Dire Wolves of London Box Set

by Carina Wilder

  “Sinead,” he began. “Listen…”

  “Brigg,” she interrupted, turning to face him. He knew that if he put a hand on her, he would feel her sadness. He could even feel it in the air around him, see it deep in her eyes. Something was troubling her. Perhaps, like him, she was reluctant to be on her own tonight.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling fine,” she said, but her eyes told him another story.

  “You’re not. Tell me. What can I do for you? How can I help?” A normal man would have reached for her, taken her hand, tried to comfort her. But he didn’t. As always, he was cold, distant. He could only hope that she understood why.

  After a moment she reached for him but he recoiled, pulling away as though from the sting of a snake’s bite. Perhaps she could sense his reluctance.

  “Brigg,” she said softly. “Won’t you tell me what made you like this?”

  “Made me like what?” he asked. Stupid question. He knew perfectly well what she meant.

  “Come, you know about me now. I told you and Cillian about my past, but you’ve told me nothing about yours. I just want to understand you. I…want to be closer to you.”

  Surrendering, he reached a hand for her. As soon as she took it, he felt the jolt of darkness that he’d known was residing inside her. Pain, loneliness. Isolation.

  He could make it better. He could help, if he told her the truth.

  “What hurt me,” he began, “is a very long story.”

  “We have all the time in the world,” said Sinead. “It would seem, in fact, that we’re sort of stuck here together. I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

  Brigg grimaced. “I don’t feel stuck,” he said. “I feel fortunate to be here with you.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she replied.

  “I know.” Brigg pulled his eyes towards the mirror on the opposite side of the room, staring at the reflection of the window. The night had grown dark and windy, and it seemed to suit his mood perfectly. He braced himself. “My parents were killed when I was very young,” he said. “An automobile accident, as I understand it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sinead breathed. She sounded surprised, but of course she was. This was the first time she’d learned a single thing about him.

  “Thank you. I never knew them,” Brigg replied. “So I suppose in a way I didn’t miss them. I did, however, miss out on having shifters for parents. I had no one to teach me what I was. In that regard, I suppose my childhood wasn’t too different from your own.”

  Sinead nodded. “I knew what I was, at least,” she said.

  “Yes, of course.” Brigg looked around at the room surrounding them. “You may wonder about this house. How I acquired it, that sort of thing. Given my lack of family, it probably seems surprising that I would have come into such wealth.”

  “I just assumed that you’d inherited it.”

  He shook his head. “Not from my parents. This house belonged to a very kind human couple. I inherited it from them.”

  “What? I mean, how did you end up living here?”

  “When I was a child, I found myself on my own,” Brigg began. “I was alone when I discovered the death of my parents. I suppose that if anyone had known about me, they would have put me into an orphanage straight away. But I was wily and evasive, and I ended up living on the streets for some time. I learned to panhandle, to read people’s faces. I knew how to manipulate, how to charm. It was some time before I realized that it was the creature inside me that made me so adept at reading others’ minds and emotions. My Dire Wolf has made me too good at it, in fact.”

  “What do you mean? I thought…” asked Sinead. Almost immediately, her expression shifted, telling Brigg that she’d figured something out. “So, that’s why you don’t touch people,” she said. “It’s why you avoid touching me. You’re afraid of intruding.”

  He nodded and continued his story. “I was taken by some humans when I was still quite young, and put in a home—an orphanage of sorts, though it was run horribly, by cruel people. They beat the children, starved us. I realize that it sounds like something out of a Dickens novel, and I suppose it was—minus the small fact that I’m a shifter. I was in the home from the age of seven until my first shift occurred, when I was ten.”

  Sinead squeezed his hand. He could feel her fear inside his mind, her hesitation to let him continue. Some part of her wanted answers, but another part didn’t want to know what he’d been through. Oh, yes, she could imagine where this was going, but the thought of it horrified her. A child alone, learning for the first time about his déor, was an all too familiar memory. A trauma.

