Shadow of the Wolf hd-1

by Dana Marie Eberharter

  She felt his smile against her skin. “I know. I was there, remember?”

  She licked her lips, ignoring the way his mouth was tickling her skin. “So you still think I’m the one the spell called?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He nibbled, sharp teeth gently scraping against her. “I know you are.”

  She lifted her shoulder, dislodging that distracting, totally tempting mouth. “How do you know?”

  He shifted their joined hands and touched the emerald ring.

  Warmth flowed up her arm, twining around them both like a sleek silken rope. Her magic flared inside her, meeting and answering the call of the spell, allowing it to settle inside her. She felt the brush of his cock against her ass and moaned.

  His quickly indrawn breath let her know he felt the spell settle into place, joining them with invisible bonds. “I know.” He turned her, pulling her against him, cradling her between his legs and lifting her onto the worktable. “And so do you.”

  “Chris—”

  She didn’t get anything else out. His mouth descended onto hers in a ravishing kiss.

  One broad hand buried itself in her hair, holding her head right where he wanted it. He fucked her mouth with his tongue, owning it in a way no other man ever had. The other cradled her hip, pulling her to the edge of the table, enabling him to thrust his jean-clad erection against her throbbing pussy.

  Power, seduction, heat, all poured off of him, settling into her with incredible force.

  She’d never felt such craving for another person before. She trembled with it. Without thought her legs splayed wide to accommodate his hips. Reaching out to steady herself, her fingers brushed against the emerald ring. Desire flooded through her, hot and wet and throbbing.

  She tried to take control of the kiss, her only thought to satisfy the pure want coursing through her. She could feel her nipples beading painfully under her bra.

  “Fuck, need you.” Chris nipped his way down her throat, gently biting her nipple through her shirt. He thrust against her, his hardness taunting her under the barrier of their jeans. He reached desperately for the hem of her shirt, and fuck if she didn’t help, grabbing the edge and ripping it over her head, exposing her white cotton bra. With a groan he bent to her, taking her into his mouth, sucking her nipples one at a time until she was groaning and thrusting up against him.

  * * *

  He matched her move for move, mock-fucking her against the table, never letting her nipples out of his mouth. The sensation was incredible, intense beyond belief. Her hands clenched, her body tense with anticipation. She was so damn close to orgasm she wanted to scream. She barely registered the round hard object in her hand. “Fuck me, please God, fuck me.”

  With a growl he pulled free. His expression was wild, his eyes, those incredible golden eyes nearly swallowed by the pupils. He yanked desperately at her jeans, tugging them down her legs, pausing half way down to lick her pussy through her cotton panties.

  “So good.” He shoved the panties aside and rasped his tongue against her clit. “You taste so fucking good.”

  He ate her out, licking and sucking her into his mouth until she was fucking his face, desperate to come. She reached towards him and grabbed his head, holding him steady.

  The pressure built and built until she arched into his mouth with a cry that barely sounded human.

  Her panties and jeans hit the floor before she’d completely come down from one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever experienced. Her eyes were still crossed when he yanked down his zipper and pulled out an impressive cock, stroking it once or twice before sinking into her still quivering pussy.

  “Mine.”

  He grabbed her hips, slowly pulling out of her. He sank back in, taking his time fucking her. He was watching his cock slide into her, and she couldn’t help but look too.

  It was incredible, watching him fuck her. He pulled her to him, closer to the edge of the table, his hands clenching on her hips. Bending down he took her nipple back into his mouth and sucked just hard enough to have her moaning.

  “Chris.”

  “Hmm?”

  “God, Chris, faster. Harder.”

  She felt his smile against her breast. “Faster and harder.” He lifted up from her, his cock poised just inside her, the flared head barely brushing a spot that had her body screaming hallelujah. “Are you sure?”

  She was so close to coming she could scream. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled until they were nose to nose. “Fuck me now or you will regret it.”

