by Lydia Dare
William!
Her gaze swung from beast to beast. They were a study of contradictions. The one atop her was light and feral. The other dark and concentrated.
She wanted to tell her own wolf to be careful. But he was already advancing upon them. His steps were steady and sure, his actions clear and calculated. She thought she saw worry cloud the gaze of the creature atop her.
"You should let me up, so he won't try to kill you," she told the golden wolf.
Will's growl became louder and even more menacing as he came within feet of them. He bared his teeth. He was honestly the most frightening creature she'd ever seen. Yet she felt no fear of him.
The beast atop her lowered his mouth to where it hovered just over the place where her neck met her shoulder. His teeth scraped her skin. His drool soaked her neck and shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. But in that moment, her wolf jumped, catching the terrifying creature unaware.
His black body slammed into the evil one's, knocking him from atop her. Prisca immediately scrambled to her feet and stepped back. This would be the perfect time to flee. But she couldn't leave. She searched the area for a weapon, but all she found were twigs and small rocks.
With very little apparent thought to his own safety, her one true love and her biggest fear at that moment circled one another, as though taking one another's measure, deciding who would win before the fight even began.
The golden wolf sprang first. Prisca gasped and covered her mouth as the black one dodged the lunge and clamped his teeth into the animal's neck. It was a movement intended to kill, Prisca was sure. She wanted to run forward and save her wolf from the burden of dealing with her threat. He shouldn't bear the brunt of her folly.
The feral one jerked and spun, kicking and biting wildly. Her wolf didn't even cry out as the other nipped his skin in places with his sharp teeth. He simply clung to the animal's neck and held tightly, as though waiting to see how long it would take before the beast submitted. When he didn't, Will opened his jaws and clamped down again, digging in even deeper. Blood ran from the wounds at the golden wolf's neck.
"Don't kill him," she whispered. Prisca's stomach churned at the site. If this continued, there would be nothing left of Brimsworth, and under the light of day Will would hate himself for ripping the earl from this life. But then, as though called from the darkness of the forest, three other wolves approached slowly and silently, each from a different direction. She recognized Blackmoor, Benjamin, and the major right away. One was larger, his fur black with a streak of white over his ear. The other was brown with shaggy hair and hazel eyes. The third was grey and white and had a wizened look about his face.
"Don't let Will kill him, please," Prisca begged. "He'll never forgive himself if he does."
The largest wolf, with the white stripe over his ear, walked over to the fighting pair and stood above them, his growl menacing and ferocious. Her wolf glanced up at him, as though beseeching him to let them be. To let him kill the feral wolf and deal with the consequences later. But the pack leader just growled again and Will released his hold. Brimsworth slumped to the ground, blood pooling around his body.
Her wolf approached her, and she took a step back. It was a reflex, nothing more. He looked wounded when she moved away from him. A whimper escaped his throat.
The pack leader nudged at the golden wolf until he shakily found his feet. Then the leader growled lightly until the rest of his pack followed him, slinking into the forest as if they'd never been there.
Thirty-Seven
Will wanted to go to her. But he was afraid to approach. He knew he'd been beastly with the golden wolf, Brimsworth. He'd nearly killed the man. And she'd seen it all. She'd seen him at his worst.
In truth, had Simon and Ben not arrived when they did, Brimsworth would be lying in a pool of his own blood, his very life source draining from his open wounds. It was one of the only ways to kill a Lycan, since they could heal themselves. To kill one of his kind, a Lycan had to inflict a sustained wound that would penetrate the flesh, causing the blood to drain from the body. When the body could no longer heal, the Lycan died.
Will had never seen it happen. But he'd heard the hushed stories at Canis House, the ones whispered about one wolf or another.
Yet tonight, he'd been there. He'd been the one on the hunt. He'd been the one who wanted to kill. He didn't know who he should be more disgusted with him—himself or Prisca. He should have had more control, but when he'd seen the beast scrape her delicate skin with his horrid fangs, he'd felt the rage boil within him and finally overflow.
And she'd watched it all. Every bloody moment. Damn it all to hell. Why had she come into the woods? He'd very clearly told her to stay put.
The confusion on her face was almost his undoing. If he could have transformed back at that very moment, he would have. He'd never had enough control to shift in and out of Lycan form at will. It could be done, but only through sheer strength of character. That strength was something he'd never possessed.
She didn't approach him. She didn't touch him. She didn't put her fingers into his hair and stroke him. She didn't want him.
He watched her, her eyes wide with what he assumed was trepidation. Maybe disgust. Then he heaved a sigh and turned to follow his pack into the woods. He'd watch to be sure she arrived home safely. But he wouldn't force her to tolerate his beastly presence any longer than necessary.
