Over her head, Tex grinned at Hunter. She was already managing their lives.
“My apartment’s not far. Maybe we could stop for a few things… I really liked that vest. And my kit… Yours too, Tex…”
“Holly…” he growled.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “What?”
She was stark naked, and they had three dead bodies in the trunk of the stolen car. How could she be hungry at a time like this? Hunter jerked off the T-shirt and shoved it over her head. Holly sputtered, struggled, and frowned as her head came through the oversize armhole. He eased the car onto the street, squinting through the fog, looking for signs to the Golden Gate Bridge. The cool night air wafted in the window.
“This isn’t right…” Holly vanished into the shirt, wrestling with the stretchy material.
“The sign said the bridge was that way. Now where the hell are we?” He stared out the window in frustration.
“I can’t get my head loose!”
Tex started laughing, his head now resting against the window glass. “Oh, darlin’, I can’t wait to get you over my knee again!”
To his surprise, Hunter felt the very same way.
Epilogue
The dark brown wolf crouched in the high grass at the edge of the field, his belly brushing the ground. The woman he stalked froze, searching the trees and brush for the predator. When he burst from cover, she squealed, turning to run. He had her flat on the ground in seconds. She was pinned on her back by the massive wolf, who frantically licked her face.
Holly giggled, wiggled free, and dodged behind the mechanical bull that was being assembled in the middle of the lawn.
“How’d you manage to talk Xavier out of the bull?” Chase Montenegro turned from the porch rail and settled his long body into a wooden Adirondack chair that Tex had built. The cool breeze wafted through his black hair. Instead of his usual suit, he wore jeans and a flannel shirt.
“It was broken. I told him we’d fix it and store it up here till he wanted to use it again.” Tex gave his alpha a lopsided grin. “Told him I’d give some of the club dominants riding lessons if he’d let us use it.”
“But not the subs? That seems a bit unfair.” His words were disapproving, but a dimple played at the corner of Chase’s stern mouth.
“You know how it is, Chase. The sub has all the power. This is just a way to even up the playing field.”
“No, your sub has all the power.” He laughed and shook his head. “Does this mean we’ll have a steady flow of dominants visiting Truckee?”
“Nah… I’ll take it back down there before rodeo season in the spring. Gives us an excuse to take Holly back to the dungeon. We owe her a spanking or two.” Just the thought of Holly tied out properly had his cock swelling in interest.
“From what Kurt tells me, she saved your asses there on the highway. If she hadn’t distracted the CHP officer who pulled you guys over, they might have found the bodies in the trunk.”
“Uhh…yeah…” Tex stretched, hiding his discomfort. “I don’t think she meant to flash the police officer, but it worked anyway. By the time she finished explaining about the broken window, the clothing, and the dozen hamburgers, the poor man thought we’d been out partying all night and that Hunter was our designated driver.”
Chase smiled and looked out at the lawn. Several others had joined in the rowdy play.
“There’s something I need to tell you, though. When I was locked inside the trunk, I overheard the men talking. Someone tipped them off. Someone who was watching us at the club. They set up a pretty nasty trap with that car wreck.”
“They killed a pedestrian to do that. Do you have any idea who their source was?”
Tex sighed. “I doubt it was Xavier. If he’d wanted us, he could have set a trap early on.”
Chase nodded.
“There’s a girl that works there. A friend of Holly’s.”
“Destiny.” Chase’s expression was dark. “She’s a friend of Eva’s as well. I don’t like this at all. Even if it’s not her, we’ve got to warn the pack away from Dark Haven. Just in case.”
“Bummer.” Tex sat up in his chair and leaned forward to watch Holly and Hunter on the lawn. Both were in wolf form now, and they were gently teasing Deuce and the new boy. Deuce was mostly blind and hearing impaired, and Trey didn’t speak. Somehow, though, they’d formed a bond. Hunter darted in and nipped at Holly’s tail, and she scooted away, her bottom skidding along the ground. Both boys broke out in laughter.
