by Kate Douglas
Anton stood up, his lithe body moving with the grace of a dancer. He stared intently at Xandi, his amber eyes glowing with desire, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile. “I feel as if I’ve been caught at my own game.” He shook his head as he placed both hands on Xandi’s shoulders. “It’s not a game, though, Alexandria. Do you mean what you say? Your scent is driving me wild. Thank God Stefan stopped me tonight, or I would have raped you without any thought to your humanity, to your own needs and desires. Right now, if Stefan and I hadn’t exhausted ourselves fuc—making love—I’d be ripping this robe from your shoulders and driving into you whether you wanted me or not.”
“Ah, but I do want you.” Xandi wrapped her arms around Anton’s neck and stood on her toes to kiss him. “Only I want you on my terms, in my way…at least this first time. I take my role as the alpha female quite seriously.” She tested the seam of his full lips with the tip of her tongue, plunging inside when he parted for her. His arms tightened around her back, and she felt the huge bulge of his cock pressing against her belly.
This was not Stefan, yet the need she felt, the desire for Anton, was almost identical. She dipped her shoulder so that he could tug her robe off of her, and when she was completely nude, she posed before him, her body offering the kind of lush invitation she knew he needed.
Anton felt as if he’d entered some sort of dream state. For five long years he had thought only of Stefan, of the torment the young magician suffered because of his unwillingness to learn, of his own almost visceral sexual reaction every time he was close to the younger man. Their confrontation a mere week ago had left him dissatisfied, angry over his own loss of control. He’d not been able to read Stefan’s true feelings, had hoped like hell he hadn’t broken the other man’s will or, even worse, made an enemy of one of the very few left of their kind.
Now this woman, this perfect, sensual, intelligent woman, not only embraced the beast within him, but within herself as well. His mouth moved over hers. His hands stroked the smooth, satiny flesh of her back. She was perfect. She was everything he’d dreamed of.
She was Chanku. He fought the urge to shift, to take her as a wolf.
He controlled his need, subjugated it to her will. She had offered herself in her human form. He must honor that, no matter how difficult. He ran his hands along her smooth back and sighed against her mouth. It was a truly pleasing form, this human body of hers.
Her hands slipped across the front of his shirt and shoved it back over his shoulders. He quickly shrugged out of it, then shoved his pants off. But he’d forgotten about his shoes. Laughing, feeling ridiculous and silly, he ended up on his butt, looking up at Alexandria.
This view wasn’t bad at all. She stood before him, legs spread wide, hands on hips, fighting a smile and pretending to glare down at him while he sat on the floor all tangled in his pants. The fleshy lips of her pussy pouted between the neatly trimmed thatch of auburn curls, and her scent caught his nostrils, her essence arousing in the extreme.
Almost in a trance, he felt the smile leave his lips as he shoved his pants and shoes off his feet in one swift motion, then leaned over to taste her with his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he ran his tongue lightly across the soft flesh of her belly, but she moaned aloud when he swept over the tiny protruding clit, barely peeking out of the mat of soft hair.
She was hot. So damned hot. And her flavor was sweet and succulent, seasoned with the essence of her time, her heat. He lapped at the thick labia, licking and sucking at her swollen flesh, well aware when her arousal loosed the lubricating fluids, readying her for their joining.
Her legs trembled, and her hands clenched tightly in his hair. Shaking himself free of her grip, Anton stood up and grabbed her in his arms, lifting her off her feet as if she weighed nothing at all. She looped her slim arms around his neck and smiled at him.
He carried her to the long couch in front of the fire and stretched her out on a soft afghan. She was perfect, a woman unlike any he’d ever known. A female of his own species.
Alexandria smiled at him, held her arms up to welcome him. Anton settled himself between her legs, and his cock was so hard and sensitive it felt alien to him, as if some other entity had empowered him with this sense of lust, of deep, carnal desire for a woman of his kind.
