The Pack Rules Boxed Set: The Complete Series of Wolf, Bear, and Dragon Shifter Romances

by Michele Bardsley

  ROXIE’S EYES DRIFTED open. The afternoon had given way to deep evening. She sat up, and the bedspread slid off her shoulders, falling into her lap. Cool wind fluttered the curtains as it breezed inside, and it seemed to swirl around her.

  She stretched her arms over her head, feeling a little better. She glanced around. “Oh!”

  Candles had been distributed throughout the room. They were all lit and cast a lovely, romantic glow. She slid out of bed walked to a table that had been set-up for her. Her husbands. Both men took incredibly good care of her.

  A round loaf of bread sat on an oversized white ceramic plate, and next to it, on a yellow napkin, was a spoon. She lifted off the top piece of sourdough and grinned. A thick, hearty beef stew waited inside. Its fragrant smell promised beef, carrots, onions, potatoes, and spices. For dessert, she’d been given strawberries and cream. As she gazed at the simple feast, her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “This is heaven,” she murmured, sitting down. She savored the flavorful stew and nibbled around the edges of the “bowl.”

  After she finished the delicious meal, she felt much better. She thought of her husbands, of their inexplicable love for her. They’d been her rock. Her anchor. Her one true thing.

  The door to the master suite opened, and Jack and Grant entered the room.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Jack.

  “Do you need anything else?” Grant looked even more worried than usual. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Roxie’s lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve slept the day away. Again.” She sighed. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Sit down,” said Jack gently. They led her to the bed and sat with her.

  “You’re pregnant,” blurted Grant.

  “What?” Shocked, she stared at him, open-mouthed.

  Her big, strong husband blushed to the roots of his blond hair. “Sorry. There was probably a better way to tell you.”

  “You think?” asked Jack. He took Roxie’s hands. “Lara and Elsa received the messages from the otherworld. You’re with child.”

  “Wouldn’t I know?” she asked. “I mean, I’m a werewolf. We know these things, right?”

  “You’re probably not too far along. Weeks at most. We’ll confirm through the doctor,” said Grant.

  As the idea of impending motherhood filtered through her shock, relief soon followed. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m preggers. That’s why I’m tired. Why I’m sick.”

  She saw the concerned look her husbands shared. “There’s something else,” she guessed.

  “Elsa and Lara think you’re being stalked by something called a darker.” Grant squeezed her shoulder.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “A vengeful spirit,” said Jack.

  Roxie sucked in a breath. “Crawl.” She shook her head. “That bastard is still after me?”

  “That was our guess, too,” said Jack. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “The baby … how do I protect how child from a-a spirit?” Fear covered her like a cold rain. “What do we do?”

  “Sshh, sweetheart.”

  “Elsa and Lara are working on a way to get rid of him once and for all.” Grant kissed her cheek. “In the mean time, let us help you relax.”

  Jack rubbed her thigh. “Please, Roxie. Let us love you.”

  JACK HELPED ROXIE take off her dress and panties. She scooted onto the bed, in the middle, and watched her husbands undress. Both her mates were broad-shouldered with muscular arms and legs, and washboard stomachs.

  Jack joined her first, cupping her neck. The tip of Jack’s tongue traced the shell of her ear. “What do you want to do?”

  She wanted to show these gorgeous men how much she loved them. How much she needed them. How grateful she was for their support and devotion.

  “Grant.” She heard the longing in her own voice. His name on her lips was laden with desire, and she knew he recognized the sounds of her need. His head snapped up, his gaze wide.

  “Roxie?” He climbed on the bed. With Jack on her left and Grant on her right, Roxie felt utterly replete.

  She belonged here. With them.

  “I want you.”

  Jack kissed her gently. “You are all that matters to us.”

  “We’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Roxie,” Grant said. He kissed her, a slow meeting of the lips that made Roxie’s heart pound. Desire curled through her.

  She sighed into his mouth, suckling his bottom lip, tracing the upper one before spearing the seam. He tasted like mints. He groaned, and she swallowed the sound, angling her head to taste more of him. His tongue danced with hers.

