doubt or hesitation. It was a fact. As natural as breathing.

  He walked down the hall, unbuttoning his shirt and then tugging it from the waistband of his pants. She followed, watching him, staring at his chest, as he carefully closed the bedroom door.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands fisting in the comforter. All fire and anticipation.

  He stared at her, struck by how incredible she was. Woman, undeniably. Fierce and sexy as hell. And his. He closed the distance between them, running his fingers up the column of her throat and along the curve of her cheek. She stared up at him, breathing heavy, but not touching him. When his thumb swept across her lower lip, she sucked the tip into her mouth—and something inside flared and caught fire.

  He bore her back onto the bed, impatient to touch every inch of her. The muscle of her calves, the bend of her knee, and the silk of her thighs. Her breathing hitched as his fingers slid higher, tracing the lacy edge of her panties. Still, she didn’t look away. He didn’t want her to.

  He edged the lace aside and traced the seam of her body with hungry fingers. Her legs parted and she reached out for him.