“Fuck,” Alex muttered. “So what you’re telling me is that you have no real idea what dreams mean, and if they mean anything at all, you can’t pinpoint when shit is—or isn’t—going to happen? Real fuckin’ helpful, Tommy.”
“Aw c’mon, McKenzie, don’t be like that. Here, let me scratch your tummy.”
Alex glanced at the stringer of fish leaving a smelly puddle of slime on the floor of his cherry Corvette. “Fuck you, Longtree.”
Tommy chuckled, then laid a big hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Seriously, Doc, tell me what you saw.”
Chapter Five
As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
That had been one of John Chaney’s favorite sayings, but until recently, Gwen hadn’t really gotten its meaning.
She rarely drank coffee after noon, but the morning’s events just seemed to call for it. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping at her mug and watching the seven-foot-tall Russian werewolf pace around the cabin. He paused at the bedroom door, peeked in at the sleeping Jenny, then resumed his rounds.
“Sergei, for chrissakes, would you please sit down? You’re freaking me out,” Gwen said.
Sergei Markov stopped and smiled at Gwen. His expression seemed forced and his smile looked more like a snarl. “There is no reason for the freaking out, little friend. I am only occupied with my own thoughts. Nothing for your worries about.”
“Mmmhmm,” Gwen said, then crossed her arms under her breasts, sat back in her chair and squinted at him. “Spill it, big guy.”
He spread out his arms, palms up and shrugged. “What? I do not have the idea what you’re steering about.”
“I think you mean, what I’m ‘driving at’,” Gwen offered.
Sergei winked and pointed at her. “Ah, yes, ‘driving at’. You are so smart. I knew from the first time I laid down eyes on you that you were the one for the wisdom.”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Enough of the smoke and mirrors, Markov. What’s going on?”
“Smoke and mirrors?” Sergei muttered. “I do not know this thing, ‘Smoke and—’”
“SIT DOWN, Sergei!” Gwen demanded.
He made one more pass by the front door, drew back the gingham curtain to peer out, then flopped down on the chair opposite her. “Cribbage?” he offered.
Gwen rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out the gathering kinks in her muscles, then slapped her palms against the tabletop. “No, Sergei, I do not want to play cribbage or chess or twenty-fucking-questions. I want you to quit skulking around here—and DO NOT ask me what ‘skulking’ means. Look it up in your English-to-Russian dictionary—and tell me what’s got you and Alex so wound up.”
Sergei surprised her by reaching across the table and scooping up her hand in both of his. Gwen thought she would never get used to the ridiculously feverish body temperature of werewolves.
“Dear Gwen, I know there are parts of our world that you do not understand, but—believe it or not—there are parts we don’t understand. As a human you see thoughts and feelings like air that you cannot hold. To us, they are things—real things—like the chair that you sit in. And yet they are mysteries.”
He nodded his dark, shaggy head as if he’d just explained the secret of the cosmos.
“Go on,” Gwen urged.
Sergei shrugged. “Your mate had a nightmare and he is concerned for your safety. And so I am here to watch over you until he returns.”
Gwen raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Oh right—a nightmare. Of course.”
Fucking werewolves.
* * * * *
If an alarm went off, Gwen missed it, but in an instant, Sergei had sprung to his feet—sending his chair clattering across the worn wood planks of the kitchen floor—and Jezebel and Bob had bolted to the cabin door.
“Alex has arrived!” Sergei announced.
No shit?
Gwen reached into the front of her shirt and nudged her breasts toward center—enhancing her cleavage—then pushed back her chair and stood. The three weeks every month that Alex spent in L.A. filming The Dog Talker always left her restless and she couldn’t wait to get Mr. Big TV Star back into her bed.
The anticipation of being in his arms again trumped everything, and the stuff that had transpired that day quickly receded into the background. Gwen was already cooking up ways to convince Sergei to gather up his psycho little mate and call it a night when he jerked open the front door to welcome his alpha.
