Hot, Hard & Howling

by Mari Freeman

  As he passed the bathroom, he realized an immediate exit was impossible. He had to remove the human, and that meant staying close to Nell. Gently, he laid Nell’s unresponsive, bloody body on her bed. The others had followed and were filing into the room. He backed away and blocked the door with his body as the Vamp started to enter. A skinny young Vamp was no match for a strong Were, much less one who was also a Prime. David changed directions and muttered something about tea.

  When Trent turned his attention back to the bed, the women were covering Nell with a sheet, making no effort to clean off the blood or the remains of the potion. Their faces were drawn and worried. He stayed by the door, wet and dripping on the floor, his wolf pressing to escape, his muscles twitching and the hair on the back of his neck itchy. “How long until you know if that worked?”

  Mi-ma came to him as Sonja lay by Nell’s side and started singing to her in a low voice, gently running her fingers through her sister’s tangled, wet hair. “She will wake by tomorrow. If your gift was true, wolf, she will be healed.” She looked him over. Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something bad. “Go. Run the woods. I feel the change on you from here. It’s safe. We’ll clean the mess in the bathroom and have the human ready for you when you return.”

  He didn’t understand how the old Demon sensed his change, especially so far from a full moon. But then, thinking back, he had rarely understood her. It was unusual for Demons to be able to sense such things and he and his cousins had always suspected Mi-ma was something else. She’d been around forever and no one knew her origins. Mi-ma was like family to everyone on the mountain. She just…was.

  He nodded and Mi-ma grasped his forearm before he could leave the room. “The past, young man, is never as it seems, and usually best not used to shape the future.”

  Trent started to tell Mi-ma she didn’t know shit about his past, but thought better of it. She probably knew more than most, but it didn’t matter. All he had to go on was the past. Ignoring history was too risky.

  Trent realized he would have never made it through the cleanup. The smell of the victim’s blood, mingled with Nell’s and his own, would have been too much. His wolf was growling, stretching, reaching for the surface, hungry to take the woman lying upstairs covered in his blood. Hungry to mate.

  Trent peeled off his damp clothes outside, letting them fall to the wood decking with a heavy splat before pausing to inhale the fresh mountain air. Exhaling, he took two running steps and let the change take his body as he left the deck. Four paws hit the pine-straw-covered earth instead of two feet. Fire ran through his veins as he took off in a gallop past the pond, out of the light cast by the burning lanterns, the beast urging him to mate as he ran free in the forest to escape the call.

  * * * * *

  Crey shifted nervously as he eyed the beautiful young Witch who sprawled naked and unconscious in the disheveled bed against the wall. She looked as if she’d been used hard. Her skin was still pink, glistening. He’d seen a lot of dead bodies and this one was defiantly alive, her nipples still hard. The bitch was even aroused after she’d been fucked into oblivion. Impressive. He’d heard stories about the Palero Priest and his abilities with the women. The Palero, with his dark looks and high status, could sway almost any creature into his bed.

  Crey would never hold that kind of power over women. He preferred to force his companions to relieve his tensions. The thought made him just a little hard. He glanced around the room and realized he could take this one while she was still out and she’d never know. His eyes perused the sleeping Witch’s generous curves. The priest liked his women with a little more padding than Crey preferred. He’d fuck her anyway, beggars and choosers and all…

  Why had the bastard left him here with this kind of temptation? If he touched her, the evil one would hex him for sure. Still, his blood was thickening. His arousal growing.

  Crey shuffled again. Self-control was not his strong suit. He took a tentative step toward the bed. The Witch shifted, exposing more of her curves. The smell of sex filled the air around him. He could care less that most of that smell was from another man—if Paleros were still men at all. It’d been a while since he’d thrust into an unwilling victim, and he wanted to now.

  He was about to let himself indulge when he felt the Palero’s energy coming. The black magic was so strong Crey felt it itching in the back of his conscious thoughts before he could see him in the hall. It made him feel nauseous for a moment.

