by Anne Marsh
“Because some day you’re going to die on me?” Excuse me if I sound horrified. Apparently, the pack’s missing a few fundamental concepts—free choice, consent, and divorce court come to mind.
“What if I can’t stop another wolf from taking you?” he emphasizes.
“Good point,” I hear a man snarl from behind. I bolt out of Ware’s arms, but he’s already in motion, swinging me behind him. I hit the couch hard, but it’s a soft landing and nothing compared to the impact of Ware’s body slamming into Fang’s. Fang shifts, going wolf. Ware’s not far behind, an eerie howl tearing from his throat as he shucks his human skin like it’s one more article of clothing.
Fang slams into Ware as Ware twists. Locked together, they wrestle for dominance, snarling and rolling. Fang is massive, a big, black-furred beast with wickedly sharp canines. Over and over he aims for Ware’s throat, raking his claws down my wolf’s side as my brain replays Ware’s words in my head. He was supposed to protect her.
Fang goes for Ware’s bad knee. My wolf buckles, going down, then surges back to his feet. Lurches. Fang’s last strike laid his knee open to the bone, and now he’s fighting three-legged. Who protects Ware?
The answer’s clear.
There’s only me and I’m his mate. His partner. His as much as he is mine. I grab the gun and aim. He’ll never be the only thing standing between me and certain harm, because I’ll be standing there with him.
“No.” I’m careful to point the trigger at Fang’s side, following him with the muzzle. And then Fang shifts back, his human eyes meeting mine. Don’t hesitate.
He’s a wolf. A man. A threat.
I pull the trigger.
Fang jerks, his body slamming backward.
WARE
My mate fucking killed a wolf today for me.
Not entirely sure how I feel about that, but we’re both alive, and that’s the right thing. Need to teach her a few things about handling her weapon, but she has good instincts and she didn’t hesitate.
She fought for me.
Never had anyone do that other than my brothers. Right after Marly plugged Fang, Blade and Gator came bursting in. Marly’s not getting her security deposit back—we messed up her house but good. They took care of Fang, while I took Marly back to my place. She started to ask once whether or not Fang was dead, but then she stopped. Guess she’s learning, too. Fang challenged. He lost. He’s not coming back from this one.
Now, hours later, I’ve finally got her back in my bed. Feels fucking great, but I’m not the one who matters here. I drink in her scent, trying not to push too hard or too fast. “You okay?”
She’s silent for a moment and I can practically hear her running through the day’s events. “You know what? I am.”
Thank. Fuck.
MARLY
“How do you see this working?” My words hang in the dark between us.
“You just committed a felony in my presence,” he points out dryly, moving about the room. “Think that means you can trust me.”
“No, I mean why were you at my place?”
“Bringing you flowers.” He removes his club colors and hangs them on the back of the chair, then yanks his T-shirt over his head.
“But why?” Granted, digging up my rented lawn and planting about a million flower bulbs counts as putting in some effort, but I still don’t understand Ware’s reasons. He’s impossible to figure out sometimes.
“You deserve flowers,” he grumbles, as if that explains the time and effort he put into turning my yard into a sea of hyacinths. Maybe it does in the Ware-verse.
He shoves his jeans down his legs. Guess he must have lost the boots when I wasn’t looking. Even in the dark, he’s spectacular.
“I thought you were going to die when Fang pulled a gun on you,” I admit.
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t to him. “Stupid as fuck, doing that. And I should paddle your ass for not high-tailing it out of there like I told you to. Maybe he would’ve missed me and got you instead. Or maybe he would’ve plugged me and I would’ve gone down—then what would have happened when it was just you and Fang?”
That’s not something I care to contemplate. “I shot him.”
I still can’t believe I did that.
“You did what you had to,” he says, dropping down onto the bed beside me. “Nothing to be ashamed of there.”
And you know what? I’m not ashamed. Not of shooting Fang, not of what I like in bed, not of loving this man. Since he’s a wolf and not a mind reader, I tell him so.