A ball of electric energy gathered at the base of Gwen’s spine and her lips tingled as she leaned fetchingly—she hoped—against the table. She concentrated on jutting out her chest and making her mouth look irresistible.
Alex breezed into the cabin with the purposeful air of an alpha wolf. He gave Sergei a slight nod of acknowledgement then grabbed Gwen and pulled her into an unabashed kiss. She giggled when he buried his mouth against her neck and growled. Alex had worked his way almost to her earlobe when Gwen opened her eyes and looked over his shoulder.
Standing in the doorway, a stringer of fish in his hand, was one of the most beautiful men—hell one of the most beautiful people—Gwen had ever laid eyes on. Glossy, jet-black hair framed brown skin. Big, dark almond-shaped eyes sparkled. High cheekbones begged to be touched. And those full lips!
Then he smiled and Gwen was sunk. The shiver that passed through her was not from her lover’s touch.
Alex must have felt too because he pulled back from Gwen then turned to follow her open-mouthed stare.
Before proper introductions could be made, Jezebel started snapping and snarling at their handsome visitor. Gwen gasped when the dog lunged. Sergei’s hand shot out and caught the golden retriever’s collar just before she made contact.
Sergei knelt down and locked Jezebel in his stare. The dog whined, then trotted across the room and flopped down on the rug in front of the fireplace. She didn’t move from the spot, but Gwen could hear the low, rumbling growl coming from her chest.
Sergei stood, brushed off his jeans and nodded to the visitor. “Hello, kitten.”
Throughout the commotion, the man in the doorway had continued to smile at Gwen but turned and nodded at Sergei’s greeting, then passed him the stringer of fish. “What’s up, big dog?”
He strode toward Gwen, arm extended. “Good to see you again, Miss Chaney.”
Again? If she’d ever met this guy, she would have remembered. She accepted his handshake and cocked her head to one side. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember—”
“I’m Tommy Longtree,” he said, broadening his incredible smile just enough to make Gwen go weak in the knees.
She realized their hands were still clasped, but she just couldn’t seem to let go. “Hi, Tommy. I’m really sorry about Jezebel. She’s usually very friendly.”
He winked at her. “No problem. I suppose I had it coming.”
Tommy slid his fingers from Gwen’s grip and brought his fists up near his chin, then hopped around in a playful shadow-boxing dance. Just when Gwen thought it couldn’t get stranger, Tommy struck out with his right arm. Instead of landing a punch, he stopped his hand—which was now hooked into a claw shape—a few inches from her neck and hissed.
He laughed. “Your pup’s scars don’t look too bad though—healed up nicely. I must’ve been distracted or I probably would’ve knocked her furry head off.”
“So werecougars,” Gwen muttered as she flopped down on the padded armchair near the front window.
Alex handed her a glass of water and leveled a glare at their guest.
Fucking Longtree. Everything was a joke to him and his kind.
“Technically they’re not ‘weres’—they’re born, not made. They aren’t influenced by the lunar cycle or stress. They can shift at will,” Alex explained.
Tommy jumped in front of Gwen, long legs spread apart, and gyrated his hips like a stripper at a bachelorette party. He started unbuckling his belt. “Yeah. Wanna see?”
“Go play with a ba
ll of yarn, kitten,” Sergei said and pushed Tommy Longtree toward the couch.
Still chuckling, Tommy sat down and held out his hands, palm up. “Settle down, pooch. I’m just kidding around.”
Gwen took a sip of water, set her glass on the end table, then slowly rose and crossed the room. When she was directly in front of the Cat King, she nudged open his knees with her own and loomed over him.
“Ooo, human kitty wants to play,” Tommy scoffed, then draped his arms over the back of the couch.
When Alex moved to break up the scene, Sergei laid a big hand on his shoulder. Let her deal with it, pack master, he telepathed.
Alex stood down but remained on alert. He felt the human hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as if he were already shifted.
“No, human kitty does not want to play. She wants to rip off your tail and stuff it up your ass!” Gwen shouted. “You tried to kill us, you sick son of a bitch!”