  His grin was filled with male satisfaction. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He began stroking into her so hard she swore she could feel him nudging the back of her throat. Oh shit. She was going to be bruised inside and out. She’d never been fucked so hard or so well. How did he know just where to touch her, to push her? It bordered on just this side of painful, but damn if she couldn’t feel her whole body clenching around him. She was moaning, caught in the dance of their bodies, watching his face clench while he fucked her. Their eyes stayed glued to each other, neither one giving an inch while he pounded into her.

  “Come for me, little witch.”

  She gritted her teeth against the building pleasure. “You first, wolfman.”

  She automatically wrapped her legs around his hips when his hands left her. They didn’t stay gone long, however. The fingers of one hand plucked at her nipples, sending shards of exquisite pain straight to her clit. When the other hand reached down to do the same thing to her clit she damn near lost it, bucking up against him so hard she almost threw him off of her.

  She was close, so damn close, but fuck if she was going alone.

  She glared up at him in challenge and clenched her inner muscles with every ounce of will she had. He brushed her clit in just the right damn spot to have her seeing stars.

  Lana screamed, her back bowing until her head rested on the table, her entire body pulsing around him. He threw back his head and howled, pouring himself into her in agonized bliss.

  He collapsed on top of her with a groan, gasping against her neck. She could feel him still twitching inside her.

  He kissed the side of her neck gently. “Mine.”

  Lana’s eyes popped open. Oh fuck. What have I done?

  He bent, taking her mouth sweetly, gently, before letting her go with a sigh. “I think you killed me. I’m dead and in Nirvana.”

  She couldn’t help it. She giggled before she could stop herself.

  “Oh sure. Laugh at the dead man.”

  “Trust me, you’re not dead.”

  She could feel his grin tickling the side of her neck. Part of her loved the sensation.

  Another part was seriously freaked out that she’d let this happen at all.

  “How do you know?”

  She clenched her muscles, secretly pleased when he swallowed. “I can feel your, um, pulse.”

  His shoulders shook. He pushed up against her, his softening cock squishing slightly.

  “Mm. I like it when you take my pulse, Nurse Evans.”

  “I bet.” She pushed on his shoulders. “Get up, wolfman.”

  He practically purred against her shoulder. “Your wolfman.” He stood up lazily, his cock slipping from her dripping pussy. He stretched, his shirt pulling tight against his chest.

  Damn, we didn’t even get completely naked. “That’s still debatable.”

  He paused in pulling up his jeans. “It is?”

  She sat up, wincing at the tender feeling in her pussy. She was going to feel that fucking for a day or two. “One incredible orgasm does not eternal mates make.”

  “Two incredible orgasms.”

  She waved her hand, trying for nonchalance. The trembling in her hand showed how miserably she failed. “Fine, two.”

  He watched her gather her clothes and get dressed again, his frown turning into a scowl. “You accepted me.”

  “I fucked you. There’s a difference.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared right b
ack at him, trying to ignore the blush stealing over her cheeks.

  His gaze darted to her neck and, with a wince, his expression relaxed into something akin to … sorrow? “We are destined to be together, but you aren’t ready yet to accept that yet.” He took a step back, giving her room to breathe. He shook himself all over and visibly relaxed. “All right, Lana. There are other things we need to discuss anyway.”

  We’re ready! We’re ready! The butterflies were back in force and wailing up a storm. Lana did her best to ignore them. “Like?”

  “Like the fact that you’ll be staying here until I know exactly what Cole is up to.”

  Dream on, Wolfman. “Pffft. Yeah, right.”

  He blinked, shocked. “Excuse me?”

  “I have a life in Philadelphia, and spell or no spell, I’m not moving in with a man I met last night. Sorry, but if you ordered a wife in twenty minutes or less then you dialed the wrong number.”

  “He threatened your life.”

  “Yes, he did. And I know just how to handle it, too.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “How?”

  “Grammy.”

  His head tilted to the side, just like the wolf’s had the night before. “Grammy?”

  “Annabelle Evans.”

  The frown lightened. “Oh. Grammy.” He took a deep breath. “Still, I’d prefer it if you remained here.”

  “I wouldn’t.” She looked around the workroom. “You have a phone in here?”

