by T. S. Joyce
Raised voices carried through the walls so she led her mom toward the kitchen. If they got much louder, human ears would be able to hear them.
“Did Rachel show you the wedding cake? It’s in the refrigerator. She baked it today.”
The kitchen was a mix of log cabin meets modern amenities. The counters were made of granite threaded with browns and golds, and the island was a giant block of natural wood. Six chairs sat the edge where Marissa and Brent sat with Lana, frozen in place, listening.
“What was that?” Mom asked. “Out on the front porch. What happened? Everyone was having a good time, and then they stopped talking all of the sudden, and all at the exact same time. Did someone say something wrong?”
Morgan tried to laugh, but she sounded like a lunatic. Her voice wrenched up an octave. “Oh no, there isn’t anything wrong. Everything’s fine.”
What are you doing? Brent mouthed.
She’d been kicked out of high school theater for a reason.
Rachel presented the wedding cake. “I’m having trouble deciding how to finish decorating it. I was thinking of using the flowers she has in her bouquet around the edges, or I could do frosted pearl buttons all over, or leave it plain white with frosted edges. What do you think, Hannah?”
Score one for Rachel. That question was right up Mom’s alley. She really was much better at distraction and stalling. Mom and Rachel chatted back and forth about the cake until they’d managed, as a little mixed-species team, to make it perfect.
When they were finished debating, they all migrated to the game room, which was conveniently located on the opposite side of the house from the challenge that had begun outside. Marissa and Brent challenged Mom and Rachel to a game of doubles on the pool table but Morgan hung back, listening and waiting.
At the sound of the first feral snarls, she ran upstairs, feigning a bathroom break. She crept to a darkened window and crouched low by the sill to watch. This fight looked nothing like the first one against Rodrigo. Where Grey and Rodrigo had seemed graceful in their conflict, the raging scene below was brutal. The big man was still a smaller wolf than Grey, but he was thick, probably outweighing Grey by twenty pounds. Maybe more. His coloring was like Wade’s, dark brown, with lighter brown points.
One of the wolves had already drawn blood. Dark flecks stained the grass beneath them. Damn these werewolf eyes that saw everything. She could see every single blood splatter. Her heart pounded as she tried desperately to decipher whose blood was. Little crimson droplets flung away from them every time they made a quick movement. The eyelash moon wasn’t much help. Even with her extensive night vision, she couldn’t make out where Grey ended and the other wolf began. This fight was jerky and so fast, they seemed to blur into one another until one would break away to circle the other before they attacked again. The fight lasted a hundred years.
Grey was visibly limping but unrelenting in his attack. She twitched her fingers to rid herself of the tingling that had started to spread through her body. So immersed was she in watching the fight in the yard below, she had no time to worry about the wolf inside of her howling to be let out. The men observing the fight were perfectly still and silent as Grey finally stood over the other wolf, jaw working over his neck. This was the first time the other wolf was still long enough for Morgan to assess his wounds. One of his ears had been completely ripped off, his front right leg was bent at an odd angle, and a wound on his neck was bleeding profusely. Grey waited for him to yield for only a second. When the other wolf only looked defiantly into his furious eyes, without hesitation, Wolf ripped his throat out and sat back to watch him bleed to death.
“Oh my God,” she whispered in horror at the scene below.
Grey focused a dead glare on the shocked witnesses the challenger had brought. They held their distance. Smart wolves. Long minutes dragged as the dead wolf Turned back into a man, and the witnesses dragged his body to the trunk of their car. Grey’s head swiveled slowly as he watched them leave. She stood, giving action to her need to touch him and assure herself he was safe. Grey collapsed, and the strands of white lights, so romantic half an hour before, illuminated his dark, wet, matted fur. Dean and Wade were already running toward him.
“Grey!” The Change came before she could stop it. All she could do was focus on not making pained noises that Mom would hear from downstairs. The last thing she needed was for her to walk in on her like that. How would she even explain it? Hey Mom, sorry you saw me while I looked like this creepy alien critter on the floor, but it’s okay. Grey just killed a man so now I’m safe. Also, don’t get too close. Pretty sure I have fleas. Mom would run screaming from her house and her life.
When at last she could move, she scrabbled forward, nails scratching and clicking across the wooden floors.
“Aw man! Who let the dog in?” Marissa complained as Morgan bolted down the stairs. Marissa jogged to open the door for her, and as her hand rested on the doorknob, Mom exclaimed, “Oh, what a beautiful dog! Is she yours?”