  “Yes,” he said, reading her as though the words were written on her face, “it was as bad as you think. Needless to say, without my parents to guide me, I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know that shifters existed, that it was possible for an animal to tear his way out of my body. It was as terrifying as you could imagine.” He stared into her eyes, more concerned for her welfare than for his own. “You all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her hand was holding his so hard that she would likely have broken a few fingers if he hadn’t had the strong skeleton of a shifter.

  “One night,” he continued, “my Dire Wolf came to me like a demon out of hell. Unlike the lost boy that I was, he knew everything instinctively. He knew what he needed to do, where he needed to go. He took charge of the frightened child inside him. Dragged me out of my bed and down the hall, seeking his freedom. He knew the orphanage wasn’t our proper home, that it wasn’t where we were meant to be. He was prepared to tear the place apart if it meant our escape. He succeeded, too.”

  “So what happened?” asked Sinead, her voice trembling.

  “That night, at the age of ten, I became a killer,” he told her. “One of the owners of the place tried to stop the Wolf when he saw me in the hall, threatened him with a cricket bat. What a fool that man was.” He turned to look into the distance, pulling his hand away from Sinead’s. He couldn’t bear the intimacy anymore. “He didn’t know it was me. He couldn’t have known. And naturally, I didn’t know that the best course of action would have been to run, rather than to stand my ground. I didn’t know how to control the Wolf. I didn’t understand that the man would have forgotten he’d seen me as soon as I was out of his line of sight. I’d never learned of the Wild Magic or the Dragons’ spell that kept humans largely blind to our existence. All I knew was that there was something very wrong with me.”

  “So you—your Wolf—fought him,” said Sinead. “In self-defence.”

  Brigg shook his head. “I attacked him before he ever got a blow in. I would say that my Wolf did, but the truth is more complicated than that. There was a part of the boy inside me that wanted that man dead for what he’d done. I wanted him to suffer for how he’d treated me and the other children. The Wolf, he just wanted to protect them. They were his friends—insofar as he’d ever had any.”

  “I’m so sorry, Brigg. That must have been horrible.”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” he said miserably. “When my teeth clamped around the man’s neck, it was the first time that I felt it. I understood the strange power that my Dire Wolf had. I could…I could see…others’ feelings. I felt the man’s pain as he died slowly. I saw his life flash through his mind, even his childhood. I saw the beatings he’d sustained at the hands of—” He stopped talking, his voice tightening like steel thread in his throat. “I finally understood why he’d become that vengeful thing. I pitied the man I was killing for everything he’d endured, yet I killed him all the same.”

  “Oh, God.” Tears were streaking down Sinead’s cheeks now. He wasn’t sure if he should wipe them away or tell her to go back to her room, far from him. Far from the beast that he was.

  “I didn’t touch another person for years after that,” he said. “I was afraid to, even when I was put into another orphanage, one with kinder owners. When a nice olde
r couple adopted me at last, I refused to let them near me. I didn’t want to see their secrets, didn’t want to feel their pain. That was all I associated with anyone, you see—pain, suffering, torment. I didn’t realize that people could be happy, too. Not until it was almost too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late?” asked Sinead.

  “When I was twenty, my adoptive mother was dying. My adoptive father had passed away some time earlier, here, in this house. Yes, this place was our country residence. My parents were quite wealthy, as you can imagine. We spent a good deal of time here, and they gave me freedom. They didn’t force me to go to school; instead they brought tutors and lessons to me. Somehow, they recognized that I was different and yet they didn’t judge me for it. They never tried to change me, to force me to be anyone other than who I was. They let me go out in the evenings for walks. Perhaps on some level, they even knew what I was.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sinead.