  The feeling helped him gather his thoughts and he quickly stepped away from the bed.

  “Wise decision,” the Palero said, his voice as appealing as his chiseled face. Crey was still horny, and needed to control his libido before the priest had him unconscious in that bed next to the Witch…with a sore ass. Paleros’ appetites were fierce and they gave little care for whom or what they used to slake them.

  The Santeria priest was a specialist of African Voodoo and Crey suspected he was one of the most powerful creatures on the planet. There was nothing or no one more evil, of that Crey was sure. But Crey wanted out of the bargain he’d struck. Ten years had been long enough. He was tired of doing all the Palero’s dirty work. And he had a plan to get out from under the priest’s thumb.

  “Yes. I’m sure it was.” He backed away a few more steps and bowed humbly to acknowledge the fact that the priest had determined his intentions with the Witch. “I need more, sir. More of your power.” He bowed his head farther without taking his eyes completely off the beautiful man.

  “You botched a very simple job by trying to do magic that was out of your league,” the priest replied. He turned to the open window at the far end of the room and lit a cigar. The smoke twisted in the shape of serpents and wound around his head before dissipating into the darkness. “And you want more?”

  The Palero turned back to Crey. His green eyes displayed his anger as glowing irises narrowed and became vertical slits. “You killed a human and you left traces of my magic on him.”

  Crey stumbled back into the wall. The Palero’s words felt like a blow to the chest. “Forgive me.” He struggled to breathe as the pressure increased in his chest. “I thought that using the human would keep us both in the clear.” The pressure was now so strong that he thought his ribs would snap and implode. “Was wrong…” Painfully wrong. He watched through blurring vision as, across the room, the Palero gave him a little grin. “You are a beautiful creature even when angry, sir.”

  The Palero laughed out loud and Crey felt the pressure leave his chest. He sucked in hard as his knees buckled. The feel of precious air stung his lungs as it rushed in, the smell of black licorice infiltrated his nose.

  He lay on the floor, coughing and sputtering, his lungs burning, and knew the Palero would just as soon kill him as deal with his incompetence. Crey also knew his own weaknesses. Heck, he used them whenever possible, even played them up on occasion. A simple Sorcerer, yes, but he was crafty. Letting people think he was stupid often worked in his favor.

  Today would be no different. He would leave with what he needed to get the necklace.

  Once he had that in his position, he would be powerful enough to break the hex that held him as one of the pawns in the Palero’s many chess games.

  He looked up to find the Palero towering over him. “You just earned another life. Don’t waste it.”

  Crey closed his eyes to avoid direct contact with the Palero’s stare. “You’re a generous man. I could always tell.” He looked over to the bed. Part of him hoped the priest would let him have what was left of the Witch, part of him suddenly wanted to be her.

  “Generosity has nothing to do with it, Crey. You amuse me. But keep in mind that I will find an equal amount of amusement in your destruction. Sorcerers can linger on for years, Crey, stuck between realms, not actually living, not exactly dead. I would find that amusing, possibly more so than your bumbling antics.” The Palero turned and walked back to the still-burning cigar left on the window ledge. The Palero took a long dra
g off the stogie. “You owe me for this failure.”

  Crey sat up. “I’ll have it soon.”

  The Palero opened a cabinet over his wet bar and rummaged through a box. He tossed Crey a gris-gris consisting of burlap pouches tied in a pattern along a thin hemp rope.

  “Last opportunity.”

  Hot, Hard & Howling

  Chapter Three

  The house was quiet when Trent returned. He’d spent the night in his wolf form, high on a ridge that dropped dramatically to the valley below. It was the perfect spot. He could see for miles and the rocky ridge behind him made for good protection. His wolf had been restless, however…wanting. Trent fought for an hour or so of fitful sleep. When he closed his eyes, she was there, the pained look on her face taunting him, making his possessive—no, obsessive side roar. He wanted to be with her, protecting her, shielding her.

