Werewolves of New York: Dontae
The Last To Fall
Faleena Hopkins
Contents
Copyright
DESCRIPTION
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Untitled
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COCKY ROOMIE
WEREWOLVES OF CHICAGO
WEREWOLVES OF CALIFORNIA
A Stand-Alone NA Romance
About the Author
Copyright © 2015 by Faleena Hopkins
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Cover Designed by Faleena Hopkins
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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DESCRIPTION
This series is all stand-alones.
Dontae Sheppard is a lone wolf in the city he loves. All three of packmates have lost their hearts to women. Dontae will not suffer this fate. Women can’t be trusted. They lie. They cheat. They’re the devil in a dress aching to take down the male gender, crush him with their high heels, hot kisses, empty promises.
He will not suffer this fate.
Not again.
Not after what Catherine did to him.
Catherine Zenith is about to marry the man she left Dontae for years ago. He’s solid. Her parents love him. She loves him. Sort of. So why is the phone in her hands, and why are her shaking fingers dialing Dontae’s number? She has no idea that he hates her guts. She’s about to find out.
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Chapter One
Dontae bent the eager woman over, her bare ass displayed for him and all of New York to admire—that is if they happened to have binoculars and were looking out from a skyscraper higher than this one’s rooftop.
He gave her sweet rear a stinging smack. Her immediate moan made his dick harder. “You like that, huh? You like it rough?” With her head dangling between her legs her light brown hair bobbed up and down. He unzipped his Hugo Boss slacks and slammed his generous length into her without further ado. “Still like it?” he groaned.
“Ohhhhhhhh…yes!” Her breathy answer transformed into a long, soft moan as he moved in her. “Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked anyone.”
He paused. Now why’d she have to go and remind me of Catherine?
With all the pent up rage and resentment he carried for his bitch ex, Dontae slammed his ever-growing erection into the woman he just met a mere hour ago. She responded like someone who hadn’t had it good in a long time, which he had no doubt of. The way she’d come onto him earlier had an air of desperation. That didn’t turn him on. But she’d been nice and intelligent, and her body in that metallic silver dress inspired his wolf to take it off. So now here they were on the roof of the mid-priced apartment complex she lived in.
“Just like that! Oh my God, yes. Please don’t stop.”
He growled, “I’m just getting started,” plowing into her unfamiliar pussy with hard, deliberate strokes. It was only seconds later that she quivered around his fullness with the first of what he planned to be many orgasms. He looked out onto the twinkling view of Manhattan, moving in slow circles as she came.
This is the life.
“That was one,” he said under his breath.
She gripped onto the railing. “You’re so hard,” she whispered into the low wind.
He wasn’t as hard as he could be, but he was bigger than most so he understood her mistake. He pushed in really deep and held there. Then he started to move again. Her back undulated as she absorbed his smooth, sure strokes. In his suit jacket pocket his phone—the latest model, of course—began to ring an unwanted interruption. He closed his eyes to ignore it, giving himself over to the shockwaves of pleasure coursing through his blood stream. The ringing stopped. He opened his eyes to soak in her feminine back, the line of her spine moving beautifully. He ran a rough hand down it and she moaned. He moved faster, his lips parting on low pants.
But then his stupid phone rang again. Irritated, he glanced to where he’d dropped his jacket on the lounge chair.
Fuck. Twice in a row. Fuck! I’ve gotta answer that.
“Don’t stop,” his new lover moaned. “Don’t answer it.”
But memories of Darik’s call just three months ago, and the urgency of the news it brought with it, flashed before him. He growled, “Dammit! I’m sorry. Hang on a second.”
The phone stopped ringing.
“It might be an emergency. My friends only repeat call me when…” Leaving her dripping and aching, Dontae crossed to the phone, his pants around his ankles. It wasn’t a graceful transition. He pulled out the phone and it rang in his hands. Three calls?
He didn’t recognize the number. It could have been one of his packmates using someone else’s phone, but why? It couldn’t be good. He was curious and annoyed. “Hello?”
There was silence for a long moment before a woman whispered, “Dontae?”
His stomach twisted. Gallons of ice poured into his veins. This voice he hadn’t heard in over two years, the one that still haunted his nightmares. “That depends.”
“It’s Catherine.”
“You’ve got the wrong number.” He hung up.
Catherine. His chest heaved as he raked shocked fingers through his blonde, well-trimmed hair. Calling me now after all this time. Why?
“Oh no,” someone behind him moaned.
Surprised he wasn’t alone, Dontae turned around. It was like the world had shifted and now he was looking at an alternate one. Over there was the naked woman he’d just been fucking from behind, and yet he felt no connection to this reality. She was staring at his crotch with disappointment. He followed her gaze to his flaccid cock. “Fuck.” He leaned down, grabbed his pants and pulled them up, zipping them slowly as he stared at the city view, not seeing anything but Catherine’s face.