“When Fang went for you and you were down, all I could think about was loving you. I couldn’t stand there and lose you. I know you don’t want that and you don’t have to feel the same way, but it doesn’t change how I feel.”
He’s silent for a moment, then pulls me against his side. I fit there, even if he doesn’t believe it.
“Sorry to make you say that,” he says, and his lips brush the top of my head. “Because I came after you today to convince you to give me another chance. I pushed you away because I’m too old and fucked up. My knee doesn’t work right, and Fang won’t be the last challenger. I didn’t want you forced into my world.”
“I chose to be a part of it.”
“Yeah.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Figured that out when you committed a felony on my behalf. Thing is, I love you. I’m not big on emotions and feelings—they’re new territory for me, but I’m trying to learn and I want to be whatever you need me to be. I don’t want to let go of you—and I want you hanging onto me, too. So I’d like to figure this out with you.”
He smoothes his hand down my back, and I curl into his touch. Still, I need to be clear. “A partnership.”
He’s silent for a second, and then he finds my mouth with his. “You got it,” he says against my lips.
Hide your virgins...AGAIN! The original Bad Boys are BACK and they're hotter than ever!
These are not your mother's Vikings. Being a werewolf’s mate sucks, but Bera doesn’t have a choice—until a big, brutish, and thoroughly pissed-off Viking crashes into her cave and rescues her. He may be hot and their chemistry off-the-charts good, but she’s done with domination games and alpha males.
Colden isn’t a nice guy—and he likes it that way. His rules are simple. Hit hard, fight mean, and defend what’s his. But when the Viking berserker rescues a sexy little werewolf and her pack names Colden as her new mate, the rules change. She wants to bargain for her freedom. He wants to keep her. Forever.
* Excerpt from Bound by the Viking *
Freya’s tits, but the wolf den was no Four Seasons. Even after I killed my snowmobile and strode inside the cave, the cold beat at me like Thor’s hammer. The bitter scent of smoke and kerosene heaters didn’t add to the ambiance, plus the mangy scent of werewolf was overwhelming. How the shifters managed to stink like wet fur and eau de old dog when it was ten degrees below zero out was a mystery, but that was winter in Greenland for you and reason number one why we Vikings had gone a-sailing all those centuries ago.
I slid a glance up at the ceiling. The caves were none too scenic, either. The decorating style consisted of dirt, rocks, and a shitload of ice and snow. If I’d been a werewolf, my vote would have been for tropical relocation ASAP.
Oh wait. Werewolves weren’t democratic. They were an autocratic, rule-by-the-fist race, and the last werewolf Alpha had made the unilateral decision to relocate his pack to this particular armpit of Greenland in preparation for launching an attack on Odin. And yet looking at the sorry assortment of wolves lurking in the shadows, it got harder and harder to believe that the werewolf pack was actually a player in Ragnarök. These sorry ass pieces of fur were supposed to coordinate an assassination attempt on Odin, the ruler of the Norse gods? Not fucking likely.
I checked the ceiling again, but other than a new icicle or two, nothing. Nay. Pigs weren’t flying yet.
Out of ideas, I elbowed my fellow Viking. “Remind me again why we�
�re here.”
Vars bared his teeth. Guess he didn’t care for the poke. “Because Calder’s bride convinced her shiny new husband that her pack planned on assassinating Odin, and since Calder’s busy banging said new bride, someone else has to take point on investigative duty. You’re an ugly bastard and I don’t give a rat’s ass, which makes up for my pretty face. That makes us perfect for the job. Or possibly the rest of our clan just wanted some alone time without us and decided we could manage Calder’s pack while he’s on honeymoon duty.”
A hard punch to my gut accompanied this last.
I didn’t give a damn about the blow. It took more than that to make me flinch, and we both knew it. Punches were merely punctuation in a conversation. I still didn’t understand how our brother, Calder, had decided that not only would he take a mate, but he’d take a mate who came with an entire ready-made werewolf clan. Werewolves were not the ideal accessory, even for a Viking warrior who shapeshifted into a bear when he went berserk in battle. And if these werewolves had truly plotted to take down Odin, they were a liability because it would only be a matter of time before some other Norse god or goddess came gunning for them.
