I Kissed a Dog (Werewolves of the West 1)

by Carol Van Atta

  I understood that if I didn’t leave in the next minute, more than his shirt would be missing, and my dress would be a glittery heap on the floor.

  “You have fun,” I said, pasting on a bright smile.

  Rather than bother with words, he growled. His mental message almost changed my mind. You’re all the fun I need, Chloe. When will you figure it out? I. Want. You.

  With energy I didn’t recognize as my own, I commanded my legs to move, and managed to walk myself to the door and stumble out. When I heard Zane’s pained but feral roar, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.

  If only I could put my pride to rest and return to his arms.

  Chapter 169

  The applause was already deafening, but I joined the enthusiastic crowd, my claps lost in the mix. I even added my trademark piercing whistle to the avalanche of noise.

  Following a few stray hoots and hollers, the band resumed their set of popular cover songs. The music brought back memories, most of them positive for a change. A majority of the diverse crowd had been lured onto the dance floor by the familiar songs. I was an exception, lounging in a shadowy corner booth, my feet keeping time to the beat.

  “Can I get you another?” the flashy server asked through ruby lips.

  “Why not?’ I couldn’t remember ever drinking this much. Men had been buying me drinks all evening, and I’d won a whopping three-hundred dollars playing the slot machines.

  “You got it, sweetie. This one’s from tall, dark, and handsome at the end of the long bar.” She sauntered away.

  A pang of hope made it impossible not to investigate my latest suitor. Maybe Zane had come to claim me. A girl could hope. Because I’d figured out that no matter how much liquor I consumed, I couldn’t get his image out of my mind.

  He’d been right about one thing. Anytime I seemed the least bit uncomfortable with an admirer, a security werewolf, in human-form, of course, rushed to my side, removing the cause of my discomfort with discretion. How convenient. I would have welcomed their protective services in high school.

  Before I was able to check out my latest cocktail-contributor, he glided into my booth, making himself comfortable at my side rather than taking the traditional place across the table.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I said, awed by his alluring presence and striking appearance.

  His hair was darker than Zane’s. It was hard to describe the style, but there was something surreal about him that caused me to envision castles and armored warriors wielding gleaming swords.

  His eyes were hypnotic, mesmerizing ¯ a dazzling shade of icy blue, framed with thick, inky lashes; they drew me in, soothing me, and complimenting the alcohol’s effects.

  “You are very welcome. May I ask your name?” He leaned closer, his mouth brushing my throat.

  His intimate actions and dramatic demeanor reminded me of someone whose identity remained just out of reach, hidden behind a haze of booze inspired bliss.

  “I’m Chloe Carpenter,” I whispered, allowing my eyes to travel over his lean form. His skin appeared almost translucent in the club’s special lighting. He was breathtaking, different from Zane, more elegant, more refined.

  An unfamiliar predatory urge to sink my teeth into him should have warned me away. Instead, I examined his attire, which served to intensify his appeal. He was exceedingly masculine in a black leather coat, matching pants, and deep burgundy shirt. An ancient-looking insignia hung from a chain around his neck. Both of his ears were pierced. Like Zane, danger clung to him tighter than his leather pants, which appeared to be poured on, accentuating his manliness.

  The waitress delivered our drinks, giving me a sly look before slipping into the crowd. For some unfathomable reason, my werewolf guards had yet to interfere. I was grateful for their current lack of attention. This was one suitor I wanted by my side.

  “Chloe, what a lovely name for a very delectable woman,” his voice caressed my mind, pulling me into a trancelike state.

  He was irresistible.

  Even so, I understood on some level that something was wrong.

  This was no ordinary man. Everything about him screamed supernatural. I was blinded by the booze and his special, mind-swaying talent. I felt powerless to fight. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “My name is Valamir.” Taking my hand he kissed it, his eyes locked on my mine as he looked up through dark lashes. I melted, wanting nothing more than his mouth on mine.

  Suddenly unsure of myself, I reached for my cocktail and drank it in two long gulps. Valamir seemed amused by my actions. “I think you may want to slow down,” he chuckled.