His ears perked up when he heard her voice. "William Westfield," she shouted. "Don't you
dare
walk away from me!"
His heart nearly pounded from his chest. He turned slowly, not even looking at her at first, afraid to see the expression on her face when he finally caught her gaze. What would he see? Censure? Disgust?
Very slowly, he looked at her face. She smiled softly at him, and his heart soared.
"Come here, Will," she said softly, sinking to the ground a few feet from him. He wanted to go to her more than he wanted the air he breathed. Dare he take the chance?
He took one step, his legs quivering with fear. She didn't move. She didn't run. So, he took another. His legs carried him forward until he was within her reach.
Please, touch me, Prissy!
He wanted to scream it. But, in this form, all he could do was make a highpitched whine.
Prisca motioned with her hands. "Come here, Will," she said, laughter in her voice. "I promise I won't bite."
But I will
, he thought, regretfully. He stepped closer, until her hand reached out and gently caressed the top of his head. Immediately, just like every visit with her, the tension and wildness flowed from his body and left him at peace. He leaned into her hand. She laughed and increased her strokes.
"How many nights have we spent just like this?" she asked wistfully.
Not nearly enough.
She leaned down and gently kissed his snout. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
I wanted to ask you the same question.
"We need to talk, Will," Prisca sighed. "Change back to human form."
Would that I could. It's not that easy.
Will wanted nothing more than to lift her hair and search her creamy neck for marks made by Brimsworth. If he hurt one hair on her pretty little head, Will would kill him on the morrow, regardless of the consequences.
"Change, Will," she prompted again. "I know you can. I read about it."
She just didn't understand. Prisca reached up to wipe her neck. He almost got a glance at it, but she moved too quickly. She grimaced. "That wolf drooled on me. I need to wash." She shivered with disgust.
Will stood up to lead her back to The Hall. But she took off in the other direction.
Where are you
going, Priss?
"If I remember correctly, there's a stream that runs through here," she mumbled. "And it collects in a small pool." Then she squealed when she found it, a smile lighting her face.
Prisca very slowly began to unlace the bodice of her gow
n, glancing at him from under her hooded lashes. Desire engulfed him. He danced in place. She turned her back to him as she tugged her fichu from her cleavage. Then she shrugged out of the gown, stepping from the pile of fabric. "Don't want to get that wet," she mumbled, as she bent to dip her piece of cloth into the water.
She stood under the light of the moon wearing nothing but her chemise. She was positively unashamed of her body, maybe because it was perfect. But a small thought entered his mind, that perhaps she wasn't self-conscious now because she didn't see him as her equal.
Moonlight glinted off her hair. Rose-colored nipples called to him from the shadows of her chemise. Her scent swept over him. He inhaled deeply, and that was when he felt the change within himself. He loved her. She was his mate. They belonged to one another. He wasn't going to let a long tail and snout stand between them.
The pain of changing back was nothing compared to the joy of knowing he could. His body elongated, making him stand tall and erect. His ears moved from the top of his head.
She still had her back to him when he transformed. But he heard her heartbeat speed up, nonetheless. When he was fully in his human form, he growled loudly and ran forward, catching her about the waist as he pressed the front of his body against the back of hers. He would draw her into himself, if he was able.
Prisca spun in his arms and giggled. "I was wondering how much more I'd have to take off before you came to me."
***
Prisca squealed lightly as he scooped her up in his arms and placed her atop a nearby boulder. He cupped her face in his desperate hands, which shook against her cheeks. "Tell me you love me," he growled.
"Oh, Will," she began. She had so much to tell him. Where to start?
Will stepped back from her as his hands dropped from her face. She reached for him, to draw him back. He was completely naked, so there was no clothing to grab hold of. Instead, she fought to catch his fingers. When she did, she pulled him forward to stand between her parted knees and placed his hand over her heart. "You know I love you," she whispered.
"As I am?"
"Exactly as you are." She nodded. "I always have."
Will took the wet cloth from her hand and lifted her hair. He gently bathed her neck, wiping away all the remnants of Brimsworth. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asked softly, his voice leaden with concern.
"No. But I was so worried for you."
"How did you know it was me?" he asked as he tugged at the hem of her chemise and drew it over her head, leaving her wearing nothing but her garters and stockings.
"I'm not inept, William. As soon as I learned what you were, I knew you were my wolf." She smiled at him. "I think a part of me always knew it was you. But it seemed so ludicrous an idea that I wouldn't let myself believe a wolf could remind me so much of a man I loved."
