Dashing into the bathroom, she did a quick make up job, combed her hair and checked out her reflection. Deciding she looked as well as could be expected on such short notice, she left the bathroom, grabbed up her sandals and studied them critically. Wear them? Go barefoot?
She didn’t relish the idea of climbing down a rose covered trellis barefoot. She wasn’t at all certain she could negotiate it in shoes, however. Finally, she decided she was just going to have to do battle with the rose canes if she wanted to party.
Nigel fucking Francoeur sure as hell wasn’t planning on letting her have any fun!
Moving to the window once more, she struggled with the screen and finally managed to get it off. Unfortunately, she dropped it. "Shit!" she exclaimed, leaning out the window to look down at the screen on the ground below.
Sighing irritably, she tossed her sandals out. She didn’t know how she was going to get the damn screen back up, but she decided she’d worry about that later.
Hoisting a leg over the sill, she felt around with her toe until she found a V in the trellis. Slowly, she eased her weight down on it, listening for a telltale crack that would mean disaster. It seemed to be holding, however, and after a moment, she leaned her weight on the window sill and worked her other leg out, clinging to the molding while she felt around for another foothold.
Her heart was in her throat by that time, threatening to suffocate her. She swallowed with an effort. "Whoo hoo!" she muttered weakly. "Par-ty!"
Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Ignoring the sensation, she allowed herself to slip slowly over the sill while she searched for another foothold below the one she had. It took her almost fifteen minutes to work herself loose from the window sill. Finally, she focused on her fingers and uncurled them from the molding and placed one hand on the trellis, and then the other, closing her eyes.
When the trellis didn’t immediately utter an ominous crack and separate from the wall, she began working her way downwards.
She knew how a Chihuahua felt. Every muscle in her body seemed to be trembling, with both strain and abject terror.
She was nearly halfway down the trellis before she encountered the rose bush.
She yelped, but the noise of the party had grown to such proportions, she seriously doubted anyone heard anything. Nudging the thorny cane out of the way, she managed to negotiate her way down another few feet before she realized the bush was so thick there was no way in hell she was going to be able to climb over it without looking like she’d just been through a meat grinder.
Turning her head, she stared down at the ground, trying to decide just how far it was. It still looked like a long way down, but she thought she probably wasn’t that high. Rose bushes didn’t really grow that tall--she didn’t think.
She almost lost her grip and fell off when she looked up to see how far she was from the window. It scared her so badly, all she could do was cling to the trellis for several minutes and quake like a Chihuahua on cocaine.
Finally, she took several calming breaths and slowly turned. She wasn’t about to jump backwards!
She couldn’t turn completely around either.
Deciding that the longer she delayed the more likely she was to completely lose her nerve, she closed her eyes, counted to ten and leapt. Miraculously, she landed on her feet. Unfortunately, the impact shot pain through her feet as if she’d landed on a bed of nails. Yelping, she surged upward, pin wheeled, and landed on her ass--right in the middle of the window screen.
"Shit!"
A dark shadow fell over her.
She looked up guiltily--right into the unsmiling face of Nigel Francoeur.
Nigel glared at the woman, infuriated by her recklessness. Surging forward, he grabbed her beneath the arms, hauling her to her feet and shoving her against the wall just past the thick rose bush.
"Hey!" she gasped as he stood her up. He blocked her with one arm when she tried to move past him. She turned in the other direction and he brought his other arm up, locking her in place.
She sank back against the wall, glaring at him, but her eyes widened when he leaned forward. "You can’t begin to imagine how far out of your depth you are here, petite. I’ve neither the time nor the patience to play games with you, but I will tell you this—you put yourself in danger to defy me."
It was actually probably the stupidest thing that she’d ever done in her life, next to coming in the first place—and the only time she’d ever been stupid enough to do anything like that. Somehow, however, the invasion of her personal space and the threat in his stance, his voice, and his words made her react instinctively to the threat, rather than rationally. She slapped him.
She was horrified the moment she did.
She was more horrified when she saw the heat that blazed in his eyes.
Before she could do more than gasp in an instinctual gulp of air to scream, he enveloped her mouth with his own in an assault of such savage hunger her heart felt as if it was going to beat itself to death against her rib cage. She managed a whimper of distress before his tongue invaded her mouth and assaulted her senses with his taste, with the essence that was him—primal, savage, wild—and her brain simply overheated and shut down. She felt as if she had stepped off unwarily into a vortex of fiery, carnal need that was sucking her down into an abyss of blackness.
When he withdrew, he was gasping hoarsely, his eyes glittering with raw need, his body shaking with the effort to hold it in check.
Cher found that she was trembling with weakness, so dizzy and disoriented she was certain if she hadn’t been braced against the wall she would have wilted to the ground like a deflating rubber doll the moment he released her.
Before she could gather her wits about her, he grasped her and tossed her over his shoulder. The impact of his broad shoulder on her belly knocked the breath from her, effectively rousing her from her stupor. "Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, trying to lever herself upright.
Instead of answering, he gave her a resounding slap on the ass.