“What’s going on?” the woman asked. “You okay?” She stood up, not covering herself. He blinked over to her then scooped up the abandoned pile of silver fabric from the floor, tossing it to her in one fluid motion. “Sorry, Nora. Looks like one is all you get tonight.”
“Tonight?” She caught the dress and forced a smile. “Does that mean I’ll see you again?”
“Questionable.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
“Great. Goodnight. Fuck you, too,” she called after his distracted, retreating stride.
He raised a hand and gave a curt wave. “Night.”
Chapter Two
He stepped onto Seventh Avenue as memories flooded him of the last time he’d seen his gorgeous cunt-whore ex. Her long flaxen hair blowing in the Atlantic breeze as she’d gazed at the ocean, waves lit mystically by a new moon. Her green eyes were darker in the low light. There was something behind them that should have had him worried.
“Are you feeling better?” he’d asked, walking out to stand beside her. They’d borrowed a friend’s place in the Hamptons and it was only their
first night there. He couldn’t wait to tear off her yellow, cotton sundress, but she’d demurred, claiming a stomachache. Then she’d come out here.
Like she hadn’t heard the question she stared ahead, high tide waves crashing eight short feet away.
He glanced to the wood floor beneath their bare feet and saw in his periphery, her orange-painted toenails wiggling. It occurred to him then that maybe she wasn’t truly ill after all; maybe something greater was on her mind. With his supernatural hearing, he listened for her heart rate and found it abnormally fast. He braced himself.
“I asked if you were feeling better.”
“What are you hiding from me, Dontae?”
The muscles in his neck tensed. “Nothing,” he lied. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
She exhaled with annoyance, “When you tell me the truth, I’ll stop asking you.”
“Catherine—”
“—Just stop,” she interrupted, raising her hand, her green eyes locked on the dark water.
With his tongue he rubbed the back of his bottom teeth, thinking this was an impossible situation. He was hiding something. He had to. No one must ever know that werewolves exist. And Catherine Zenith was a socialite who came from old money. She was so deeply embedded in New York society that she could expose him and his packmates in more ways than he could imagine.
It wasn’t just that. He didn’t want to tell her. He had no urge to come clean with her, even though they were living together. His being a creature most humans misunderstood and feared was a part of him he wanted kept only his. There was no appeal in sharing his secret. None.
Still, he hated that it bothered her so much. Mostly because when she was bothered, she acted like this.
“We could be fucking right now instead of arguing. Let’s enjoy the weekend. You drove all the way out here—”
She shot him a suspicious look. “Why don’t you know how to drive?”
“Jesus!” he growled. “I live in a city with thousands of taxis and subways that’s only ten miles long! It doesn’t mean anything that I don’t drive.” Except that I never had to in the forest where I lived my entire life until a little more than a few years ago, half man/half wolf, among others like me.
“Right,” she said, under her breath, not sure what to believe. After a moment, she added all too calmly, “I slept with someone.”
“You what?!!” An invisible, powerful fist punched him in his spine.
From the corners of her eyes, she carefully watched him. “I slept with someone else.”
Receiving another invisible punch, this one to the abdomen, he grated, “Who is he?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who did it. He doesn’t know about you.”
“He doesn’t know about me? The…man…you live with?” Stunned, he was unable to believe her nonchalance. All his muscles tensed with desire to hit her and hit her hard. His wolf saw blood red and crashed just underneath his skin. Dontae gritted his teeth and fisted his hands.
She saw the war going on and cocked her chin in an invitation. “Go ahead and hit me.”
Down boy, DOWN.
His chest heaved and he struggled against his eyes changing. He could feel them want to, but their glowing would give his sacred truth away.
“It’s over,” he growled.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” she sneered.
“Okay, how’s this? You fucking cunt, it’s over.”
She spun around, hair flying, and in the next instant the porch screen door clattered behind her.
Dontae stared at it and started to follow. He gripped the wooden doorframe to stop himself. Images of her fucking some human male kept exploding in his mind’s eye. He knew if he walked inside he might tear this house to pieces and her with it.
I’ve given her my time. My loyalty. My heart.
Enraged, he literally ripped his clothes off his body and raced to the ocean, crashing against the current with harsh, impassioned strokes. What he wanted to do was shift, but he couldn’t be trusted with that now. And there were other houses in the near distance. You never know who’s watching.
Having no idea how long he’d been out there, he finally returned, the fire cooled. He wanted the guy’s name. He could locate the motherfucker’s address on his own. Naked, he dripped saltwater into the house and shouted, “CATHERINE! WHO THE FUCK IS HE!”