  “Alannah.”

  “I need to go home, Chris.”

  “You are home.”

  “No. I’m in your home. I need my people around me, my things, my protections.”

  “Why?”

  Poor guy. He sounds so frustrated. Still, she wasn’t about to back down on this one.

  If he thought he’d get his way every single time, they’d have a horrible time of it.

  She tried to ignore the little voice that quivered inside her, pointing out how she’d just accepted what he’d been telling her all along. No way was she ready to deal with it yet. “Witches and wizards, remember? I need to know what’s being done to defend me.”

  He had the nerve to look offended. “You’ll have me to defend you.”

  “And since you’re a wizard I’ll understand very little of what you’re doing. Defend me all you like, but I’ll be in Philadelphia while you do it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Compromise?”

  She stepped back warily. “What kind of compromise?”

  “You want to go to Philadelphia, where your family can protect you?”

  “Yes,” she drawled, wondering what the catch was.

  “Then Philadelphia it is, where your family will protect you.” And he gave her a smug male smile that raised every hair on the back of her neck.

  Lana groaned. “Why do I have the feeling I just lost?”

  * * *

  Christopher shut the hood of Lana’s car and smiled. It was truly and sincerely dead.

  From the looks of it, the funeral was long overdue, too. “Sorry, I don’t believe I can fix it.”

  “Damn.” She bit the tip of her finger. He gave in to the urge to pull it from her mouth and kiss the small hurt. “Anywhere around here I can have it towed?”

  “Leave it. I’ll call my brothers and have them deal with it.”

  She stared at him.

  “All right. You call my brothers and have them deal with it.” He could tell she was still trying to stare him down, but it wasn’t working. She wasn’t going to get her way all the time, or they’d have an awful relationship. He handed her his cell phone and placed his hand at the small of her back. “Call Gareth, he’s the eldest. Speed dial three.” He began to guide her back to his SUV, the sleek black Equinox looking completely out of place next to her old, battered beige Volkswagen. “He’ll make sure your, um, car is taken care of.”

  She glared at him and dialed the phone. He knew the exact moment when Gareth’s voice mail came on. He’d helped his brother record it, after all. “Hello, you’ve reached Gareth Beckett. If this is important, then you know how to reach me. If it’s not important, don’t bother leaving a message.” Beep.

  Lana blinked. “Uh, hi. This is Alannah Evans. Um, your really weird brother has kidnapped me and he wants me to ask you to deal with my broken-down car. I totally understand if you want to call the cops and tell them where I’m at, which right now would be in Christopher’s black Equinox heading towards Philadelphia, Pennsylvania license plate number six one five… Damn, it hung up.”

  He snorted, amused. “I did not kidnap you.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Giving my fiancée a ride to her grandmother’s house.” Whether she liked it or not, she was his. The sex in his workroom just confirmed it for him, but until she accepted it, the spell would remain incomplete.

  “Will you stop with the fiancée stuff?”

  He smiled. “All right … mate.”

  He laughed, delighted, when she snarled at him. She waved her finger at him. “I still haven’t accepted that, you know.”

  “You will, sweetheart.”

  She ignored him, turning on the radio and staring out the window.

  It was a two hour drive from his house to Philadelphia, and almost all of it was spent in silence, listening to the radio. It wasn’t until they were on the outskirts of the city that she spoke again, giving him quiet directions to a section of the city known locally as South Philly. The brick row houses were well maintained, with wide steps or pretty brick front porches with metal railings. The occasional tree had been planted in perfect holes cut into the pavement, then surrounded by decorative bricks. The neighborhood had a very homey feel to it despite the fact that, not that far away, several stadiums had been built for the major league sports teams.

  The only problem he had was the old trolley tracks that slicked up the road. He found himself driving more to the left than he was really comfortable with. “Why don’t they cover those?”

  “Cover what?”

  He gestured out the front windshield. “The trolley tracks.”