  “One day when she was very ill, my mother lay in her bed. The doctor had just left her, and she asked me to come over to her side. I obeyed, of course. She was my world by that point. I was twenty years old and without her, I would have been completely alone. I’d never let her hug me. Never let her hold onto me. Never held her when her husband died. But when she asked me to take her hand, I did it.” Brigg swallowed hard. “She looked into my eyes. She didn’t speak a word. She knew, somehow, that she didn’t need to. She showed me everything.”

  “Showed you?” Sinead asked. “You mean she let you see into her mind?”

  He nodded. “She did. She let me see how much she and her husband had loved me. Not in images, not in memories exactly. I simply…felt it, as though she were feeding me an emotion. It was the first time in my life I’d ever felt loved.” Brigg wiped a tear away, cursing himself for letting it fall. “I’m so grateful for what she did. It was the greatest gift anyone’s ever given to me.”

  Sinead reached out again, holding her right hand palm up, and he took her hand. For a moment he closed his eyes and let himself absorb what she was sending him. Images shot through his mind. Her hopes, her fears. Her desire for affection, her affection for him.

  “Do you know what it is that I see in you?” he asked, opening his eyes again.

  She shook her head. “I already know.”

  She let go of his hand and slipped off the bed. Slowly she made her way towards him, undoing the silk belt that held the robe shut. The garment split open, revealing her naked flesh to his hungry eyes for the first time.

  Brigg’s cock twitched violently as his eyes landed on her bare belly, his gaze drifting downwards until they found the patch of dark hair marking her sex. He inhaled deep, swallowing her aroma. Damn, that was so good. Too good.

  She was still moving towards him. Getting too close now. Dangerously so. The Lioness shifter was drawing them together, and soon there would be no going back, not for him. She was inviting him deep inside her world, her mind, her body. It would be painful and exquisite at once, an experience driven by an erotic force too powerful to resist.

  Despite her proximity, he didn’t reach for her, didn’t move an inch. He understood by now that she was a woman who liked to be in charge. He wouldn’t pull her to him. Wouldn’t make demands of her. If she wanted him, he was hers for the taking, but it had to happen on her terms.

  One thing was certain. If she touched him again, if she laid a hand on his body, he would need to get his mouth on her. He would need to taste her, to claim some part of her before this night was over. He wanted to feel every inch of that perfect body of hers, to savour, to nip, to embrace the sensation of her claws in his flesh. He wanted to drive her to ecstasy and back again.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” she said softly. She was right next to the bed now, staring down at him. “Please don’t tell me to leave. Don’t push me away.”

  He shook his head. I won’t, he said silently. You know I won’t. Not ever.

  Seeming to read his face, she reached for his left hand and pulled it between her legs. His lips splitting open with a sigh, he slipped his middle finger over her sex. God, she was so wet. So fucking wet. All for him.

  “Sinead,” he moaned again as he slipped his finger inside her. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me. You can’t know. Drawing me closer to you, pulling me in so that I’m helpless to resist. You know how much I want you, beautiful Lioness. You know, don’t you?”

  “I know,” she breathed. “I wanted to resist, too, but the truth is that I need you tonight. You know I do. I may not share your Wolf’s power to read minds, but I can feel desire in you, just like you feel it in me.”

  So, she was reading him too, somehow. She understood.

  He pulled his hand away and pushed himself towards the bed’s edge. Rising to his feet, he slipped his fingers inside her robe and slid it off her shoulders, watching as it floated towards the floor. For a long moment he afforded himself the luxury of running his eyes over her naked body, taking in the pink of her nipples, the curve of her belly. He slipped his fingers over her, painting her skin with their tips, allowing himself the pleasure of feeling her vulnerability.

  She was perfect.

  “Sit down,” he commanded quietly. “I want to get my tongue on you.” She turned her back to the edge of the bed and perched herself, knees together, staring up at him with the most tantalizing, innocent, infuriatingly sexy expression he’d ever seen.

  “Cruel woman.” He threw himself onto his knees, shoved her legs apart and pushed his face between them, his mouth latching onto her with fierce possessiveness.