That stunned her with outrage long enough that he’d hooked a foot on the trellis before she realized what his intention was. The gasp, begun in outrage, ended in a squeak of sheer terror as he scaled the trellis with stunning agility and the ground dropped away from her bulging eyes.
Her reentry through the window was far more terrifying than her exit had been. Even worse, he stepped through the window behind her.
She stared at him warily for several moments. He still looked incredibly dangerous, and—her feeble mind informed her—sexy. Or maybe it was only that she could still feel his mouth? Taste him?
It pissed her off almost as much as the fact that he’d scared the living shit out of her. "You can not keep me a prisoner in this damned room!" she snarled at him.
His eyes narrowed. His face hardened. "Have you listened to nothing that I have said?"
She glared back at him. "What? The ‘Stay! Sit! Down!’ commands you’ve been issuing? I’m getting mixed signals here," she said sarcastically.
He took a step toward her. She stepped back without even thinking about it. "Look! Why don’t we just call a truce, huh? I mean, I can see I probably shouldn’t have come, but, honestly, I didn’t see that there’d be a problem--anyway, I’m here now and I can’t go back until the ferry comes, so.…" She broke off when she bumped into the door. She didn’t have to look around. The door knob hit her in the middle of the back.
She stepped to one side. He matched her side step, placing a palm against the door and blocking her retreat. Before she could try to side step in the other direction, his heat enveloped as he leaned toward her, crowding her.
She pressed her back against the door, but she had no where to go. Before she quite knew what was happening, she felt the pressure of his body against her entire length. His cock felt like a burning log against her belly—huge and hot. It took an effort to catch her breath as he undulated his body against hers--tipping his hips up and forward so that
that rock hard length of mind blowing flesh bumped her mound, sending sparks of heat through her—brushing his chest across hers so that her nipples were trying to drill holes in his hard pecs. Wet heat instantly saturated her labia, as if her body sensed that he would pound into her at any moment.
Just the though of enveloping that thickness inside her made her inner muscles spasm with pleasure.
He dipped his head and she thought she might actually pass out as the heat of his breath fanned across her face. Her lips tingled, as if she could already feel the pressure of his mouth. Her mouth watered as she remembered the feel and taste and texture of his tongue. She swallowed convulsively.
"You’re asking for something, chere, that you may not want," he murmured huskily, his lips almost, but not quite, brushing against hers, his heated gaze making promises that had her pussy quaking in anticipation.
Abruptly, he stepped back. She gazed at him in surprise and disappointment.
Something flickered in his eyes. He frowned, looking away. "I’ll be putting you on the first ferry Monday morning," he said, his voice sounding harsh with disuse. "Until then, sit tight."
Cher blinked at him as he fished a key out of his pocket. Stepping out of the way as he reached for the lock, she simply stared at him while he unlocked it and stepped through the opening, closing the door behind him and locking it once more.
She was still staring at the door in bemusement when the sound of his retreating footsteps faded away. He had kissed her into mindless oblivion--rubbed that delicious body all over her until she was melting, wallowing in his scent like a cat high on catnip—and then he’d just stopped. Cool as you please! "Asshole!" she said angrily.
And she was back in the room again! A prisoner, again! She paced the room furiously for several minutes and finally moved to the window again, wondering if she quite dared make another try for it.
He thought he’d cowed her with all that macho, male chauvinistic bullshit.
Actually, he had cowed her. The thought of climbing down the trellis and meeting up with him again was almost as terrifying as it was tempting.
The door opened while she was staring down at the yard below, enacting a mental scenario of meeting up with him and being thrown to the ground and fucked senseless. Her head snapped around. Her eyes widened guiltily when she saw it was Nigel.
He had a hammer in his hand and she scurried away from the window, hovering in the corner while she watched him warily to see what he had in mind. Ignoring her, he strode to the window, dug a handful of nails from his pocket and proceeded to nail the window shut.
She gaped at him in disbelief.
"You’re nailing the window shut!" she gasped.
He sent her a look and finished what he was doing. Without a word, he turned and strode from the room again.
Cher shivered. What the hell was going on? Locking her in? Nailing the window shut? This went just a lit-tle bit beyond what she figured she might expect for gate crashing.
She frowned. Ok, well, obviously this wasn’t one of those little real-estate jaunts like she’d expected, but it couldn’t be a private party either since her friend had gotten the invitation and she hadn’t known the guy.
She was almost ready to cross the guy off as totally whack-o, but, despite the things he’d done, he didn’t strike her as a mental case. Something was going on and he thought she needed protecting. He was the host. Whatever the something was, he would certainly know.
A drug free for all? They were going to do ecstasy and have a wild sex orgy?
Because it sure as hell sounded like a regular old party going on down there to her. Well, a little wilder than a regular party, she supposed.
Still, she hadn’t seen a thing that might suggest there was anything sinister about this place. It had looked like a really posh vacation getaway, but when all was said and done, just a vacation getaway.