  Grant released her mouth and slid his lips along her jaw. Hot lust speared her, prickles of awareness driving a spike of heat into her groin. Her breath shallowed as his mouth traveled along her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, and slowly, too slowly, along the line of her right breast.

  “Roxie,” he murmured. His tongue traced the areola before he tasted her nipple. He licked and laved, and she knew he wanted to give her pleasure. She arched her back and pressed his head against her chest.

  His groan shuddered across her flesh as his lips clamped the nipple and suckled it into a taut, aching peak. His other hand cupped her left breast, kneading it, two fingers pinching it’s hardening point.

  Roxie pushed on his shoulders.

  As he lowered to the bed, she tossed off the robe. She looked at Grant. His eyes were glazed, his body trembling, and his cock hard. God, he was beautiful.

  “I know what you need.” She leaned forward and rubbed her nipples down his smooth chest, thrilling at his groans, his shudders. Her tongue lapped his flat, brown nipples. She kissed the ridges of his stomach, swiped each hip with a wet kiss then…whoa. She kissed the tip of his cock.

  Her tongue swirled the ridge of his head again and again until his hands fisted the sheets, and his thighs trembled. She slid her tongue down his shaft, peppering it with tiny kisses and quick licks. She cupped his balls, playing with them before lowering her mouth to each one, suckling and laving. Then she returned to his shaft, to the tip, and she put it into her mouth, slowly, inch by inch, until she’d taken it all.

  “Roxie. Oh God.”

  Desire pounded an ancient rhythm that heated her blood, made her need grow and pulse inside—a living thing, consuming her.

  Her mouth quivered with the familiarity of his cock sliding between her lips. Her tongue ravaged the hard length, licking and stroking. She took all of him as she went down again and again.

  God, she was turned on. Her pussy was tight with an ache she needed her men to assuage. Grant’s buttocks tensed, and his hips lifted slightly as he groaned in ecstasy. He came hard, and she drank from his thrusting cock, swallowing his seed with feminine satisfaction.

  When his cock stopped its orgasmic quiver, she lifted her head and smiled at him. He rose onto his elbows, grinning.

  He sat up, leaned forward, and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. “Sweet Roxie,” he brushed her lips with his.

  Roxie laid between the two men, trembling in anticipation. Jack and Grant stretched out on either side of her. Jack looked ready to devour her, and Grant, already hard again, looked just as hungry,

  “What do you want, Roxie?” asked Jack.

  She licked her lips. “I want you to play with my breasts.”

  “Which one of us?” asked Grant.

  Roxie laughed. “Honey, I have two boobs, and two men, each with a mouth. How about you both take one?”

  Grant leaned forward and cupped her breast, suckling the soft peak and laving it to hardness with his tongue. Roxie’s eyes drifted closed, and she sighed against the lovely assault. Then she felt Jack’s hand on her other breast, cupping and kneading, then…oh yes, then his mouth encircled her nipple.

  Heat flooded her as Jack and Grant played with her breasts, their mouths warm and wet and hungry, their hands drifting down her rib
cage, over her hip, down the inside of her thigh, then up again. She squirmed and moaned, arching up, offering her breasts as sacrifice, as penance.

  Lust made her wet, made her slick and needy. She lifted her hips, a silent begging, then felt a hand slid into her curls. A finger stroked her clit, then parted the folds and dipped inside.

  She pumped against the teasing fingers, pressed against the palm cupping her sex, and all the while Jack and Grant loved on her breasts, their hands stroking, touching, burning. Both men pressed against her, and she felt the thick lengths of their penises against her thighs.

  “Roxie,” Grant breathed in ear, his lips against her temple, his thumb and finger squeezed her hard nipple. “Baby, I want you.”

  “Take me,” she whispered.

  Grant stretched out, and she crawled onto her husband. Jack grabbed something from the nightstand table, then kneeled at her and Grant’s feet. She looked at him over her shoulder.

  Grant’s cock was hard and thick, his eyes glazed with passion. She lowered herself onto his length and let her inner muscles stroke him.

  His smooth, long strokes filled her. Her clit trembled, her over-sensitized body already seeking release.