For Alexandria. Gone were thoughts of Stefan, of any other partners he might have known over his past fifty years. There was only Alexandria and her pouting lips, her pussy welcoming him, begging him to enter.
When he angled his cock to meet her, when he touched her moist center, he almost wept. This was the feeling he’d wanted, the knowledge he’d begged for. For all his power as wizard, as wolf, as mentor and as Master, this was the one thing that had eluded him—the perfect match of male and female, of alpha wolf and mate.
In the back of his mind, he knew she belonged to Stefan, but she was granting him this time, this moment, without thought of any other male. Anton found entrance and thrust hard and deep, then held himself there, deeply entrenched in her hot, wet passage, his cock squeezed by her strong vaginal muscles, his senses overwhelmed by the scent of her heat, her season, this time she shared with him.
This was what it truly meant to be part of the pack, to be one with the alpha female. He wanted to weep, to bow his head in thanks for such a gift, but he withdrew slowly and filled her once again. She lifted her hips, welcoming him, and he found his rhythm, their rhythm, until the only sounds were the slick slap of belly to pubis, of his breath and hers, of soft moans, slight gasps, the rush of her heart, the pounding in his, and they crested, both of them finding completion together, joined in a single heartbeat, a final thrust, a single sigh and a groan.
Almost in a trance, Anton held himself over Alexandria, his hips pressed tightly between her legs, his cock deeply embedded in her welcoming pussy. Her muscles spasmed around him in a sweet rhythm, and he felt his seed filling her. There would be no young. He accepted that. She was pledged to Stefan. Knowing that, he accepted her gift and honored it. She would be a true leader, one who welcomed all to the pack.
He let his arms go loose and fell to one side. Alexandria cupped his face in her palm, leaned close and kissed him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.” She nuzzled his cheek with hers, ran her lips across his throat. They lay together as their heartbeats slowed, as their breathing returned to normal. Finally Alexandria raised herself up on one elbow and kissed him. “I need to get some sleep,” she said. “It’s been a long day. Come with me, please. The bed is large, and I know Stefan is waiting.”
Anton leaned back. He had to see her, had to know she wasn’t teasing him.
Her gray eyes stared back intently. He shifted to one side and sat up. Alexandria slipped from beneath him and grabbed his hand. There was no subterfuge, no sense of jealousy, nothing to make him feel anything beyond loved. Wanted.
Anton squeezed Alexandria’s fingers and rose to stand beside her. She tugged his hand, led him up the stairs and along the hallway to their bedroom. The room where Stefan waited for both of them.
Better than any dream he might have had, more potent than any fantasy…this was real. This was the way he had hoped it would happen—had hoped but had never dreamed. Squeezing his fingers around Alexandria’s small hand, Anton followed her to Stefan.
PART THREE
Anton
Chapter 11
Anton came fully awake between one heartbeat and the next. He lay still in the darkness, surrounded by the warmth of the two people he loved most in the world. Stefan curled beside him in wolven form, while Alexandria, all warm and sensual woman, sprawled across his lower torso. Her soft lips, slightly parted in sleep, rested against his belly.
Anton listened to the steady beat of hearts, the comforting rush of blood through veins, and knew something else had dragged him from slumber, some shift in the air, some sense of disquiet in his mind.
Almost two weeks of odd, intermittent dreaming. Now three nights in a row
. He couldn’t blame three nights of strange dreams on Oliver’s cooking.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, shifted his senses beyond the human range, to grasp the part of him that always remained the wolf.
Nothing.
A lingering sense of unease, the visceral memory of a terrible scream? He wasn’t sure. The sensation passed, his eyelids grew heavy. He stroked Alexandria’s tousled hair, rested his other hand on Stefan’s furred shoulder and willed his body back to sleep.
Keisha Rialto stared at her clasped hands and tried desperately to believe her therapist. The woman’s soft voice, trained to soothe and comfort, rolled across her tense shoulders without any of the desired effect.