“We could just kill the wolves,” I suggested. A quick takedown was neater and required none of this talking bullshit. Possibly, I’d made my suggestion too loud, because the nearest werewolf cringed away. Loser.
Vars didn’t disagree. “Killing would be simpler, but Calder’s mate is fond of her pack.”
“All of the pack?” Every pack had a few assholes that could be sacrificed for the greater good.
Vars grinned. “You make an excellent point.”
“We’d be in and out quicker too. You really want to spend the night here?” The cave did not improve upon closer acquaintance.
“You think it’s an option to leave and check in somewhere cozier?” Vars held my gaze steadily as if leaving were really an option. “What are the odds these wolves act different if we’re not around?”
Pretty good because from what I’d seen so far, pack life centered around fear and dominance. You ran scared—or you dominated. Since being afraid wasn’t part of my vocabulary, that put me in Camp B. I planned on kicking just enough werewolf ass to discover what the pack alpha’s plan for Ragnarök had been.
“If Leif wasn’t talking shit, he had a plan. A weapon. A secret ninja stealth assassin.”
“He had something,” Vars agreed. “We just haven’t found it yet. Hate to say it, but it may take us some time.”
I lifted a shoulder because the man wasn’t wrong. “I don’t have anywhere else to be, but I would like to wrap this up before Calder finishes his honeymooning shit.”
A knowing grin split Vars’ face, making it all too obvious why my man here had his pick of the females. Me, on the other hand? I sported a scar down on one cheek, the earning of which had taken care of my pretty days. Which had probably lasted all of five minutes anyhow. Being not dead was far preferable to good looks.
“Best wedding present ever,” Vars agreed. He moved deeper into the cave. Sleeping bags lined the walls, some of them laid out on blow-up air mattresses. Crap spilled from duffel bags and someone had invested in the full line of cheap-ass camping pots. I doubted the pizza delivery guy made it out here—or that the wolves had the cash to start with. I’d visited plusher digs in the Medieval Ages.
Calling the cave Spartan was an insult to the Greek fighters. Owning your own personal werewolf pack seemed more akin to paying through the nose for a property that the online copy touted as possessing “prime ocean views in the metropolitan center” but that turned out in reality to be a fixer-upper fishing shack on the middle of an ice floe in Antarctica. Or worse.
Because this cave and these werewolves definitely fell in the worse category. Somewhere deeper inside the cave a female whimpered in pain, the soft sound almost drowned out by a deeper, masculine growl.
Fuck. I hated it when females cried.
I should walk on. Get the ass-kicking over with, uncover the wolves’ nefarious plans for Odin, and get back to my life. The message from my brain didn’t reach my feet, however, which stopped dead. Yeah. I was going to have to do something about it.
I looked over at Vars. “Pit stop.”
We’d already spent a good part of the day getting to the werewolf den, so Vars had to be itching to get on with our official business, but he simply nodded agreeably and fell in by my side, letting me take point. He was the kind of guy who, if I announced that I planned on doing some werewolf culling, would just ask me where he should start. He had my back, same as I had his.
Another whimper followed by a low growl. The female was down a passageway to my left. She wasn’t the secret assassinate-Odin’s-ass weapon. From the sound of things, she was on the bottom of the food chain in this cave, maybe literally.
Vars shot me a glance. “Rescue mission?
Fuck if I knew, but I guessed I wasn’t getting back to the job until I’d made a few things clear to the asshole bothering the female. As of right now the cave was under new management. My management. While Calder chased down his mate—and fucked the living daylights out of her on a three-week honeymoon somewhere a hell of a lot warmer than Greenland—I’d been temporarily promoted. Alpha dead, long live the new Alpha and all that shite. Which meant Werewolf Asshole needed to learn some new manners.
The side room—side cave, whatever—was ten steps down the passageway. The place wasn’t built for men my size, so I had to hunch over which kind of sucked. Vars whistled quietly behind me, his weapon making an almost inaudible snick as he pulled the blade from its sheath.