  She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “They’re a historical monument. Look up.” He did, seeing the wires criss-crossing the road. “Those lines are trolley lines, still intact. These tracks are some of the oldest in the United States. You put a trolley down and it could still run all over Philly. Well, most of Philly.” She waved her hand. “No way would we cover those up.”

  “Oh. So you have a trolley system like San Francisco?”

  “Pfft. No, not like San Francisco. We don’t have any trolley cars.”

  He blinked. “Tracks and lines, but no cars?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Politics are a bitch. The cars were supposed to be put into use, but things keep getting in the way.” She shrugged and pointed. “Turn left here.”

  He blinked, confused, but turned anyway.

  “Okay, find a place to park.”

  He looked around. Half the potential spots had a handicapped sign right next to them. The other half were all taken. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She smirked. “Just keep looking.”

  He eventually found a spot three blocks from where she’d told him to keep looking.

  They got out and began walking. “Okay, we’re close to Oregon Avenue, which means lots of good food, some decent grocery stores, and access to most of Philly. Front Street leads to I-95, so that’s not too far away, and Broad leads to Center City and more shopping, with some theaters and stuff.” She crossed the street, vaguely checking for oncoming cars. “You ever been to the Gallery?”

  He followed, wrinkling his nose at the smell of exhaust. This was one of the many reasons he’d chosen to leave the family’s home city of Pittsburgh behind and move to a more rural area. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Huh. I’ll have to take you there.”

  He kept his smile t
o himself.

  “Anyway, we can order in some cheese steaks tonight, maybe catch a game on TV.

  You like baseball?”

  “Not so much.” He was more of a hockey fan, but saying he rooted for the Pittsburgh Penguins might get him dead in this neighborhood.

  “Oh. The Phillies are playing in town this week, so we’ll see more traffic than usual.” She strode up some steps and banged on the door. “Now play nice or I’ll put you in the dog house.”

  “Woof.”

  She snickered, but before she could reply, the door opened. A small woman with salt and pepper hair stood there in jeans and a T-shirt. Her feet were bare, and a small frilly apron was around her waist. “Alannah?”

  “Hi, Grammy. Can we come in?”

  Grammy? The five foot tall, barefoot woman was Annabelle Evans, head of one of the most powerful covens on the east coast?

  “Of course! And you’re Christopher Beckett.” Annabelle Evans held out her hand.

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Beckett.”

  He took her hand, shocked at the strength of her grip. “A pleasure, Mrs. Evans.” He ignored the tendrils of magic snaking up his arm. He knew she was merely testing his strength and his ability to take care of her granddaughter, and he didn’t blame her. He might have done the same thing himself if it was his granddaughter. Besides, if Annabelle Evans wanted him dead, she really didn’t need to touch him to do it. She was one of the strongest witches in the United States, and had the council seat to prove it.

  He followed Lana into the house, prepared to see a home done in the style of his own grandmother’s, somewhat fussy but warm and welcoming. Instead what he found was a remarkably eclectic looking home, with bright colors, modern furniture and homey little touches. The dark hardwood floors were counteracted by the traditional camel-colored sofa. The sofa faced a Spanish style TV armoire that was currently open, showing that Annabelle Evans apparently liked to watch America’s Next Top Model reruns. A coffee table, the top done in a bright mosaic of tiles, was flanked by two bright, modern turquoise chairs. The camel-colored curtains stood out against the wall color, a lighter turquoise than what was on the chairs. Looking back through an arch he could see the dining room, done in a much darker turquoise, an ebony-stained Queen Anne dining set taking up most of the space. Over the dining set was a multi-tiered sculptural chandelier made of what looked like Murano glass. Beyond that was the kitchen, and what little he could see of it told him it was done in the same mix of styles as the rest of the house. The only indication that a witch lived here was the small shelf on the wall. A plaque bearing a sun and moon melded together in a seamless, yin-yang type portrait held pride of place. It was flanked by two candles, one silver and the other gold. A wooden burner held the ashes of what smelled like jasmine incense. He couldn’t tell if she’d done spellwork there recently or simply lit the incense for the joy of it, but it still screamed “altar” to him even without the trappings he’d often seen in books or on his own altar.