  Her youngest sister, Trina, didn’t stop him as he entered the house from the back deck. She was watching TV with the volume low, the colored lights from the images dancing over the walls. She gave him a tilt of the head to send him on up the stairs. She looked tired.

  He looked carefully through the bedroom door, expecting a hoard of Halfling women to be surrounding Nell’s bed. He found her asleep, her face back to its golden tan, her honey-blonde hair clean and draped neatly to one side, shining against the white sheets. No sign on her face or shoulders of the angry red marks from the attack. He looked into the bathroom. The body was gone. Perfumes, makeup and other bottles and tubes were neatly lined up. The smell of jasmine lingered lightly in the air and the grout was sparkling white. No doubt Mi-ma had something to do with that.

  He turned back to the bed and his stomach tightened as he gazed at the angel lying in it.

  Angel? Where did that come from?

  He wanted to move closer, to confirm that all those angry welts and blisters were truly gone, to know his blood had saved her from an enduring pain. He stepped into the huge room and inched to the side of the door, not toward her or the bed. He felt like a voyeur. Simply watching her sleep was just as powerful as the images he’d had of her in the shower, playing with that dildo. His cock was hard and his wolf was once again restless.

  He bumped into the dresser and several things rattled and fell. He tried to right the candles but only managed to knock over something else and he fought an exasperated laugh. Here he was, lurking and nervous in a woman’s bedroom. When was the last time he was nervous about anything, much less a troublesome Demon Halfling?

  It was the shimmer of the carving that first caught his eye, not the actual shape of the object. Even so, his curiosity carried him over to the ornate chest in the corner of the room. Displayed prominently above the chest, on a small glass shelf halfway up the wall, was an intricately crafted onyx dildo. It must have been the one Mi-ma had mentioned. He was by no means an expert on the subject, but the artisanship that went into this particular piece was evident. He leaned closer but resisted the urge to touch it. If it had belonged to the Egyptian Queen, he wanted nothing to do with it. No telling what kind of whacked spell the thing carried. Unknown Egyptian magic. He shivered at the thought.

  His gaze fell to the carved chest. The toy box, he presumed, even though the thing was more the size of a coffin. He glanced over his shoulder to verify Nell was still sleeping before slowly lifting the lid. His shoulders tensed as the hinges squeaked. Standing stock still, he listened. The sheets rustled. He looked over his shoulder once more to find she had turned slightly toward him. Her face was relaxed, her breathing even. Trent let out the breath he’d been holding as the lid continued its upward journey.

  Three feet wide, two feet deep and at least eight feet long, the chest was layered with shelves, trays and nooks. Each item inside was meticulously arranged and displayed for the greatest ease of retrieval.

  Trent couldn’t decide where to look first. There was so much of…everything.

  The dildos and vibrators he easily recognized. On other shelves were assortments of cock rings, feathers, floggers and some clamps—he wasn’t sure he wanted to know where the latter were intended to be attached. He shook his head, unable to stop the images of the Halfling bound and blindfolded, her body stretched before him, back arched, breasts pushed upward, begging for his attention. He attempted to arrange his cock so the thing wasn’t uncomfortably pressed against denim, but after adjusting twice he found no such position.

  The buff leather caught his attention but the gleaming gold buckles held it. Trent tightened his fist to prevent himself from picking them up. He knew he shouldn’t. He should shut the lid and go. He’d fantasized about her enough over the years; seeing all this wasn’t helping his overactive imagination.

  Reaching in, he ignored his own internal warnings.

  With slightly trembling fingers, he lifted the cuff set out of the chest. The supple leather was oiled to perfection, the bindings polished and shining. It was a set of four, two slightly larger for her ankles.

  That did it—completed his perfect erotic vision of the Halfling. No simple handcuffs would do for Nell. Nope. Perfect, high-grade, calf-hide-covered restraints, with gold buckles and big D loops for attaching them to most anything.

  Trent’s knees felt a little weak. He had to go. Now. He placed the bindings back in their nook and shut the lid to the chest. He turned without looking back at Nell. He couldn’t. Not now.

