by Celia Kyle
He chuckled and took her empty can from her fingers. “I can definitely understand why you choose to use a different name.”
“Once I started making noise about him, it became hard to win people’s trust after they learned I’m the child of the monster we’re all trying to stop.”
Warren’s thick, warm fingers found her empty hand and clasped it gently. “For what it’s worth, I trust you. One thousand percent, no matter what anyone else thinks. You’re a good person with a good heart.”
That heart picked up its pace in her chest at his touch and kind words. Not to mention the gleam of adoration in his eyes—although that could have simply been the moon peeking through the canopy.
“Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to choke out the words past the emotions consuming her. “That means… a lot.”
She’d never had an ally like Warren, and it felt nice. It felt even nicer that Warren was her ally, not some random guy she’d met at a protest. Which, of course, he was. Yet… he wasn’t. The confusing feelings needed to stop. She needed to focus, and not on herself. It was time to turn the tables and put the focus on him.
“Enough about me.” She couldn’t manage to pull her hand from his. It felt too nice. “What about you? What’s your family like? Please tell me it’s not as dysfunctional as mine.”
“Not even close. Pretty normal, really. Parents who loved us, a great sister, a tight-knit community, and friends I can truly depend on. I’d risk my life for any one of them, and I know in my soul the feeling is mutual. I may just look like a poor, dumb redneck, but in my personal opinion, I’m the privileged one here.”
Persia burst out laughing, sliding a few inches closer to him as her body shuddered. “I would have to agree with you there, Warren. I have no clue how that feels. The protesters I recruit come and go like the wind, so I don’t even have what I would consider to be real friends. I wonder if I’ll ever find a place that feels like home.”
Silence drew out between them so long she glanced over to him. The darkness did nothing to hide the intensity in his gaze.
“Maybe you already have.”
Her brain screamed for her to tell him to lay off the hard sell, but her mouth wouldn’t obey. All it wanted to do was press against those lips she’d daydreamed of. In that moment, it truly hit her that she liked Warren. A lot. Too much, even. And the dream of finally belonging somewhere—and with him to boot—was too tempting to ignore. For all his mysterious ways and his quiet, country boy persona, Warren was starting to feel…safe. Whenever they were together, it felt as if that was exactly where every decision in her life had led her. Like she belonged. Like she was home.
Chapter Thirteen
A blast of crisp, autumn air woke Warren with a start. It was still dark out, too dark to see anything except the pale moonlight glittering through the canopy. Instincts had him sniffing the air, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Except one thing.
Persia.
Finally coming awake and fully into his human senses, he slowly turned his head to find Persia’s back pressed up against his front, spooning him. Blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he was happily surprised to find himself staring at the back of her head, her red curls splayed over her shoulder and his left arm, the same one on which her head rested. His right arm twitched, wanting to pull her tighter, but he didn’t want to wake her.
He wanted this moment to last forever.
The way her chest rose and fell under his arm, the faint smell of her shampoo under her more powerful and intoxicating personal scent, how her body fit so perfectly against his, despite the thick fabric of two sleeping bags between them. Dammit, he knew he should have zipped their bags together to make one giant sleeping bag!
Of course, she wouldn’t have put up with that, not last night, when she’d already been irritated with him. Honestly, he was surprised she hadn’t rolled him off the edge of the platform in his sleep. Good thing he’d built that railing.
Persia stirred, her ass pressing up against the spot that really didn’t need to be any more alert than it already was, yet he silently begged for more. He could have remained like that for the rest of the night, his cock thrumming against the sleeping bag, but she hadn’t finished moving in her sleep. Rolling around inside her bag, she snuggled up to his warmth, facing him, and then sighed peacefully.
In that moment, Warren knew joy. The simple joy of holding his mate, breathing her in, reveling in every inch of her without even touching her flesh. Whatever he might have felt about Chloe in the past was nothing compared to how he felt with Persia so close. Zeke and Val could scoff all they wanted, but he knew. He knew.
For no reason in particular—or maybe because somewhere deep in her unconscious, she felt their bond too—Persia’s eyes fluttered open. Even in the dark, he could make out the difference between her blue eye and her brown eye, and both stared at him with such profound vulnerability, his breath stopped in his chest. She’d never looked so open, so trusting.
Unguarded Persia.
A stray red curl drifted onto her cheek and Warren felt it was his duty to brush it back into place with his finger. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even stop staring up at him with that sweet expression, and he found the rest of his fingers cupping her cheek gently as his thumb brushed across her lips. Instead of pulling away or telling him to “slow his roll,” Persia allowed her eyelids to fall shut and released a whisper of a sigh. That was all the invitation Warren needed.
Warren ran his fingers through her hair, far enough to fist the glorious strands. He tugged her head back to expose the long line of her neck and she drew in a sharp breath, mouth falling open with her gasp.
He lowered his head and caressed her with his lips, peppering her with kisses and savoring her breathy sigh. He licked and tasted her, taunting them both when he gently worried her skin between his teeth. That earned him a sharp squeak and his heart raced with her obvious enjoyment.