  He’d never even kissed her mouth. Yet here he was, his tongue laving her in broad strokes. Worshiping her, tasting her, adoring every inch of her beautiful sex as she writhed under his touch. He pierced her with his tongue and she moaned hard, hips bucking forward, urging him on.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “That’s my Wolf.”

  He rammed his fingers inside her, sucked her clit. No words, he thought. I don’t want to say anything. I don’t need to. No words tonight. No complications.

  Every time his mind latched onto hers, every time he felt himself peering, voyeur-like, into her emotions, he pulled himself back. This didn’t have to be painful. He could stand at the edge and watch himself pleasuring her. This was pure sex. Pure fantasy. Pure delight. There was no need for a melding of minds, not right now. He could fight back the power that had always consumed him, always isolated him. All he wanted was to be close to her. To fulfill her needs and his own at once.

  Cillian would have approved. He would have encouraged them, even. There could be no penetration, no bonding. Not yet, not until the two men could be with her during the Ritual. This was merely an appetizer before the main event…that was, if the main even should ever take place.

  Sinead pressed herself back on the bed, her calves locked over Brigg’s shoulders, her hips gyrating under his mouth. He wanted to laugh with joy, wondered if she had any idea how much pleasure she was giving him right now.

  He pushed two fingers inside her and took her with them slowly, drawing them out to caress her opening as he swirled the tip of his tongue over her sensitive bud. She was near; he knew it by her silence, by the tension in her body. He could feel it in her mind, much as he tried to distance himself. His own body was on the precipice looking down, ready to dive into the beautiful ocean below, a series of crashing waves waiting for him.

  He sucked gently on her clit, sinking his fingers deep inside her, splitting her apart, stretching her to the point of agony.

  When she finally gave in, he opened his mind to her at last. He felt the first hard wave as though it were his own. Her pleasure was his, her senses shared.

  He’d seen the insides of many minds over the years. Witnessed dark thoughts, fear, anger, despair. But never had he been witness to such a wash of light and warmth as the Lioness shifter’s climax. Never had he felt such intimacy with another being.

  This, he thought, was fucking bliss.
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  When Sinead’s body had settled down, he climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She turned and smiled at him. “It’s your turn now,” she said, reaching for him, but he shook his head, taking her hand gently and pulling it onto his hard stomach.

  “No,” he told her. “Not just yet.”

  “But that’s hardly fair.”

  “It’s perfectly fair. You enjoyed the pleasure of your orgasm, and so did I.”

  She edged towards him, slipping a hand onto his cheek, and kissed his lips gently. “You’re a remarkable man, you know,” she said. “I think I may be in trouble. I told you I would be if I started liking you too much.”

  “Well then,” he replied, giving her another soft kiss, “that makes two of us.”

  Chapter 20

  When Brigg was breathing deeply enough to convince her that he must be asleep, Sinead eased out of his bed, gathered her robe from the floor and quietly slipped out of the room.

  She strode down the hall towards her suite, a melting pot of emotions raging inside her.

  She knew how she was supposed to feel right now: regret and self-loathing, among other things, for what she’d done. She was supposed to punish herself for letting herself get close to Brigg. To Cillian, too. Oh, God. She’d behaved horribly twice in one day. She’d led two men on when she should have stayed the hell away from them both.

  But she couldn’t quite find a way to hate herself for kissing one, or for having something dangerously close to a one-night stand with another, who was…well, Brigg was flawed, yet somehow, he was perfect. He was kind, he was gentle. He’d thrived on pleasuring her, so much that it seemed that he’d enjoyed it as much as she had. If there was a better man on earth, she couldn’t imagine him.

  Her instinct should have been to run away, just as it always had in the past. She never stuck around, not when she’d been intimate with a man. Never sought a second date, a second round of sexual pleasure. Because second rounds led to thirds, and fourths, and at some point, someone always ended up hurt. Someone’s heart inevitably got scarred just a little bit when they discovered that they weren’t worth loving.