  Then she felt the plastic tip of lubricant inserted into her anus. She tensed as she felt the cold gel fill her. She relaxed, welcoming Jack as he grasped her hips and worked his penis into her.

  “Are you okay?” Grant kissed her. His movements gentled, and he kissed her again, his tongue matching the slow rhythm of his cock.

  Her body tingled, rivulets of fire and need prickling through her. Jack filled her ass, and she was always amazed at how wonderful it felt to be penetrated by two dicks. Jack’s slow rhythm matched Grant’s, and soon, the lazy fucking wasn’t enough. She wanted more…much more.

  “Harder,” she said.

  Grant bucked under her, his cock pumping now, and Jack’s grip tightened as he worked his shaft in and out of her ass. She moved with them, no longer passive in her desire. Her breasts scraped Grant’s chest, and her buttocks slapped against Jack’s hips.

  Heat coiled low in her belly, arrowing to her core, blooming like a fire flower. Their movements were frantic now, and the feel of Jack plowing her ass and Grant fucking her pussy put her into orgasm overload. The pleasure rippled through her, a wave of blinding bliss that made her scream.

  She had barely caught her breath when she felt Grant tense. He pushed deeply inside her, groaning his release as his seed spilled. She kissed him, still turned on, still enjoying Jack’s ass fucking. Grant slipped out of her and rubbed his softening cock along her clit.

  Roxie captured Grant’s lips again, warring with his tongue, feeling the aching creep of another orgasm as Grant rubbed her clit, and Jack smacked against her ass with his hips.

  “Oh Grant, Jack,” she whispered, as she moved between them, her clit throbbing, her second orgasm a few strokes away.

  “Your ass is so tight, so sweet,” Jack moaned right before he came, his cock throbbing against her sensitive ass tissues. She came with him, shuddering and joyful. She collapsed onto the bed, sandwiched between her two men, feeling replete—and once again whole.

  13

  ROXIE AWOKE IN the big bed with Jack’s arm draping her waist, his soft snore tickling her ear. They had all drifted into a long afternoon nap while holding each other. She’d finally managed a peaceful, dreamless sleep. For the first time in three months, she hadn’t woken up with a pounding heart or sweaty fists clenching the sheets.

  Grant wasn’t in bed. Her gaze traveled around the room until it reached the open balcony doors. She glimpsed him at the railing, staring at the forest that ringed the farmlands. The air blew through the curtains of the open windows, and she inhaled it. She wiggled out of Jack’s arms, smiling when he resisted. She laughed when he flopped over like a schoolboy who’d been told to get out of bed and pulled a pillow over his head.

  She slipped on the robe that had been tossed to the floor and padded outside. She leaned on the rail next to Grant, her gaze tracing the thick, dark clouds as they rolled over the night sky. Roxie grasped his hand. They said nothing, watching the gathering storm.

  Then the drops began to fall.

  Thunder cracked and lightning jabbed the night sky.

  “Let’s get inside,” said Grant, pulling her back to the bed.

  The lights sputtered and died. She crawled inside the warm covers, watching Grant light candles. She drowsed against the thick comforter. The storm didn’t bother her. In fact, the sounds of the tempest created a strange lullaby.

  “The main power source has been knocked out,” said Grant, “but the house has a back-up generator. I need to go outside and start it.”

  “By yourself?” asked Roxie, concern whipping through her. “Where is it?”

  “About ten feet from the main house—in a well-protected shed. I have flashlights downstairs, and I could walk around this place blind-folded and not get lost.” Grant’s smile glinted in the flickering candlelight. “You don’t have to worry about me. Get tucked in.”

  “Okay.” Roxie’s thoughts turned to the child growing inside her womb. How could she have not noticed? Well, she noticed now—the exhaustion, the breast tenderness, the nausea. It all made sense. Beautiful, perfect sense.

  Her happiness was chilled only by the idea of Crawl’s spirit endangering her, her mates, and their baby. How was it possible for the asshole to torment him after his own death?