The only sound that returned to him was of rats scattering in the attic at his almighty bellow. Dontae searched the rooms even though he knew she was gone. Walking outside to look at the driveway he saw the rental car missing, too.
“FUCKING WHORE!” he shouted in agony.
When he got back to New York a very expensive cab ride later, Nathaniel, Eli and Darik all convinced him not to kill the man whose name he did not yet know.
“It’ll lead back to us.”
“You have to think about the pack, D. You can’t do this.”
“You’re her ex. You’re the first person they’ll suspect.”
He’d roared, growled and snarled as they held him back in his wolf-form. He fought them with everything he had, frenzied with desire to shred his home and all of her belongings with it. It was the one he lived in today, and shared with her then, the three-bedroom flat he’d purchased with the first big commission D.D.E.N. Inc. had received. The entire place reeked of her.
“I know you’re hurting,” Darik whispered in his wolf’s ears. “But let her go.”
“She’s not worth it,” Eli grunted, gripping around his middle.
From the other side where he was holding onto his strong neck, Nathaniel told him, “You love this place. You just finished putting it together. You’ve earned it. Let her go!”
The next day movers showed up to pack her things. She was not with them.
Dontae never called her. She never called him.
Until now.
Walking tonight on Seventh Avenue, Dontae pulled out his phone and dialed his best friend. Darik reliably answered on the second ring. “Yo.”
“Meet me for a drink.” There was a pause. “Don’t say no.” He could hear it reflected in his own shattered voice that he needed this.
Darik heard it, too, because he called out to his new bride, “Babe, Dontae needs me.”
“I don’t need you,” Dontae grumbled. “I just need a drink.”
“Dontae says he can’t live without me right now.”
Dontae chuckled despite himself. “What, did I call Eli without knowing it?”
Darik was too busy listening to her holler back from the bathroom, “Of course. Do what you need to.”
That was all Dontae needed to hear. He hung up and spun around in a slow circle, his eyes on the old-gum-covered sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pants pockets. The night air felt cold to him, which wasn’t normal. Wolves run hot.
Then his phone rang, His heart stopped. With his eyes locked, he pulled the phone slowly out and on a relieved exhale, answered, “What?”
“You didn’t say where, numb-nut.”
Dontae shook out his shoulders, lifting his gaze to scrape a modern high-rise building, one he and his packmates had designed. Had I walked that far already? “You remember the bar around the corner from our first commission?”
“The seventeen story on seventh?” Darik asked.
“That’s the one. And a lot of sevens.”
“Had to be lucky.”
“Indeed it was.”
Darik paused. “I’ll catch a cab and be there in ten. Order me an Oban.”
“Done.”
The line went dead and Dontae lowered the phone into his pocket with reluctance. Part of him wanted to dial the number he had yet to delete. His fingers twitched. His heart rate picked up. He clenched his jaw three times, grinding his teeth together. Don’t call her. Don’t fucking call that bitch unless you want to die a slow death all over again.
Chapter Three
Catherine held the phone to her chest. Why did I keep thi
s stupid dress? She stared down at it, the yellow sundress, blaming it for making her call that tragic number. Like most of her sundresses, she wore it around the house like a nightgown because of its pajama-like feel. Normally she could fool herself and act like this one didn’t remind her of that horrible night, but it did. It always did. I’m a glutton for punishment. She slipped her feet underneath her on the couch and rested her head on the back cushion. Then Jonathan walked into the room.
“Cate? Did I hear you on the phone? Was that Leo and Amanda?”
“Hmm?” she asked absently, slowly glancing his way.
“Your hair is still wet. You’re not going to dry it before bed?”
She glanced down at the locks dripping down her bare shoulders, darkening the canary-hued cotton. “I’m not ready for bed yet. And no, it wasn’t them. I was calling Mother.”
She smiled and he returned it. “How is Margot?”
“Oh, umm…okay. Same. She was watching her favorite show. Got off the phone quickly.” She uncurled her legs and stretched them. “Probably won’t even remember I called.”
He walked to the flat screen T.V. and stared at it. “Want to turn this bad boy on and watch a movie?”
She felt her stomach flip as she searched for a way to get out of it. “Umm…you really want to?”
“No. I don’t think so.” He stuck the tops of his fingers in his jeans pockets, pushing them down slightly, his red polo shirt not tucked in. His dark brown, well-groomed hair was a nice frame for his dark eyes. He looked like someone she should want more than she did. “I had my heart set on going to bed early,” he shrugged.
“You did?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Why do you sound like I’m boring? I’m tired. Nothing more than that.”
She glanced down to her knees and laid her hands on them, her clear nail polish chipped on one pinky. She stared at the cracked veneer. “Do I? I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean to.” She forced a small smile that never reached her green eyes.
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