“You taught them to play, Tex. Hunter and Holly were among the most broken of my wolves, and you fixed them.”
“They aren’t broken, Chase. None of them are. They just need time.”
Chase looked out over the lawn where a cluster of wolves huddled, watching the others play. “You and Briony are the only ones who’ve been able to get through to them.”
“Nah. They’re paying attention. Hunter and Holly know what they want; they just never learned how to recognize it or ask for it.”
“That must be why training as a domme helped Holly. Is it helping Hunter as well?”
“Seems to be. They’ve both learned to switch roles too. Hunter’s not too keen on taking the sub role, but he understands it’s part of his training. They’re both learning to communicate.”
Funny how a relationship could fail because of something as simple as failing to talk. To share. To tell your partner how you feel.
Tex hesitated, knowing his alpha wouldn’t like what he had to say next.
“We need a strong female, Chase. An alpha female. One who can manage the pack. When their heat cycles come, the women hide at that old cabin in the mountains because they’re afraid of the men. They’re afraid of having babies. An alpha female would draw them out and give them strength.”
“We have Eva.”
“Eva’s not ours, Chase. And she doesn’t have the mojo it’s gonna take. Frankly, I’ve only met one or two wolves with the kind of power you have. You need a mate that’s your match.”
He didn’t curse or glower as Tex expected. He simply watched his wolves, a serene mask hiding his feelings. After a painfully long minute, he stirred, rising up out of the chair.
“You may be right. Not about the mate part, but we do need a strong female in the pack.” He smiled sadly. “Guess I’ll be heading out on a hunt too.”
Chase went back into the house. Tex heard him calling his betas together for an impromptu meeting. He lifted a brow.
Chase was taking his advice? Now that was something new.
“Hey, Tex!” He stood and leaned on the sturdy wooden porch rail, looking out at where Hunter was pulling on a ratty pair of jeans. Goodness only knew who they belonged to.
“Get down here! Holly wants to ride the bull!”
“Really?” He started down the stairs, then landed on the ground at a run. “Dayum!”
~ * ~
Loose Id Titles by Belinda McBride
An Uncommon Whore
Belle Starr
Blacque/Bleu
“Educating Evangeline”
Part of the anthology Doms of Dark Haven
With Sierra Cartwright and Cherise Sinclair
“Hunting Holly”
Part of the anthology Doms of Dark Haven 2: Western Night
With Sierra Cartwright and Cherise Sinclair
Belinda McBride
Belinda was born in Inglewood, California, but grew up far to the north in the shadow of Mt. Shasta. While her upbringing seemed pretty normal to her, she was surrounded by a fascinating array of friends and family, including a polyamorous grandmother, a grandfather who is a Native American icon, and various cowboys, hippies, scoundrels and saints.
She has a degree in history and cultural anthropology, but in 2006 made the life-changing decision to quit her job as a public health paraprofessional and stay at home fulltime to care for her severely disabled, autistic niece. This difficult decision gave Belinda the gift of time, which allowed her to ret
urn to writing fiction, which she’d abandoned years before.
Belinda’s hobbies include soap making, collecting gemstones, travel, and martial arts. She has two daughters, six Siberian Huskies and an array of wild birds that visit the feeders in the front yard.
She supports no-kill animal shelters, and donates platelets twice monthly at her local blood center.
As an author, Belinda loves crossing genres, kicking taboos to the curb, and pulling from world mythology and folklore for inspiration. She is committed to taking her readers on an emotional journey and never forgets that at the end of the day, she’s writing about love.
* * *
Welcome to the Dark Side
Cherise Sinclair
Author’s Note
To my readers,
This book is fiction, not reality and, as in most romantic fiction, the romance is compressed into a very, very short time period.
You, my darlings, live in the real world and I want you to take a little more time than the heroines you read about. Good Doms don't grow on trees and there's some strange people out there. So while you're looking for that special Dom, please, be careful.