“The dreams are a manifestation of your anger, your fear…and your pain. You’ve blotted out the worst of the attack. That’s how the mind protects us. You didn’t kill those men, Keisha, no matter what your subconscious wants you to believe.”
Dr. Wilson, the therapist, leaned closer and placed a comforting hand on Keisha’s shoulder. “We’re dealing with two separate incidents. Your beating and rape had nothing to do with the fact a rival gang chose that particular time to attack the men who harmed you. Though unintentional, that very attack may have saved your life. You were an unfortunate witness to a brutal triple homicide, but no matter how empowering it might be for you to believe it, you’re not the one who killed the men who assaulted you. They were killed by vicious dogs, animals trained as weapons.”
Dr. Wilson paused, and her choking swallow was audible in the small room, her voice barely a whisper. “Horrible, vicious dogs.”
Keisha raised her head and caught the look of horror on the therapist’s face. She knew the woman had seen police photos of the apartment, knew exactly how awful the scene had been. Dr. Wilson must be remembering those pictures now. The carnage was imprinted on Keisha’s mind with a stark clarity she’d not been able to forget, images of the torn and bloodied bodies of three men, the men who had held her captive and repeatedly raped her, who had subjected her to unimaginable atrocities over a twelve-hour period.
She’d barely regained consciousness when the police broke through the door, yet the images of those eviscerated, mutilated bodies were burned into her mind. The room covered in gore, herself a battered, bloody mess, her once tightly braided hair hanging in blood-soaked tangles around her face. The police were amazed the dogs hadn’t touched her. They’d killed her attackers in what had to have been a maelstrom of terror without harming Keisha.
The images were the things of nightmares, but her nightmares were worse. In her dreams, she was the killer. Each night she replayed the same visuals—of herself rising up, turning on her attackers, changing into a huge rampaging wolf, an intelligent agent of death, all claws and teeth and powerful muscle.
She still tasted the hot blood, felt the joy of the kill, the thrilling satisfaction of strong teeth tearing throats, of powerful jaws ripping apart the bodies of the ones who had hurt her. Each night she repeated the heinous acts, acts made no more acceptable by the fact the men had practically killed her with their assault.
She gestured frantically at the therapist. “I know what you’re saying must be true, but the dreams aren’t going away. If anything, they’ve become clearer, more graphic…more like a memory than a dream.” Keisha grabbed the doctor’s hand and held on as if to a lifeline, her coffee-brown fingers a stark contrast to the other woman’s pale flesh. “Last night I awakened in the garden. I was naked, and there were scratches on my arms and legs. Scratches, as if I’d been running through thick brush. I have vivid memories of streaking through Golden Gate Park—only I wasn’t human. I was a wolf.”
Dr. Wilson blinked in surprise and stared down at their clasped hands. “Goodness! You haven’t mentioned somnambulism, though sleepwalking isn’t uncommon during periods of extreme stress. Has this happened before?”
Keisha slowly released her grip on the therapist’s hand. “I don’t know for sure. At least two other nights. I don’t know anything anymore. Look at my hair!”
Her expression one of pure confusion, the woman stared at Keisha. “What about your hair?”
“I have it braided by a professional. It’s supposed to last for at least a couple of weeks. The mornings after I dream, the braids are undone. It’s always been very curly, but it’s getting straighter. It’s longer. What’s happening to me? What am I going to do?”
Blinking owlishly, obviously at a loss for words, the doctor glanced down at her notes. “Have you gone back to work?”
Keisha felt the subtle withdrawal, the woman’s struggle to remain professional.
“I see you’re a licensed landscape architect. You have your masters degree in…” She paused a moment, reading through her notes. “Ah, here it is—landscape architecture and design, with a strong background in botany.” Dr. Wilson smiled gently at Keisha and took a firm hold of both her hands. “You’ve spent seven years training for your profession, so you must obviously love what you do. I would think the beauty of working with growing plants and flowers would be every bit as healing as talking to me. It’s going to take time, dear. I can’t ask you to forget an event that’s obviously too powerful to be forgotten, but I can ask you to accept the fact your life was spared, that you’re mentally strong and in good physical health. Your body is recovering. Your mind will heal as well, and at some point the dreams will go away.” She patted Keisha’s hand. “I want you to work on those exercises I gave you. Keep a record of any other nocturnal events that might occur. Just jot down whatever you recall when you awaken.” Dr. Wilson sat back and folded her hands in her lap, a sign their session had ended. “We’ll talk again next week.”
