Bad Blood Wolf (Bad Blood Shifters Book 2)

by Anastasia Wilde

  Somehow that made it hotter.

  He shoved her jeans partway down and then reached between her legs and found her soft hot pussy, already soaking wet. That alone almost sent him over the edge.

  He stroked her, spreading her juices all the way up to her clit and down to her opening, over and over, wanting that feral cat moan that had turned him on so hard.

  She gave a growl of frustration and kicked off her boots. He pulled her jeans off, then bent over, lifted her legs up over his shoulders and buried his face in her pussy. The heat and sent of her made him crazy, and he sucked on her clit, thrust his tongue into her core, licked every slick fold until she was whimpering.

  He held her sweet, naked thighs apart until he was done with her, until she was bucking and moaning and exploding around him. She clutched at his thighs, tearing holes in his jeans with her claws, and he loved the pinpricks of pain as much as the sweet silky taste of her.

  He lowered her hips and swiveled on the seat, pulling her up so that she straddled his lap. With one smooth, desperate thrust he was inside her, enveloped in her sex.

  That, too, was a thousand times better than he’d imagined. Hotter, wetter, sexier.

  This time he couldn’t quite swallow the howl.

  All the depression that had been plaguing him turned into something wild and crazed and fucking alive.

  Jasmin ripped bigger holes in his shirt, her hands eager for his flesh, stroking and scratching and stroking again, her head thrown back.

  He had to touch all of her. He had to taste all of her. Brody grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, exposing her breasts.

  She began to move, her eyes closed, but he wrapped one arm around her hips and held her still, completely sheathing him. Then he sucked one pinkish-brown nipple into his mouth.

  She gasped and struggled, trying to fuck, but he held her still and concentrated on her breast, cupping it roughly in his hand, licking and sucking with a rhythm that he just barely echoed with his hips.

  She snarled softly, her muscles rigid and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

  He lavished attention on the tight bud of her nipple with his tongue and teeth and lips, and she moaned again, head thrown back, silky curtain of hair cascading over his arms. He loved the feel of it sliding over his skin, and he paused a moment to rip the remains of his shirt off so he could feel it around him.

  He went back to sucking her, giving the other breast equal time, not slowing his pace. She was bucking her hips as much as she could in his iron-hard grasp, and he loved having her soft strength surrounding him, impaling it with his cock, driving this controlled woman out of control, giving her more pleasure than she wanted.

  He wanted to give her more than she could take.

  He leaned her back against the seat, angling her hips back until he could slide his thumb in between them and tease her clit. She gasped, then bucked and came hard, igniting in his hands like dynamite, letting out another harsh snarl. “Fuck, yes,” she murmured.

  Brody began thrusting into her, feeling her sliding along his length. He still fingered her clit, and she was gasping now, moving with the rhythm, moaning desperately as he felt the tension building in her again.

  His wolf felt like he was on the hunt, chasing something unnamed and unnamable across a huge open expanse. The cadence of his running feet became the rhythm of their lovemaking, on and on, tirelessly, searching for that one prize just out of his reach.

  And then his wolf leaped inside him, and he couldn’t hold back any more. He slammed himself upwards into Jasmin, still holding her hips so that he could get as deep inside her as he could, wanting to touch parts of her that no one else had ever touched.

  The moment seemed to stretch out, his body on fire, all his nerve endings pulsing, his wolf reaching and grasping—and then he felt like his lungs and his cock exploded at the same time.

  She screamed the moment he came, and she came again, this time clawing his back until she drew blood. He grabbed her behind the head and kissed her again, long and deep, their mouths connected as their bodies pulsed into one another.

  He felt her clench around him, and he rode out the waves of her climax, feeling every delicious aftershock through his whole body.

  Her lips softened under his, and she went relaxed and boneless, like a sleeping cat. He kissed her over and over, stroking her hair and sipping at her lips, brushing them with his and then deepening the kiss again to drink his fill of her sweet essence.

  Her body molded against him, all tension and resistance gone, and everything was suddenly right with his world.

  He felt a low rumble in her chest, almost like a purr.

  He moved his lips across her cheek, down her jawbone. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I knew there was something soft and sweet underneath that badass cat.”

  Her whole body froze.

  And then she was scrambling away from him, snarling, out the other door of the truck. For one moment she stood in the moonlight, naked and magnificent, and then her jaguar burst out of her body with a scream.

  Brody held his breath, waiting for the attack.

  It never came. She gave him one furious look from her gold-green eyes, and vanished into the night.

  Chapter 9

  Brody sat in the back seat of Jasmin’s pickup, his breath fogging in the frosty air, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Because one minute he was having a fucking out-of-body experience, and the next he was sitting alone with his pants around his ankles, feeling like a total fool.

  He heard the slam of the bar door and voices coming across the parking lot. He wrestled his jeans back on in a hurry—the last thing he needed was for his not-so-loving packmates to find him butt-naked.

  He found his torn-up shirt tangled with Jasmin’s slinky red one. He brought the smooth fabric to his nose and inhaled her spicy scent. An overwhelming feeling of loss and longing slammed over him.