  “Babe, I’ll get the electricity working and bring up a batch of hot chocolate.” Roxie looked up at her husband. The idea of sipping hot chocolate while snuggled in this huge bed tempted her beyond reason. She grinned. “I think the baby wants marshmallows.”

  “Then he—or she—shall have them.”

  CRAWL THE DARKER followed Grant through the hall, down the stairs, and outside into the full fury of the storm. When the man reached the shed, the angry spirit entered with him. As the fool bumbled and cursed, the flashlight’s beam bouncing across the interior of the shed, Crawl searched for a way to stop him from returning to the house.

  The big metal wrench gleamed like the Holy Grail.

  I want it. I want it. I want it!

  The wrench flew into the air.

  Yes! Hit him! Hit him! Now!

  If the darker had a mouth, it would’ve grinned with malice as the heavy tool slammed onto the alpha’s head. If it had a voice, it would’ve have laughed as the man slumped to the cold concrete floor. If it had legs, it would’ve danced on the still form, kicking and smashing and crushing.

  Now, only one obstacle stood between him and Roxie. The darker turned to the house and swept toward it.

  The darker floated in the third-floor hallway. It felt stronger, more in control, alive. Hurting Grant somehow helped make it that way. In the long mirror that hung in the hallway, it saw how it now formed a shadowy figure. Hands. It needed hands. Legs. Torso. Mouth. It felt lips and tongue and teeth. Every time it thought about what it wanted, what it needed, it got those things.

  At the sound of the bedroom door creaking open, the darker ceased its attempts to create a solid shape and hid in the shadows.

  It watched as Jack slowly shut the door behind him and walked toward the staircase.

  Hovering above, it followed Jack’s progress. At the top of the second-floor, it watched the man take a step down on the top stair. It focused on his big bare feet.

  Trip! Fall! Die!

  Another step. And another.

  Frustration welled in the darker. It focused on the feet again.

  Trip! Fall! Die!

  This time, it heard the crack of an ankle turned wrong, the surprised yelp of pain, and watched, gleeful, as Jack rolled down the rest of the stairs and thumped to a stop at the bottom, lying pale and still.

  Trip. Fall. Die.

  ROXIE FELT CHILLED. Candles had burned low. The storm still raged. Grant had not returned. Jack’s quick trip to the kitchen to get more candles had stretched into a half an hou
r. As a werewolf, he shouldn’t have any trouble maneuvering in the dark.

  What was taking her men so long?

  The candles blew out.

  She knew, suddenly, that something malicious and evil was in the room with her.

  She felt its gaze. She licked her dry lips and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. Her first impulse was to run and hide, but she knew it was futile. What hunted her from the shadows would find her, no matter how fast she ran or how well she hid. She stared at the darkness, waiting.

  It slithered into the rim of light provided by the dying candles. Human-like, but fuzzy, like a smeared pencil sketch, the only discernable feature was the red glow of its eyes.

  “Roxie,” it lisped.

  “Crawl, leave me alone!” She scooted backward until her back smacked against the huge wood headboard. Her heart pounded fiercely and she felt chilled to the bones. Her hands clenched the comforter and for a moment, she wished she could toss it over her head and make the Boogey Man disappear. Where were her mates?

  Oh, my God. Had Crawl done something to the men she loved?

  She shivered against the cold, against the nausea threatening. Her stomach churned, her mind wild with fright.

  The thing that had once been Crawl swept toward her, a wave of black, a thick blanket of evil that brought with it the smell of sulfur, and the promise of retribution. Throwing the comforter at it, she was surprised to find it tangled in the coverlet.

  Roxie wasted no time scrambling out of bed. “Jack! Grant!” She ran to the door and wrenched it open, but before she could step out into the hallway, the knob flew out of her hand, and the door banged shut.

  She grabbed the handle and pulled, her palms aching from the effort. With the door shut and her husbands MIA, she had to get away. She had to defeat Crawl. She had a child to protect now.

  Then she felt its hands on her, wrenching her away, spiraling her toward the French doors, pushing her onto the balcony, into the cold, slashing rain. She felt her backside hit the railing, and then Crawl’s inhuman fingers closed over her shoulders—and shoved.