  * * * * *

  It had been almost a week since Nell had watched Trent’s face as he’d so reverently held up the cuffs. She shouldn’t have spied on him, but he was looking through her box. Pandora’s Box, as she called it.

  Now she had the plan she needed.

  When Trent left her room, she’d seen the strain in the line of his jaw, the tension in his muscles, how his fists were squeezed tight. She’d given it a week to let that tension boil, to let his fantasies fester. The night of the attack, Trent Nicholas gave away what she’d suspected for years. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. He held back, but he wanted. She didn’t know exactly why he’d denied their pleasure for so long. The line he’d given her when they were younger was crap. It didn’t matter that she was a Halfling; his pack was more open-minded than that and he’d known it even back then.

  Yep. His resistance to her in the past had been veiled with empty excuses. There was something else, something the Prime was afraid to face. His self-denial went much deeper than his arrogantly flippant excuses—and self-denial it was. She’d seen it in his sour expressions and his hasty retreats.

  For years she’d blamed herself. No more. Tonight she would push him. Tonight she’d get past that hot, sexy, gruff, arrogant exterior.

  Nell looked up through the trees and waited as the moon started its nightly journey across the sky. Tonight, the moon would be full.

  * * * * *

  Trent checked the caller ID on his cell phone. Nell. He’d gotten some info on the case and needed to ask her some questions anyway. There were really no more excuses to put it off. He leaned against his car. “Nicholas.”

  He heard hissing, a rustle of what sounded like feet shuffling through dried leaves and then a grunt.

  “Nell?”

  More noise he couldn’t identify, another grunt—and the distinct gurgling sound a person made when being choked.

  “Nell!”

  A loud thunk, a scream and louder crackling…

  Followed by silence.

  He was pacing now, staring blankly at the screen on his cell. Dropped call, it reported. Reception around these parts was always crap and calls often dropped, especially higher in the mountains. He hit the callback button. Busy.

  How the fuck was he supposed to find her?

  His pulse was racing, his palms sweating. He’d gotten a tip about an errant Sorcerer nosing around the area, asking questions. Had this character gotten to Nell before Trent could make his way back to her place? Someone should be watching her…

  Guilt washed over him. Had he let her down? After all these years, h
ad he truly missed his chance?

  The phone rang again.

  “Nell?”

  Her voice was raspy. He heard the strain it took to utter the words. His fist hit the hood of his car hard enough to leave a dent. “Den…park…” The hissing overrode the next couple of words.

  The plastic of his small cell phone cracked under the pressure of his grip. “Nell. Where. Are. You?”

  “…the west.” Her voice broke through the static before the line went dead again. He hit the callback button and got another busy signal.

  The west entrance to Denning Park made sense. That part of the park butted up against Nell’s land. He gritted his teeth as he slammed himself behind the wheel of his car, figuring he was about eight minutes away.

  * * * * *

  Nell left her cell phone, open and turned off, on the ground by a trail leading to the playground then tucked the small sheet of cellophane she’d used to create static into a pocket of her backpack. She broke several branches along the way, making sure her scent was left on the foliage. A Chihuahua could follow her trail. Trent Nicholas, supernatural super cop, would be on her in no time. Nell paused at the opening to the playground to look back over her shoulder. All was set. All she had to do was wait for a frantic Werewolf to show up—and then blow up.

  She didn’t wait long. He blasted through the trees without much noise. Nell managed to feign surprise at his arrival. Sitting back, resting on her elbows atop a picnic table, her knees slightly spread and her feet on the bench, she smiled at the disarray of his hair and clothing. He looked as though he’d run a mile. Well, technically he almost had. The trail that led to the playground was about that long. He stood still, staring at her with all the anger she knew was just about to bust through his tough-guy veneer.

  “You’re fine,” he huffed.

  “Why thank you, Trent.” She sat up. He took two measured steps forward. Nell was sure he wanted to rush her and shake her. “You look a little rattled, sweets. What’s wrong?”