Keisha stood silently on the corner of Polk and Van Ness in the heart of San Francisco and waited for the bus. People of all ages passed by on either side, some smiling in her direction, others brushing past as if she didn’t exist. They didn’t know. None of them knew what horror she’d seen, what fears still filled her heart.
She knew she looked perfectly normal, knew she projected an air of success, of control. She’d better—she worked damned hard at it. Anyone who noticed her would see an attractive young woman of color, tall and slim, dressed in a neat navy blue pantsuit, her shoes and bag perfectly coordinated and obviously expensive, her hair tightly braided and ending in a neat little bun at the nape of her neck.
Not a hair out of place. Everything under control.
Professional, successful…normal.
Little did they know.
Dr. Wilson said she would heal. She’d have to if she wanted more than a pale imitation of life.
The bus pulled to a stop, and Keisha climbed on board. She paid her fare and moved to an empty seat near the middle of the bus. A supermarket tabloid lay on the seat, and she shoved the newspaper to one side.
The graphic photo and even more graphic headline leapt out at her, left her skin clammy and her heart pounding a staccato beat. Werewolves Kill Rapists, Spare Victim.
The photo covered the top half of the front page, with the snarling visage of a rabid wolf superimposed over the grainy black-and-white. Keisha recognized it immediately and knew it must be a picture from the police files. The faces and torn throats of the men were obscured, but it was obvious they’d been badly mutilated before they died. There was little to identify the location. She didn’t need any more than this.
Keisha would never, not for the rest of her life, forget the filthy apartment where three men had died an unspeakable death.
The same place where Keisha Rialto lost her soul.
Alexandria Olanet stretched herself awake, eyes narrowing against the bright sunlight streaming through the window blinds. She reached for the man beside her and found thick, coarse fur instead. The huge wolf raised his head, amber eyes twinkling in the morning light. With a wide yawn, he rolled over on his back and stretched.
Front legs rippled and took form, becoming hands. Back legs lengthened, shifted, until they were sleek and muscul
ar, with long, narrow feet. Finally, the wolven head slowly morphed into the human visage of the man Xandi loved most of all.
She leaned over and placed a very chaste kiss on Stefan Aragat’s lips, a kiss that shifted, just as his body had done so easily, into something deeper, more sensual.
Something hungry and demanding. Stefan’s lips were warm and mobile beneath hers, his tongue searching, exploring the space between her lips and teeth, tangling with her tongue and finding a rhythm that mimicked the lovemaking that had kept them busy most of the night.
Busy with Anton.
Xandi pulled slowly away from Stefan. “Where’s Anton?”
“I’m here.”
Both Stefan and Xandi turned as one. Anton lounged in the open door, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, his soft denim jeans hugging his slim hips and muscular thighs. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, a newspaper in the other.
Xandi rose up on one elbow and smiled. “You’re up early.”
Stefan leaned over and nipped her shoulder. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Please, Anton.” Xandi held her hand out to the wizard.
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head and smiled with the expression of a man who has willingly lost his battle. He set his coffee and the newspaper on the bedside table, slowly eased out of his shirt, then unzipped his jeans and slipped them down over his hips.
Xandi licked her lips as his dark thatch of pubic hair came into view, then the solid length of his partially erect cock. Damn…so beautiful! His body was all silk and steel, smooth skin over taut muscles, the body of a predator.
She’d tasted him last night. She’d tasted Stefan as well, two men of very similar appearances but totally different flavors. Stefan was fire and hot spice, while Anton reminded her of dark forests and musky woods.