When you find him, realize he can't read your mind. Yes, frightening as it might be, you're going to have to open up and talk to him. And you listen to him, in return. Share your hopes and fears, what you want from him, what scares you spitless. Okay, he may try to push your boundaries a little—he's a Dom, after all—but you have your safeword. You will have a safeword, am I clear? Use protection. Have a back-up person. Communicate.
Remember: safe, sane and consensual.
Know that I'm hoping you find that special, loving person who will understand your needs and hold you close. Let me know how you're doing. I worry, you know.
Meantime, come and hang out with the Masters of the Shadowlands.
—Cherise
[email protected]
Chapter One
Well, if he turned out to be a pervert, Dark Haven was sure the right place to come. Virgil Masterson tucked his thumbs under his belt and stared around the huge room. It was Western Night at San Francisco’s notorious BDSM club, and the combination of fetishwear and cowboy clothing was mindboggling.
When a tiny brunette submissive walked by wearing nipple clamps, a purple thong, and cowboy boots, he could only shake his head and laugh. Amazing. At least with all the jeans and cowboy shirts, he didn’t stand out like a redneck from a small mountain town.
As he listened to the country-western music, he tried to decide on a plan of action. By the end of the night, he intended to know if he was just a normal guy turned on by weird sexual shenanigans or something…worse. He’d always liked being in control in the bedroom—didn’t most men?—but then his in-laws had introduced him to a whole new level of control. To BDSM. Stunned the hell out of him.
Under the Hunts’ direction, he’d dominated a submissive. Tied her up. She’d melted under his hands, his commands, and climaxed from a hard pinch on her nipples. Damn him for ever getting sucked into this, because now…now when he had sex, he knew exactly what was lacking. He wanted—needed—the extra punch of a woman’s willing submission.
As he looked around, he spotted the crowd parting to let a man pass. The dom, dressed in a gambler’s rig of striped silk shirt, ornate burgundy vest, and arm garters, walked up and extended his hand. “Virgil Masterson, I believe?”
“That’s right.” Virgil gave him a cop’s assessing once-over: six-two, muscular, around two hundred pounds, black hair in a long braid, black eyes, reddish brown coloring. He took the man’s hand, noting the powerful grip. The guy did more with his time than sit around the bar.
“The Hunt brothers asked me to watch for you. I am Xavier, the owner.”
Virgil gave an amused snort. As the eldest of three sons, he’d never been subjected to a babysitter…until he stepped into the BDSM scene. “Quite a place.”
Xavier acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of his head. “The street level is for dancing, drinking, and watching the shows.” He gestured to platforms on either side of the long room, one empty, the other with a domme whipping a slender male sub. “They said you’re new to the scene?”
“Yes.” Virgil studied the stage performance. He’d used a whip on livestock, never on a human, and the thought didn’t appeal to him at all. “I’ve played at a couple parties and gone on their BDSM camp trip. I’m still…” Frowning, he pushed up the brim of his hat. “I have a problem with the idea of bondage, let alone hurting anyone. I was raised to protect women. Hell, it’s my job.”
Xavier said mildly, “But if bondage and pain is what the submissive wants? Needs?”
Then he was in trouble. “Guess I’ll figure out where I draw the line.” That’s what he’d come here to do, after all. To observe and investigate in a place well away from Bear Flat. To figure out if I really am a pervert.
“If the Hunts worked with you, I assume you know the usual courtesies of observing quietly, not touching another dom’s sub or equipment, and the basics of safe, sane, and consensual play.”
Virgil nodded.
“Then enjoy your evening. The dungeon is downstairs. If you’d care for an introduction to a submissive, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Xavier glanced at Virgil’s well-worn boots and smiled. “Calf roping starts in a bit—sub roping, in this case. You might find it a good way to meet someone.”
Sub roping? He hadn’t planned to participate—well, maybe he’d considered it—but damn. “Sounds like fun.”