Will bent his head and began to place small kisses along the side of her neck. She shivered. "Will you claim me now?"
He shook his head and chuckled. "No." His lips moved down to draw the hardened peak of one breast into his mouth. She arched her back to get closer to him.
"Yes, you will," she cried, when he began to torment the other breast with his fingertips. "You have to. I'm your mate."
"No." He chuckled again.
"William Westfield, if you tell me I have to wait another month to be claimed, I
will
make you sleep in the guest room."
He pretended to give that some thought. But only for a moment. Then his fingers walked down her belly and tangled in her curls.
"I'll claim you when your pleasure is at its greatest," he whispered. "Now, do be quiet so I can get you there," he growled.
Prisca pushed him from her and stood up quickly. "Oh, no, you don't. You will not pleasure me again and not take any for yourself. I'll not allow it!"
He let her give him a small shove until he landed on his bottom on the rock she'd been sitting on. She glanced down at his manhood, which stood tall and proud between them.
"In fact, I'd imagine I can give you a bit of the same pleasure you give me."
Prisca bent and placed her hand on him, looking as though she marveled at the feel of his skin. "I believe I just figured out what you keep in your pocket." She glanced up at him once before she kissed the tip of his shaft lightly, her lips fleeting and quick. He growled and reached for her, forcing her to fight his hands as he tried to push her away.
"I can't take much of this, Prissy," he growled, lifting a knuckle to his mouth to bite down.
"You'll take what I give you," she said flippantly.
"Dear God, I love you," he gasped out as she took the tip of him into her mouth.
"Tell me if I do something wrong," she said as she lifted her mouth from around his length for a brief moment. Then she resumed her task. His eyes closed as he arched to meet her.
"That's enough, Priss," he barked. When she didn't listen, he threaded his fingers into her hair and yanked. He applied just enough pressure to make it painful. She reluctantly let go.
Before she could let out one cheeky comment, he picked her up and laid her gently on her discarded dress. She shivered. "It's cold."
"I'll warm you up," he grunted.
Then he spread his body over hers, and though she lay naked on the freezing forest floor, she felt as warm as if she were in a sunny parlor. She giggled.
"What's funny?" he asked.
"Nothing," she snorted. It was all so absolutely absurd.
"You choose
now to laugh at me?" He pursed his lip
s together and just looked down at her for a moment.
"I have never seen the great William Westfield at a loss for words. Is the greatest lover in three counties speechless at the sight of his wife?" she teased.
"Six," he said as he scratched the beard stubble on his face.
"Six what?" she asked.
"Six counties," he corrected her. "I was named the greatest lover in
six
counties. Do get it right, love."
"A bit boastful, aren't we?" she asked as he opened her legs slowly and settled between them. Of course, she believed him, since he'd brought her such ecstasy for the past few days. But it was much more fun to tease him. "Six counties seems a bit far-reaching."
"Give me time," he growled. "I'll prove it to you."
"I'll have nothing to compare it with, will I? Am I just to take your word that you're such a great lover?"
"And you never
will
have anything to compare it with, Prissy." He bent his head and gently tugged at her nipple, already hard and standing at attention. "From this day forward, you are mine. All mine," he said as he met her gaze.
"I will expect no less than the same," she informed him, hating that her voice hesitated a bit.
"Always," he grunted.
Will lifted her hands over her head, where he could hold them with one hand. She tugged against his hold. "I only have one chance to do this right." His eyes met hers. "So, don't distract me." Not a trace of humor rested in the depths. She nodded briefly. He released his hold on her hands. "You can use them to touch me," he suggested.
"Where?"
"Anywhere you like," he chuckled.
"Where would
you
like?"
"Do you always ask so many questions?"
She had to think about that. "Maybe when I'm nervous," she said as he cupped her breasts and lifted one to his waiting mouth. He took her nipple between his lips and rolled it, then gently pulled it with his teeth. The sight of him manipulating her most sensitive flesh with his mouth caused a flush of warmth in her middle.
Bravely, she let her fingers trail up his length. He growled and pulled her hand from him.
"You said I could touch you," she protested.
"Later," he grunted as he settled his hips more firmly between her thighs and probed at her center. He moved against her, gently prodding her flesh.
"Will?" she asked
, drawing his attention to her face. He drew in a deep breath.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For letting me make love to you, for letting me claim you."
She felt that little flip in her belly again. "Is it normal for me to…?" she let her voice trail off.
"To what?" he asked, before he drew her nipple into his mouth. She arched her back as he continued to tongue the hard bud, while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.
"To feel so desperate for you to take me?"
"It's better than normal," he groaned. "It's stupendous."