  Slowing down my drinking, not a problem. What I wanted to taste was this man with the foreign name.

  Discerning my desire, he pushed me deeper into the booth. Dropping his head, he kissed me, savoring my mouth like an exquisite dessert. Forgetting where we were, I slid my hands under his jacket, digging into his hard back with my nails. Unlike Zane, who was hot like fire, Valamir’s touch was wintry, yet at the same time scorching.

  “You are luscious, Chloe. You are mine.” He gazed at me with hooded eyes, before his mouth claimed me in a most unexpected way.

  Sharp pain followed by blissful warmth, tortured, and teased my neck. I pressed closer, purposefully rubbing my breasts against his chest. Compelling and erotic images flooded my mind as he continued to suckle my neck.

  Groaning, he released his mouth; his tongue lapped my tender skin.

  Something — an inner knowing — told me that stopping had not been easy for him.

  Any pain I thought I’d felt subsided beneath the soft stroke of his tongue. When his mouth returned to mine, I tasted something coppery like pennies with a dash of fine wine.

  It was in that moment when I realized who Valamir reminded me of — Alciun — a vampire.

  “Enough …!” a familiar voice roared, pulling me away from Valamir.

  “No!” I protested, flailing my arms against the man who dared interrupt the most sensuous experience of my life. “Valamir!” I cried, returning to my senses just enough to see Zane snarling at the vampire, whose lips were now curled back revealing his own fangs. He crouched, arms extended, ready to strike Zane, who’d pushed me behind him.

  Zane started to vibrate. The atmosphere around him shimmered.

  Responding to the escalating crisis, a group of security guards surrounded our table like a wall, blocking us from the curious crowd.

  “Both of you! Stop!” Logan stepped into the circle, grabbing Zane. “Control yourself, friend. This is not the place.”

  “You!” Logan turned to the vampire. “Leave this place. Now!” His eyes glowed crimson.

  “I will return for you, Chloe,” Valamir promised, before dissolving into a cascade of silver stardust. No one else in our little group appeared surprised by his vanishing act.

  I half heard Logan instruct Zane to get me upstairs. Zane was disagreeing about something I didn’t understand. Their voices sounded like they were coming from underwater.

  “She’s mine! The mark, it’s been revealed,” Zane argued.

  I was baffled as to why these men continued to refer to me as their possession. The whole “she’s mine” thing was annoying. Last time I checked, I wasn’t a belonging.

  Logan sounded equally agitated. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s there. Do you want to see?”

  “I believe you. Find a way to make her understand,” Logan commanded.

  “There’s one thing I can think of to keep her safe,” Zane replied with certainty.

  Logan nodded. “You have my blessing.”

  In an alcohol-induced haze, I let Zane support me against his side. He led me from the hotel into the breezy Vegas night. He motioned for a nearby taxi.

  Careful not to jostle me, he lifted me into the cab, joining me in the backseat.

  “Charity Chapel,” he instructed.

  “How nice,” I slurred, “we’re going to church.” I was surprised th
at werewolves attended church, especially in Vegas. Since Monday, my life had been full of unexpected surprises.

  Feeling seasick, I leaned my head against Zane and watched the blinking lights speed by. “Where are the lights going?” I heard myself ask in a faraway voice, certain we were now riding in a boat.

  “Goodness, Chloe; I can’t leave you for a minute,” he grumbled. “We’re the ones moving, not the lights.”

  That made sense, sort of.

  Uncertain how long we’d traveled, I found myself struggling to see through a misty veil that cloaked my vision. No longer moving, I was standing at the front of what appeared to be a chapel. Zane gripped my hand. A moment later we were facing an elaborate altar overflowing with floral arrangements. The room smelled sickly sweet like stale perfume which made the inside of my nose tickle.

  I suspected now that I’d passed out and was dreaming.

  “Is this an evangelical church?” I asked, trying not to sneeze. The Baptist church back home was nothing like this colorful place.