He cupped her breast with his free hand, her nipple stiff under the thin fabric that separated them. She stroked him, her palm sliding across his chest and fingers curling to drag her nails over his taut muscles. Desire consumed him, the knowledge that she wanted him driving his need even higher. He breathed deeply and savored the scent of her arousal, the sweet musk luring his beast to the surface—encouraging and tormenting him.
Right about then he was grateful they hadn’t zipped their sleeping bags together—the fabric acting as a barrier to keep them apart. He still needed to tell her the truth about werewolves before he gave her the claiming bite. It was a plain and simple fact and now wasn’t the time for that conversation. But that didn’t mean he had to stop. As long as he didn’t fuck her—claim her—he’d be fine. Right?
He brought his lips to hers, capturing her mouth as he sought to drive her mad with kisses. She inhaled and tensed with the first kiss but melted a moment later and arched into his touch. She pushed to get closer and he savored her nearness. Their shared passion increased, kisses going from slow and lazy to harsh and aggressive—his tongue invading her mouth and taking what he craved. She pressed against him and they practically fought for power, the meeting of their mouths and shared touches growing more and more aggressive.
Persia released him and reached down, sliding along his front as far as she could within his sleeping bag. They struggled with the thick fabric, finding themselves at an awkward angle neither of them were willing to abandon. She seemed to know what she was after and she was going to get it. Her fingers brushed Warren’s thick shaft and then quickly wrapped around his length.
He stiffened further at her touch, the feel of her squeezing him. She explored his dick, from thick base to the bulging tip and back again. He felt as if his body showed off for her, thicker and warmer than usual, responding to her with more sensitivity.
Warren returned the favor without hesitation. He stretched his arm down into her bag, surrounded by her warmth until he reached her thig
hs. He stroked her and she changed position, opening her legs to give him a better angle—more space. He brushed her pussy and warm breath fanned his face when she released a delighted sigh. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And he wasn’t about to let the sleeping bag remain in his way. Even if that meant losing her touch.
He scooted forward and urged Persia to turn, firm yet gentle dominance that she submitted to without hesitation. She wasn’t a pushover by any stretch of the imagination. Knowing that he had earned her trust to let him move her suffused him with pride.
With one hand he cupped her breast and squeezed, brushing a thumb over the hard point of her nipple. She shivered with his touch and he transferred his gentle grip to her other breast, doing the same thing. He grinded his cock against her ass, spooning her with his heated body and rubbing his need against the mounds of her ass. He listened to every soft, breathy moan and groan, the sounds coming more frequently the longer he teased her. When the scent of her arousal nearly tossed him past the edge of his control, he gave himself permission to reach down.
He dipped his fingers beneath the waist of her panties, finding her folds slick and warm with her need. He let out a soft murmur, reveling in the feel of her, and she gasped when he teased her clit. He repeated the stroke, enjoying her pleasure. He could be domineering, but he didn’t want to torment Persia. He wanted to give her something she’d remember.
He stroked her pussy, teasing her slit with sensuous strokes as he familiarized himself with the landscape of her folds. He slipped a finger into her sheath and curled it ever so slightly. She shuddered in his caress—one hand going to her breast while the other clung to the sleeping bag and held tightly. A second, thick finger joined the first and he massaged her pussy, stroke after stroke.
He withdrew and brought his fingers to her clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and so very responsive to his touch. He made small circles with his fingers and she squirmed against him, pushing her ass snugly against his groin. When she whimpered and shuddered once again, he knew he’d found the golden spot. He grew more aggressive, rubbing her with a steady, unrelenting rhythm that had her panting and mewling for more.
He knew she grew closer to release, could sense her rising pleasure and that she rode the edge of orgasm. He could smell it on the air. Practically taste the clouds of bliss. His fingers grew wetter by the moment and Warren wished he’d already had the werewolf talk with her. He wanted to slide into her wet, willing pussy. Sink deeply and fill her with his—
A sound filtered through his desire, an odd sound, one that shouldn’t have been. A rope sliding through a carabiner. Warren froze, listening hard to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Persia’s panting nearly drowned it out when it happened again, but he heard it. Clear as a bell. A human was messing around at the base of their tree!
Before his poor dearest even knew what was happening, he was out of the sleeping bag and peering over the edge of their treehouse. Then a scent even more powerful than Persia’s arousal hit him like a baseball bat.
Human.
Male.
Gunpowder.
Persia eased up next to his tense body, her fingers slipping between his. His wolf surged against Warren’s self-control, demanding to be released so he could protect their mate, but Warren only allowed it to come out just enough to boost his vision. No sense overreacting until he was sure there was actually a threat.
Sure enough, a man with a gun slung over his shoulder inched his way up the tree using their own damn climbing ropes.
Fuck!
Chapter Fourteen
Persia’s heart pounded like a tribal drum in her chest, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiety as she peered over the edge of the platform. How could things have changed so quickly? From sleeping as peacefully as she ever had to waking up in the most delightful manner to staring into the abyss, trying to see the threat that had put Warren on high alert. Tension pulsed off him so powerfully it felt like a blazing fire and kept growing, yet she couldn’t make out what he seemed to sense.