Tommy shook his head and laughed, but Alex could hear the nerves in his voice. “No, no, no. I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was protecting you. I was trying to kill your dog.”
Gwen lunged forward, her hands outstretched toward Tommy’s throat. He caught her wrists and pulled her down to him until their noses were almost touching. Alex sprang into action but was stopped by Sergei’s huge hand on his shoulder.
The scent of Gwen’s fear—and her arousal—were a stronger restraint than the big Russian’s grasp. Her quickening heartbeat and panting breath threatened to drown out all other noise. Alex wondered if Tommy could hear it too, and judging by the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he could.
As if Gwen’s mate weren’t even in the room, Tommy tilted that ridiculously handsome head of his, let go of one of Gwen’s wrists, then stroked her cheek. “Miss Chaney, I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Why don’t you sit that pretty round ass of yours down and let me fry up a snack for you? Do you have any flour?”
Chapter Six
Gwen sat at the kitchen table and watched Tommy Longtree work his culinary magic. Alex and Sergei had pulled chairs up to the hearth across the room and were deep in conversation. She didn’t care what they were talking about; she was mesmerized by Tommy’s grace as he filleted the little fish. He seemed as though he’d been cooking in her kitchen for years and located his supplies with an uncanny ease. Tommy lit a flame under a pot of oil, set out a platter with several layers of paper towel, then prepared the coating.
Taking a sip from her third glass of wine, Gwen watched as Tommy whisked eggs and milk in a large bowl. He twisted the top from a bottle of beer, then added a splash to the egg mixture. In a second bowl, he combined flour, salt and pepper.
“The secret is in the triple-dip,” he said without turning to face her. “First dry, then wet, then dry again.”
He dredged the fillets through the dry mixture, then dipped them in the wet before coating them with the dry again. The instant the battered fish hit the oil, the cabin was filled with a mouth-watering aroma.
Jezebel and Bob padded across the worn plank floor and sat near Tommy’s feet. He glanced at the dogs, then focused on the golden retriever. “Are you looking for a peace offering, yellow dog?” he asked.
Tommy chuckled as he scooped the first batch of fillets from the oil, then gingerly laid them on the paper towels to drain. Bob whined.
“Give it a second, doggy. They’ll burn your mouth.” When the black lab barked, Tommy lifted a battered piece of meat to his lips and blew on it before ripping it in half. “Ladies first, dude,” he said, then flipped a chunk to each dog. Jez and Bob snapped the treats out of the air.
“Now, go lie down, you mangy curs,” Tommy said.
Bob loped easily across the cabin, but Jezebel waddled over to the braided rug in front of the fireplace. Tommy laughed. “Yeah, that definitely wasn’t the one your grandfather warned me about.”
“Excuse me?” Gwen said.
“The old man came to me in a dream. He said you were in trouble and I should, ‘beware the yellow dog’. But these visions aren’t literal. He might have been talking about something else entirely, or it might have been just a random dream. Who knows?”
He shrugged, then turned back to the stove. Before plunging the next batch into the oil, the chef plucked another piece from the plate and turned. “Now, usually the rule is one for the chef first then one for the hostess, but I kinda felt like I owed old Jezebel…you know, on account of how I almost ripped off her head.”
Tommy took a bite of the fillet, then held out the remains for Gwen. When she reached out to accept it, he shook his head then locked her in his stare. “No, just open wide, gorgeous.”
Almost involuntarily, Gwen’s mouth dropped open. Something about the seduction in his voice and her willingness to bend to it was incredibly erotic. Her panties dampened and she hoped Cat People didn’t have the acute sense of smell that werewolves had.
He didn’t give her the food right away and as the seconds ticked by, Gwen studied his eyes. For an instant they morphed from the deepest brown to yellow. When she blinked, the illusion disappeared and she wondered if the wine was making her see things.
Finally, Tommy laid the morsel on her tongue as if he were offering her communion. The contrast of the crisp, seasoned coating and the tender, sweet fish was wonderful and Gwen moaned her appreciation.