  A man, I assumed was the pastor, approached and stood in front of us on a little platform. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying — something about in sickness and health and for better or worse.

  “I do,” Zane said.

  Next, the man asked me a question and Zane nudged me. “Say I do, Princess.”

  “I do, Princess,” I repeated, too disorientated to question his strange demand.

  The pastor-man’s mouth continued to move in a rapid blur; I still had no idea what he was saying. I didn’t care. Another wave of nausea threatened to drown me. Zane held firm. At last, the man stopped talking and smiled.

  Zane bent down and kissed me tenderly on the lips.

  * * *

  “My head,” I moaned, not used to the pounding of drums between my ears. “O-h-h-h … I hurt.”

  I forced one eyelid up. The brightness spilling through the windows was more than I could tolerate. I pulled the blankets over my head.

  Where was I? The hospital seemed likely considering how ill I felt.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Marshall,” Zane whispered in my ear. “You celebrated a little too hard last night,” he chuckled.

  “What are you talking about?” I gasped, very aware of his warm skin against mine.

  “How soon you forget something as important as our wedding.”

  Fighting the throbbing pain, I opened my eyes to see if what I suspected was true. “You’re naked!” I screeched.

  So was I.

  “You’re my wife. Of course, I’m naked. Our honeymoon night was fantastic.” He moved to kiss my cheek. “Don’t worry; we’ll have an extended honeymoon soon, maybe a trip to Europe.”

  Throwing off the covers, I dashed for the bathroom. This was impossible! There was no way in hell that I would have married a werewolf. I had to get a grip and think.

  What happened last night?

  I’d put on my little black dress after an argument with Zane and had gone to one of the hotel’s in-house clubs for some live music.

  Drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. Men had kept buying them for me, and I’d kept drinking.

  Valamir — the vampire — he’d dazzled my mind with some form of vamp magic and kissed me. After that, everything got fuzzy.

  My reflection caught my attention, reminding me of my horrible predicament. Dear Lord. The mirror revealed an exhausted-looking woman with dark half-moons under both eyes. I shook my head. The reflection shook hers. No doubt about it — I was the bedraggled woman in the mirror.

  One thing was clear; I didn’t look anything like a blissful newlywed.

  I was miserable inside and out. Besides the blistering headache, my stomach was churning, and I felt all wobbly. Even worse, if what Zane said was true, I was no longer a virgin, and I didn’t even remember my wedding night.

  “Babe, come on. Let’s talk. Don’t get all shy now,” Zane called. “I had the maid come and change the bedding. Please, I promise; it was incredible.”

  Inhaling, and then blowing air out my nose like a raging bull, I slid into the hotel-provided bathrobe and cinched the waist with its tie. Flinging open the door so hard it battered the wall, I stormed into the room, ignoring the drumbeat in my head.

  In the short time that I’d been secluded in the bathroom, the bed had been remade and Zane was lounging across it with his arms behind his head. His long hair spilled over his shoulders. He’d put on a pair of athletic shorts. They didn’t begin to hide his muscular form. My breath caught in my throat. Had I made love with this man and forgotten?

  I got it now that drinking, for me, was no longer an option, at least not in public, and not without a very sober chaperone.

  “How could you? Why would you?” I pleaded, letting my revulsion rise to the surface.

  “That’s two questions, Princess.” He smirked, still looking delicious.

  “I’m going to sit down,” I announced, afraid I would vomit should I continue standing. He patted the bed, imploring me with his eyes.

  I ignored the gesture and chose a chair by the window. “Why would you take advantage of me? Why?” I tried to keep the tears behind my eyes where they belonged. It didn’t work. I could feel the liquid trails winding down my cheeks, increasing my humiliation.

  “Babe, please, don’t cry. I thought you wanted this. You agreed to the marriage. You were so happy last night.”

  “I was so drunk,” I sobbed, no longer able to control my emotions.