No point in knocking. It wasn’t as if I planned on asking permission. I shoved aside the blue tarp covering the door. My personal theory was act first, think later, and right now a whole lot of unwelcome instincts pounded at me. Unfamiliar instincts like protect and comfort.
What. The. Fuck?
The werewolf was mostly naked, displaying far more werewolf skin than I needed to see. He’d pulled his belt from its loops, the better to smack the shit out of the female he’d pinned to the wall. That right there was reason number one why the wolf needed to die. The cocksucker had also unbuttoned his jeans partway, giving gave me a bonus peep show, and that was thing number two I hadn’t needed to see. The precarious position of his jeans on his hips made it plenty obvious that the bastard was thoroughly enjoying the beat down he was administering.
In fact, the stupid bastard was so into his situation that he failed to hear us coming. I yanked him away from the female and sent him careening into the opposite wall. Conveniently he hit headfirst. Maybe the crack would knock some sense into him.
The female took one look at me and dropped to the floor, arms going up over her head.
“Next time, knee him in the balls,” I said in the general direction of the brown hair covering her face. “And then run. Got me?”
She squeaked and I didn’t think the sound was an affirmative. This was why my dating life sucked and my brothers had gotten all the strong, feisty women. Here I was, trying to make her feel better, and instead I’d only scared her worse. At least I hadn’t gone berserk and shifted. That had to count for something.
Vars shoved his blade back into its sheath. “You’re blocking the door, dumb ass. How’s she supposed to get by you?”
The werewolf groaned. I’d have to make sure he hurt worse than he did, because the female sniffed. Quietly, like she was trying not to make too much noise.
Tears. Not my thing. Plus she acted like I roasted puppies for fun when all I’d tried to do was help her. This was the problem with good deeds. I should have borrowed a page from the Valkyries and squashed my Boy Scout urge in the bud. Hel, for all I knew, I’d interrupted some kind of kinky werewolf game.
Except… the cave smelled like fear. And she bit back another sob.
“You want me to kill him?” I asked her. Look at me, soliciting opinions and acting all open-minded. But I had to do something. Walking away now,
leaving her broken on the floor, everything in me argued that was wrong and I’d spent a lifetime living by my instincts. Leaning down, I got my hand under her chin and nudged her face up. Silky, impossibly soft skin met my fingertips. Ours my bear roared inwardly. This one is ours.
Fuck. Was the werewolf mating urge contagious? She resisted my upward tug, hiding her face in her arm. She was curvy in my favorite places, her body softly rounded and downright sweet. Of course, I’d eat her for breakfast. The terrified message her body telegraphed said she knew it, too. I needed to get the hell out of this cave and get on with my life.
Whatever this thing was that I felt when I looked at her, it was temporary. A chemical thing or some kind of raw, beast-like attraction. I’d kill the male werewolf and stomp out of here; she’d live happily ever after or not, but at the opposite end of the world from me. I forced myself to let go while the silence stretched out between us and her tears dried up some. Somehow, leaving the cave didn’t seem to be an option for me.
“I’m waiting for my answer.” My gaze flicked over her, assessing the damage. Nothing too permanent, but she’d have bruises and that pissed me off. From what I could see of her, she was tiny. I’d bet her head would barely reach my chest if I could coax her off the ground. Her hair was all tangled up and I had the strangest urge to smooth the wild locks into place. The male werewolf had torn up her clothes, her T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, exposing a lacy pink bra strap I’d bet she’d die rather than show me. She wore a man’s flannel shirt and nothing else, her bare feet curled into the cold floor.
The werewolf definitely needed to die.
“I’m taking silence as a fuck yeah,” I told her. She started to say something, then hesitated. Girlie had more spine than I’d thought, however, because she eyed the crumpled pile of wolf like she might actually go all judge and jury on his sorry ass. Her ring finger was bare, although I had no idea if werewolves marked their territory with wedding bands, or if they were more the type to bite and piss all over things. Frankly, I was putting my money on the second option because living in a cave in Iceland screamed uncivilized.