Tommy’s eyes flashed golden again and when he stood straight, her gaze dropped to the front of his jeans. A very obvious—and very large—erection was outlined beneath the faded denim.
Boxers or briefs? she wondered.
He chuckled and then turned back to the stove. After frying up the rest of his catch, Tommy called Alex and Sergei back to the table. Fresh bottles of wine and beer were opened and the four dug into the impromptu feast.
Gwen’s attention kept getting pulled across the table to Tommy. He was beautiful, but the attraction wasn’t just to his looks. There was something indescribable drawing her to him. Alex sat beside her and she was conscious of him frequently glancing at her. He claimed he couldn’t read her thoughts, but her lover clearly was aware of her interest in their guest.
“So, what were you and Sergei talking about earlier?” Gwen asked, trying to deflect Alex’s examination of her.
Alex glanced at the bedroom door then leaned in toward Gwen.
“He told me about your run-in with Jenny this morning,” he answered quietly.
Gwen sipped her wine. “Oh, that. Yeah, it was pretty strange. I thought you guys didn’t allow hunting in broad daylight.”
She glanced across the table at Sergei and the big Russian shook his head. “We do not allow it,” he confirmed. “Jenny is new and still wild. I will remind her tonight of the rules.”
Gwen turned to Alex. “Exactly how wild? Should I be worried?”
Alex shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Describe again the last cycle she spent in the fledgling cave. Can you remember anything ‘off’ about it?”
They’d already been over this—several times in fact. Alex’s insistence on rehashing it yet again got on Gwen’s nerves. The rules were that the human consort was to give the alpha her recommendation and he was to respect it. Period. Gwen was beginning to feel like the star witness in a murder trial and Alex was the prosecuting attorney.
She chewed another mouthful of delectable fried sunfish then washed it down with a healthy slug of chardonnay. “She was different, Alex.”
“Different how?” he pressed.
A cold knot of foreboding twisted in Gwen’s gut. Had she missed something? She dropped her gaze to her plate and pushed little bits of batter around with her fork. Different how?
* * * * *
Two Months Earlier
The little blonde had been none too happy when Gwen hadn’t given her a passing grade after the third moon week in the cave. Before Jenny, Gwen had ushered two other fledglings through the change. Three didn’t make the new human consort an expert, but she felt certain th
is one wasn’t ready. Jenny was even more pissed when Gwen couldn’t give her a concrete reason—not that she was required to—and Alex had admonished the new werewolf for even asking.
There was no score card that Gwen filled out. Whether or not a fledgling graduated from being a detainee to becoming one of the pack was based on nothing more scientific than a gut feeling. Gwen had pored through the journal her grandfather had left her, but every entry on the subject—going back centuries—said about the same thing, You’ll just know.
The behavior of the two fledglings before Jenny had been shocking—frightening even—especially during the first few nights. But the first had graduated after three cycles and the second after just two. She couldn’t articulate exactly how she’d known they were ready. She just did.
Gwen had carefully studied the notes, poring over descriptions of snapping, snarling, supernatural beasts, in an effort to ready herself for what was to come. But no amount of reading could have prepared her for what she would see in that deep, dark cave. Fear and moon lust drove the fledglings and their initial changes were violent. Overcome by pain and confusion, they’d thrown themselves against the stone walls and spewed vile, murderous threats at her.
The instructions her predecessors had left on this point were clear. She was to sit outside the iron-barred cell for seven nights—the evening of the full moon and the three on either side of it—and bear witness to the change. She could offer kind words and encouragement, but she was not to interfere in any way with the process. Before Alex had explained her role as protector, she hadn’t understood why she was there at all.
Per her instructions, Gwen had told each of the fledglings the same thing on their first night, “Nothing you can say or do will shock me,” but that wasn’t quite true. Seeing their bodies contort and stretch into something between human and beast was jarring, but it was the anger that scared her the most. Their anger was so intense, it was almost palpable.
Her Alphas Page 6