“What is it?” she whispered, eyes wide as she willed them to adjust to the darkness.
Warren released her hand as she blinked hard again and again, straining to focus on something… anything. A small movement caught her attention, and that did it. Suddenly the shape of someone pulling themselves up the tree resolved, and her blood ran cold. It came as such a surprise that she stumbled backward a step and clapped her hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.
“Shit!” she hissed, spinning around to see if Warren might have smuggled a cauldron of molten lava in with his supplies so they could pour it over their assailant. But instead she was met with a sight more horrifying, more incomprehensible than she’d ever seen in her life.
“W-warren?” Her throat clamped up, not allowing her to make so much as a squeak after that.
He was no longer the gentle country boy with the soft kisses and the lilting twang as sweet as honey fresh from the hive. The Caribbean blue eyes that melted her to the core intensified to a wholly inhuman shade of cobalt, flashing with rage, even as the structure of his face changed. At first subtly, but then quickly and dramatically. The rest of his body soon followed suit.
No matter how fast or how much she blinked, this bizarre nightmare or vision or whatever it was didn’t fade away. It remained, and only became freakier. But it couldn’t be real. Not any of it. She had to be dreaming or sleepwalking.
Time slowed as Warren’s body bulged and twisted, stretching the seams of his jeans and flannel shirt. He fell onto all fours, his mouth and nose seeming to elongate into a snout—she knew it was impossible, but it was the only way to describe it—and golden fur sprouted over every inch of exposed skin. It must have only taken seconds, but hours seemed to pass as Persia watched, utterly paralyzed as his shirt and pants tore away from his body in shreds, like the Hulk. Except, instead of turning into Lou Ferrigno covered in green makeup, she was left facing something so incomprehensible, her knees gave out and she dropped to her ass, staring at the beast in total, overriding shock.
“Nonononono,” she babbled as her brain short-circuited.
Scrambling backward and pressing herself against the rough bark of the tree trunk, she gaped at the huge wolf standing in the middle of the platform, its lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. At least it wasn’t snarling at her. The animal’s murderous gaze focused on the edge of the platform, where the person climbing the tree would soon appear.
Persia’s breaths came in short, quick gasps, her brain frantically trying to make sense of what it had just seen—was still seeing—but it couldn’t. Instead, it tried to convince her Warren hadn’t just turned into a wolf. That the wolf had never been a man to begin with. A man was a man, a wolf was a wolf. Of course, that had to be true, yet… she’d watched Warren change, contort, transform. And she couldn’t ignore the fact he was nowhere to be seen. She even craned her neck back to see if he’d climbed the tree, but he’d vanished into thin air.
Maybe he was never here to begin with, her inner pragmatist whispered. Maybe she’d simply dreamed cuddling up with him, kissing him, touching him. Maybe that’s what happened.
Then where did the wolf come from? another part of her argued. She hated that part. A bear might have climbed a tree, but wolves weren’t known for their tree-climbing skills.
I’ve lost my mind, she decided. It was the only explanation, unless aliens had transported her to an alternate reality or parallel universe or different dimension or whatever the Sci-fi nuts called it. Damn, she was even babbling inside her own head!
The line between reality and hallucination blurred into the background of her mind. Everything was real and nothing was real, all at the same time. With a start, Persia realized Wolf Woods had gone silent. No rustling of foraging nocturnal animals. No birds flitting around as they prepared for the day. Not even the breeze that had cooled her heated skin moments earlier whispered among the leaves. No sound whatsoever from the forest itself, as if it silence
d itself to better hear the maelstrom that was about to be unleashed.
Only a few sounds passed the thundering of her heart. The beast—whether imaginary or terrifyingly real—prowled at the edge of the platform, moving silently, even as drool splattered on the freshly cut plywood. Her breaths continued in hot, ragged bursts, and she wondered for a moment if her throat was closing up. Maybe dying like that would be for the best before the wolf could turn its gaze on her. The rough hiss of rope brushing rope reminded her of the threat about to present itself.
Unable to stop herself, she turned her nearly catatonic gaze toward the edge of the platform in time to see a pair of big, strong hands grip the railing Warren had installed just hours earlier. She didn’t need to see the man’s face to know he was one of her father’s hired guns. He’d come for her. Or maybe the massive wolf standing in front of her, shielding her from the hunter. Knowing the tenacity of the men Dick McNish hired, whatever was about to go down, it would not go down easily.
The wolf took a half-step backward, closer to Persia, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t because it was afraid. It just wanted to stay out of the hunter’s sightline for as long as possible. It was smart. Smarter than an average wolf because the tactic worked. The hunter grunted softly as he hoisted the top half of his body past the edge of the platform and faced them.
The man probably barely had time for his brain to process what it was seeing before the wolf lunged forward, snapping his powerful jaws and latching onto something so hard the crunch made her cringe. The silence of the forest was shattered by a bellow of surprise and pain. Then the crack of branches and sickening thud of a body hitting the forest floor nearly brought up her beer and potato chips.