  “You’d had a few too many, but I had no idea you wouldn’t remember. I would never …”

  “Yes, you would have! You know my religious upbringing. Thanks to you, I can’t even get an annulment and feel right about it. Couldn’t you wait until I was sober before we, we did that.” I cried harder, choking down sobs. I couldn’t remember anything about what was supposed to be the most memorable night in a woman’s life. I deserved to cry.

  Did he even consider how his actions might be regarded as rape?

  He moved with stealth, like always, and was kneeling beside me before I could begin to protest. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me while I wept. “Hey, hey, I promise; it’ll be all right. I’ll make it okay.”

  The realization that I was clinging to the cause of my anguish, startled me into action. Pushing him away, I leapt to my feet; I pummeled his bare chest with my fists.

  “You can’t make it okay. Don’t you understand? I will never experience that experience again. Ever. You stole something precious from me, married or not,” I cried.

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. So sorry.” From the depth of pain evident in his eyes, I almost believed him. Sadly, his regret couldn’t repair my grief or return my virginity.

  Yet, on some level, I felt just a smidgen of relief. His emotional responses and my woman’s intuition assured me that he’d, without doubt, believed me to be a willing participant last night, and I knew enough about Zane to know he wasn’t the type to resort to rape. Still, I felt violated, and he would have to pay somehow, someway, for his indiscretion.

  He’d soon discover that being married to me wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

  I’d make sure of that.

  ***

  Chapter 17

  Several aspirin, washed down with a secret hangover remedy, courtesy of Logan Sanders’ younger sister, Misty, had me feeling almost normal.

  Now it was time to get tough and keep the crying to a minimum. I was married to a werewolf, after all. I’d resolved earlier to make the best of my dismal situation, while ensuring that Zane forever regretted his selfish decision to coerce me into this perverted version of Holy Matrimony.

  Despite my fury over Zane’s lack of discretion, helping the pack wasn’t negotiable. If I wanted freedom from a vicious killer and the mutant hybrids, my participation was critical.

  After a lengthy and much-needed discussion with Logan and several high-ranking pack members, I’d committed to using my talents not only to help find Plum Beach’s allusive serial killer, b
ut also to snoop around at their upcoming board meeting. I hated to think what scary secrets the participants’ pets would divulge.

  Even our well-laid plans did little to quell my fear.

  One unpleasant question nipped at the edge of my thoughts — how would Jazmine respond to the impromptu wedding? My new status as Zane’s wife wouldn’t help matters. She was already hell-bent on destroying me and taking Zane as her mate.

  Much to my relief, I didn’t have to stew alone. Misty had agreed to keep me company for the remainder of the afternoon and answer some of my questions while the men further plotted their strategies. I hoped our girl-time bonding-session would provide an opportunity for me to learn more about the whole werewolf mating phenomenon.

  I still wasn’t sure if our recent marriage equaled a formal mating ceremony, or if something additional was required. From what I’d gathered during our group discussion, Jazmine could no longer claim Zane as her mate, as I was now his one and only … whatever that meant. My questions would have to wait, though. Hunger pangs had driven any lingering nausea away, making the search for food my number one priority.

  The official lunch hour had long passed, but once again, the time didn’t matter. It was Las Vegas. Days merged with nights and vice versa. And from what I could tell by the other hotel patron’s rumpled attire and drooping eyes, I wasn’t the only one none too thrilled with my previous night’s conduct. For most of them, their nighttime indiscretions had been dragged into today, right along with their over-worn clothing.

  I’d at least made the effort to clean up in an attempt to hide my recklessness.

  “People don’t sleep much around here,” I acknowledged to myself, not sure yet how I felt about Misty. At least she understood my initial distress over the sudden change in my marital status. She’d stood up to Logan and Zane, voicing her sympathy for my predicament.

  “Sleep is overrated,” she said. “Casino owners count on guests that gamble until they drop. Tired gamblers make desperate decisions that tend to increase our profits.”

  “Can we eat here?” Longing for food, I stared through one of the hotel restaurants’ open doors. An overflowing buffet table was calling my name. The inviting aromas were enough to drive me forward without her approval.