Maybe Nigel knew of Sheri? Didn’t actually know her personally, but did know about her through some of her friends? And he’d freaked when she’d shown up because he didn’t know her at all and thought she might be a narc or something?
That actually made a little more sense than she liked. The way they were partying down there seemed a little excessive for regular old alcohol induced freedom from inhibition. They were baying now, for chissake!
Frowning, she moved to the window once more, wondering if maybe the reason she could hear them better was because the party had spilled around the side of the house.
The full moon had risen above the trees when she reached the window and peered out. The lawn below was bathed in its light. Sure enough, the party had moved around within plain view of her window now, and she could see dozens of men milling about.
Nigel stood in the center of the group. Almost as if he sensed her watching, he looked up at that moment and, despite the distance, she felt as if his gaze locked with hers for several heartbeats.
Unnervingly, about a dozen or so other men also looked up toward her.
Cher wasn’t exactly certain why it was, but the moment she realized she’d attracted the interest of at least a dozen of the men milling about on the lawn below, the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end.
It might have had something to do with the fact that, after staring at her for several frantic heart palpitations, they whirled upon Nigel and their body language was definitely both hostile and challenging.
Chapter Three
"What’s this?" Rocco demanded, his voice low and threatening.
"Looks to me like our host has got a female tucked away all for himself," Zeke growled.
Brandis snarled. "You know the rules, Nigel. You’ve got no right to withhold one from the hunt."
Nigel dragged his gaze from the woman’s pale face with an effort. The little fool, he thought angrily. He couldn’t protect her now that they’d seen her. The pack would tear him apart if he tried and take her anyway. Their beasts were already upon them. They wouldn’t care that she wasn’t one of them, that she didn’t belong in the hunt. He forced a feral smile. "Mes amis! You misjudge me. It was never my intention to withhold her, only to present her when the time was right. But, since you are all so impatient, I will go and get her now."
He strode briskly toward the house, aware even as he did that a number of the pack, no doubt distrustful of his motives, detached themselves from the others and moved around the perimeter of the house to watch the exits. Several followed him, as well.
Ignoring them, he walked briskly through the house and up the stairs, surreptitiously fishing the key from his pocket as he walked. He had a slight lead on them by the time he reached the door to her room, but not much.
Unlocking the door, he strode quickly across the room. She was staring at him, wide eyed with fear, as if she had sensed, finally, that she was in grave danger. He grasped her upper arms, leaning close and spoke quickly in a low voice. "Don’t ask any questions. Do exactly as I say. When you’re told to run you must go to the old storm shelter and stay there. Take the path through the woods toward the rising moon. When you reach the fork in the path you will see an oak about six feet in diameter. Swing to your right, away from the fork and go into the woods twenty paces. The door is in the ground, covered with leaves. Go inside and lock yourself in and whatever happens, do not unlock the door. Understand?"
Cher nodded shakily. "The storm shelter in the woods."
He flashed her a brief smile. "Good girl."
He turned as he heard the two men who’d followed him come into the room, holding her tightly by one arm. "As you see."
The two men looked her over almost … hungrily. Cher shivered, glancing at Nigel.
Without another word, he escorted her from the room, down the stairs and out into the night.
An eerie quiet had fallen over the group gathered in the yard. It wasn’t a calm sort of silence, however, but rather it seemed to shiver with tension, as if everyone who stood on the lawn were only waiting for a signal to launch into action.
/> To Cher’s surprise, Nigel escorted her to the center of the group, then released her and stepped away. Nervous, she looked around. A wide circle had been cleared at the center of the group. In the circle with her stood four other women. Beyond the opening, several dozen men crowded shoulder to shoulder, their faces taut, their eyes gleaming.
Cher swallowed with a gulp and glanced at the women, wondering if they were as unnerved as she was. She saw that they were studying her almost as intently as the men were, though their faces were filled with suspicion and maybe even a little hostility.
They looked like—gymnasts—lean, taut.
She suddenly felt like a marshmallow—soft and squishy in all the wrong places, although she wasn’t entirely certain why. She kept in shape. She had a good figure, by damn. Maybe she wasn’t as taut as these snotty females, but she wasn’t a blob either.
"Most of you who have come for the gathering have been before and know the rules. For those of you who do not, they are simple:
The females will be given a fifteen minute head start.
The male who catches her can only claim her for his mate if he is strong enough, and determined enough to face any who challenge him for the woman.
Once a male has marked his female, however, she is his by Lycan law and no one may challenge him for his mate."
Cher stared at him blankly. He might as well have been speaking Swahili for all the sense she could make of it. He couldn’t, surely, mean that she–they--were supposed to try to outrun this pack of men? She glanced around at the other women and saw that they looked as stunned and horrified as she felt—obviously they hadn’t known they were on the menu either.
Outrun them to where? For how long? They were on a fucking island for chrissake!
She glanced nervously at the men and saw that a good half dozen had begun to inch forward into the circle—they almost seemed to be—sniffing her, like they were trying to get her scent.
Exactly what the hell was a Lycan, anyway?
Dark and Dangerous Page 2