After Xavier left, Virgil checked out the upstairs. A bar was located in one corner, surrounded by tables. The giggling submissive riding a mechanical bull held his attention for a while. Line dancing. A poker game tempted him briefly, but a pretty brunette sub kneeling at one man’s feet kept giving her dom concerned glances. Too tense for his mood tonight. You’re not here to play cards, Masterson.
He took the stairs down to the dungeon. And stopped. At the Serenity Lodge parties, only a handful of scenes occurred at any one time. Dark Haven had…more. His gaze drifted down the long room: several St. Andrew’s crosses, stocks, and a whipping post. Sets of chains dangled from a low rafter. Cages, spanking benches, sawhorses, bondage tables. Scene after scene. Throaty moans, high screams, whining, whimpering, and groaning. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. All his cop instincts shouted for him to get his cuffs out and start arresting people.
Yet the dominant in him noted that the scenes were hot as hell. Like the redhead getting wax poured on her nipples. Glazed eyes. Moaning. Her dom had spread her legs to let everyone view her soaked pussy.
At the next scene, a dark-haired domme ran a device like a pizza cutter with tiny metal spikes around a man’s nipples. Poor guy had a woody so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it.
Unlike the scent of beer, cologne, and perfume upstairs, the dungeon smelled of sweat and leather and so much sex that he could feel testosterone flooding his veins. He stopped at one area to watch a dom with a single-tail delicately lashing a dress from his sub. Fucking fine technique.
Feeling a presence beside him, he looked down to see a pretty little submissive.
“Excuse me,” she said, her melodic voice like a meadowlark in a valley of pain.
He stepped back to let her edge past and gave her a slow once-over. Very nice.
A leather skirt barely covered her grabbable, round ass. Heeled cowboy boots showcased bare legs, and her full breasts pushed a laced-up leather vest open so far her nipples almost showed. Golden blonde hair, straight and silky, hung to her midback. When she looked back to whisper a thank-you, her eyes were as clear and blue as the sky over the Sierras in June.
Down, boy.
He sighed as the little sub knelt beside the dom. Apparently she wasn’t available. Then again, she sure didn’t focus on her dom’s every movement as if she wanted to serve him with all her being. With the Hunts and some others he’d seen, their dominance over their subs showed up like heat waves in July. And didn’t tha
t sound a tad too woo-woo for a cop?
With a snort, and one last regretful look at the sub, Virgil wandered on.
* * *
Refusing to listen to Mark whine, Summer Aragon dragged him away from the whipping scene to the upstairs stage. The calf roping had started.
Bouncing on her toes, she watched a dom chase after a collared older submissive on the raised platform. Almost to the end, he managed to grab her and toss her down on the well-padded platform. As he tried to bind her ankles and wrists, the crowd roared advice, cheering in yeehaws and whoops and whistles. God, didn’t that look like fun?
“And another sub bites the dust.” Mark slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his lanky frame. “I’m heading home. You gonna come over?”
“Leave now?” After she’d spent all yesterday shopping for just the right leather skirt and vest? She gave him an exasperated stare. When he’d shown up in a T-shirt and jeans instead of western wear, she should have known he’d bow out early. “We haven’t been here even an hour.”
“Don’t care. I had a rough day.”
A rough day of programming? Please. She thought of her own day as charge nurse for the surgical floor: filling in for the med nurse, transferring a patient to the ICU, wading through reams of doctors’ orders, managing a code right at the end of her shift—successful, but God, the paperwork—fixing the diet orders the kitchen had screwed up…and on and on. “Don’t you want to join the calf roping?”
“Nah. Jason lent me a new apocalypse movie, and I want to see it.”
She considered briefly: a cozy winter evening watching TV or finding someone to play with here. Play, play, play. “I’m going to stay a little longer. I’ve got an urge to be a calf.”
“Go for it.” He frowned. “I don’t think Rick or Mike are here though.”
Doms of Dark Haven 2: Western Night Page 20