  It was just sex in the back seat of a truck, he tried to tell himself. It probably didn’t mean anything. Hell, parking lot sex was pretty much the definition of meaningless.

  So why did he feel like he’d been shattered, and didn’t know how to put himself back together because none of the pieces fit together the same way?

  It couldn’t be possible she didn’t feel anything.

  He let the fabric slide through his fingers, remembering the feel of her hair slipping over his skin, her warm softness sheathing him. His belly clenched and his chest ached. His wolf whined.

  She didn’t want him. She hadn’t just walked away—she’d run like her fur was on fire. He should just lock her stuff in her truck and go.

  He couldn’t make himself do it. He couldn’t put down the shirt, couldn’t shut the truck door, couldn’t walk the hell away. Just the thought of it made the shattered pieces of him feel like they were being crushed to powder.

  Brody stood for a long moment, stroking the soft red fabric.

  Then he picked up her jeans and searched the pockets for her keys and her pool winnings. He locked up her truck, taking her things with him.

  He got into his car—an old Chevelle he’d bought when he sold his other ride to make money. Back when he still had stuff to sell, and hadn’t sunk down to having to fight instead.

  He grabbed another shirt out of the back seat to replace the one Jasmin had shredded, and shrugged on his jacket, sticking her keys and money in the side pocket.

  Then he fired up the Chevelle and headed out to forbidden land—Bad Blood territory.

  As he bumped up the dirt road towards the Bad Bloods’ compound, Brody tried not to think about all the reasons this was a really bad idea.

  Starting with the fact that he was a known enemy coming into the territory of a certifiably crazy, utterly paranoid badass lion shifter, uninvited and in the middle of the night.

  He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of being dead within sixty seconds of getting out of the car.

  Even so, something kept pull
ing him forward. Death wish, probably. He pulled into the compound and parked in an empty space amid the random array of trucks dotting the clearing.

  His wolf sight was sharp, even in the dark, and he could see that the place was covered in Christmas decorations. The only ones still lit up were a row of three wire deer covered in white lights, hanging by their hind feet from the fat limb of an oak tree with their heads down, like hunters’ kills.

  From their necks fell strings of red lights that pooled on the ground. It looked like someone had shot three of Santa’s reindeer and left the bloody carcasses to drain. With festive lights.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh, or get back in his car and drive the hell away. The Bad Bloods really were fucking crazy.

  He gathered up Jasmin’s clothes and then got slowly out of the car, senses alert.

  Everything was dark, cold, and silent, except for the faint smell of smoke from a couple of wood stoves.

  This was such a bad idea. He didn’t even know which building Jasmin slept in.

  He could smell crisscrossing scent trails, old and new. Lion. Two strange cats, the grizzly, and another bear.

  And Jasmin. A tantalizing hint of fresh scent.

  He closed his eyes, trying to sense her presence in the night. Something prickled up the back of his spine. There was more than one presence out here, looming in the shadows.

  Watching him.

  He opened his eyes again, scanning the trees. He thought he saw a bulky shadow, but then he blinked and it was gone.

  The prickle on his spine turned to goose bumps.

  Then he saw her.

  A sinuous shadow on the other side of the clearing, near where a path led to two darkened structures that looked like trailers. He’d know her anywhere.

  The shadowy form paused, and its head turned toward him. He saw the flash of green-gold eyes, and a glimpse of tawny spotted fur.

  He held his breath.

  She didn’t acknowledge him. She just jumped onto the roof of one of the sheds that lined the edge of the clearing. He heard the creak of skylight hinges, and then she jumped down inside the building and disappeared.

  Was that an invitation? Or a ‘fuck you’? Brody shook his head. Didn’t matter. He was here now, and there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good death wish.

  He strode over to the shed, knocked once, and then opened the door and stepped inside.

  The inside of the shed was like a damn monk’s cell. Maybe fifteen by twelve, with a woodstove in the corner, bare sheetrock walls and hardly any furniture.

  And a deadly jaguar, who somehow looked bigger inside the small space. She was half-crouched on the futon, hackles raised, making small snarling noises in her throat.

  Oh, shit. He raised her pile of clothes in front of him like a shield. Or an offering to an angry goddess.

  “I brought your clothes back. And your keys, and your money.” He fumbled in his pocket, bringing out the keys and the cash.

  Jasmin was still making those throaty noises, and her muscles quivered like she was holding herself back from attacking.

  He’d been right the first time. Bad, bad idea.

  And then her scent hit him. Wild and spicy, and angry and… scared.

  Holy shit, she was terrified.

  The realization cut through him like a knife. The Demon Queen of the Amazon shouldn’t be this scared. It physically hurt him, and all he could think about was making it better.

  He let the pile of stuff drop, not even caring that it scattered on the floor. He stepped forward, hands out with his palms toward her.

  “Hey there. You okay?” The growling eased, and she stared at him with those gorgeous eyes, the tip of her tail twitching.

  He kept moving, very slowly, speaking softly and trying not to spook her. What had he done that scared her so much?

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I did, but whatever it was, I didn’t mean it. Can you Change and talk to me?”

  She made those noises again, low and distressed.

  “Okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to Change. You’re fine. You’re beautiful.”

  He reached the edge of the futon and knelt. She didn’t attack. She didn’t move.

  “Can I touch you?”

  The noises in her throat stopped, and her eyes widened. Fear? Surprise?

  What the hell. He could probably get out the door and make it to the car before she killed him.

  He reached out one hand and rubbed it lightly up the side of her face.

  No bite. No claws.

  Tentatively, he stroked the fur between her ears. So soft. He ran his hand down her head and neck, smoothing the bristling fur.

  When she didn’t try to kill him, he did it again, and again, trying to soothe her with his touch. Gradually he felt the skin and muscles relax.

  But he still hurt inside. From the pain of her running, from the pain of knowing he’d done something wrong.

  He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted. Except his heart still felt raw and sore and needy, and he longed for a gentle touch. A human touch.

  He stilled his hand. “Can I tell you something?” he said softly.

  She turned her head and stared at him, then lowered her body until she was lying on the futon. He took that for a ‘yes.’

  He gave a self-conscious laugh, pulling his hands back into his lap. Out of habit, he found a quarter in his jacket pocket, and started spinning it between his fingers.

  “You scare the hell out of me, you know that?” he said. “And not just because you’re so beautiful, and so badass. And could probably tear me apart.” Her tail twitched, but she was still watching him. Still listening.

  “But because… shit.”

  Man up, Jameson, he told himself.

  “Because you’re so out of my league,” he said in a rush. “I kind of used to fantasize about you, about talking to you, asking you out, having wild amazing sex with you somewhere that wasn’t the back of a truck. And even with all that, what just happened a little while ago was so way more amazing than I ever imagined.”

  She was still watching him intently, and he just babbled on. It was a relief to have somebody to talk to. He was so fucking tired of being ostracized, being lonely, carrying so much all by himself. He was a wolf, made to be in a pack.

  He was never meant to be alone.

  “Truthfully,” he said, staring down at his scratched-up arms, “my life pretty much sucks right now. You might have noticed that I’m not a fan favorite in the Nashville pack. I don’t know how jaguars feel about their crews, but for wolves… well, the pack bond is everything. If your pack hates you, it hurts you … here.”

  He put his fist over his heart.

  “But every time I’m around you, every time you touch me, I start to feel better. Like that weight on my chest is lifted, and I can breathe again.”

  He shifted his weight on the futon and looked into her eyes. “I want to know what this is, what I feel when we’re together. I want to know if you feel it too.”

  He wished to hell he was getting some reaction from her. Something to tell him if she even cared what he was saying.

  “You’re the first good thing that’s happened to me in a really long time. And I get you have your own shit going on. But I thought…”

  He trailed off, dropping his head into his hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. This was going nowhere. He was talking to a fucking cat. He shoved his hair back and got to his feet.

  “Ah, fuck it,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything. You already helped me more than I deserved. And whatever I felt tonight… you obviously didn’t.”

  He walked to the door. “Thanks for helping me get my money back. You’ll never know how much that meant.” He felt like his heart was ripping apart. She didn’t care. She never would. “Have a nice life, Demazon.”

  He was already stepping outside when he heard the soft ‘pops’ of bones breaking, and then Jasmin’s low, gravelly voice.


  “Don’t go.”

  Chapter 10

  Brody stopped halfway out the door. Jasmin waited, crouched on the bed, naked and vulnerable.

  This was crazy. She should just let him go. He was a wolf—a Nashville wolf—and whatever either one of them had felt in the back of that truck, this couldn’t ever be anything.

  But she still couldn’t let him walk out, looking so lost and hopeless. It made her chest hurt inside.

  “You can stay for a while. If you want.”

  He turned around, gazing at her with those gorgeous blue-green eyes. They showed everything he was feeling. Pain and defeat. Fear, loneliness, anger. And a tiny bit of hope.

  He looked afraid to hope. She didn’t want him to be afraid.

  “Don’t go.” It was a whisper this time.

  He closed the door and leaned against it. The dim light played off his chiseled cheekbones, and the muscles in his legs flexed inside his jeans. She could still feel the touch of those long-fingered hands on her skin. It made her shiver.

  His face was tight and closed. He didn’t know his eyes were giving him away.

  “Why did you run?” he demanded. “We had something. You must have felt it. It was like—” He broke off, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and clenching them into fists. “Shit,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

  “It was like something exploded inside me. You woke up feelings I haven’t had in—hell, you woke up things I’ve never felt. It has to mean something.”

  She didn’t answer—she couldn’t. Too many feelings were swirling around inside her, blocking her throat, choking off her voice. He sighed, and something inside him seemed to crumble.

  He looked up at her, his voice desolate. “I just want one thing in my fucked-up life to mean something.”

  Brody hurts. Make it stop. Her jag was getting frantic again, like she had when he almost walked out.

  Without thinking, Jasmin got up off the futon and crossed the room, pressing herself against him, resting her head on his chest and encircling him with her arms.