Marissa paused and gave Morgan an ‘oops’ face. “Uh, yeah. Morgan gave her to me for my birthday last week. She is still potty training so we try to keep her outside.”
How was everyone in this house a better liar than her?
When Marissa opened the door, Morgan rushed out and rocketed off the porch steps to find Grey. Hopefully, they could keep her mother distracted inside. There was no way to explain away the aftermath of a werewolf fight.
Wade carried Grey’s limp body into the woodshop. She paced behind him with her tail lowered until she was inside with them.
“Jason,” Wade clipped out. “Go get Marissa and be subtle about it.”
Logan hauled in the huge plastic bin of medical supplies that Wade always carried in the back of his truck. Dean leaned heavily against the doorframe of the woodshop as Wade lowered Grey onto a long workbench. Dean’s eyes were fever bright as his gaze stayed anchored on Grey’s limp body. Friends or no, his wolf wanted to fight Grey for dominance when he was vulnerable, and something about that realization filled her veins with red fury. She could almost see Dean’s animal calculating his odds at besting him.
Morgan bolted toward him and let out a low snarl as she placed herself between Dean and the table where Grey lay. He glanced down at her with a half-deranged look that said he had a half-cocked notion he could fight her while human.
Try it, motherfucker.
After a charged moment, he held up his hands, and in a strange voice said, “I’ll go inside and find Rachel.”
She sneezed and shook her head, baring her teeth. That’s a great idea. He backed off slowly toward the house. Rachel would get him calmed down and take him home if she thought he needed it. Incorrigible, dominant wolves. She liked Dean, but if he was going to let his wolf challenge Grey in this state, he would learn exactly what lengths she would go to in order to protect him.
The medical kit thudded onto the table when Logan dropped it. He turned and swiped everything off the workbench and onto the floor below. Grey lay unresponsive on the sawdust-coated wooden particle board. Wade, apparently used to an injured dominant on his table, was keeping his growling to himself. Logan, on the other hand, was staring hungrily. His light blue eyes were frozen on her blood-soaked mate. She lunged and bit him. He jerked away, backed out of the shed, and followed Dean to the house. Pacing the doorway, she didn’t return until both blood-lusty werewolves were back inside the house. Behind her, Wade worked feverishly on Grey. Sweat ran the gauntlet down the scar that marred the side of his face, and his usually passive expression was knotted with worry.
“Morgan,” Wade said. “We need him to Change back as soon as possible. I need to stitch him up and see what kind of damage we are dealing with. I can’t do that when he is Wolf.”
She swung her head back to the yard. Marissa was running this way. Satisfied that more help was coming, she turned and jumped up on the workbench. The table groaned slightly under her added weight. She stood over him, whining and l
icking his face, his dark fur coarse against her tongue. It tasted like pennies.
There was so much blood, it pooled beneath him. Her licks became frantic. What if he was already dead? She paused, listening. His faint heartbeat thrummed softly against his sternum.
Grey, Grey, Grey. Please wake up.
Wade dug through his medical box. “He’s going to be pissed when he gets a whiff of this this. They’re smelling salts, but they’re stronger for a wolf nose so we need to try and keep him calm.”
Waking Demon Wolf like this was a horrible idea, but for lack of a better one, it would have to do. Her heart pounded away like jackhammer and the scent of her fear filled the room.
She was definitely about to get bitten.
Chapter Eight
Wolf jolted awake with the smell of something awful and strong in his nose. Heavy pressure pinned him against a hard, rough surface, and before he could register sight or smell, he lunged, raking sharp teeth across the culprit’s neck. A yelp and long whine sounded as the weight disappeared off him. And then he smelled her. Morgan.
Grey blinked unfocused eyes as the pain consumed him. It burned him up from the inside out. He roared, scrabbling to get upright and out of such a defenseless position. Someone was trying to soothe him, which only pissed him off more.
He would kill everything.
Twisting his body, he fell off the table hard enough to puff the sawdust beneath him into the air. A warning snarl ripped through him, and he pulled his lips back over bared teeth. His focus landed on a light spot in the corner. A white wolf was cowering there, shaking. A red stain spread across her throat. He tried to right himself to make his way to her but only got halfway when his leg gave out from under him. He lay still and whined, trying to get her to come closer. He had hurt her, and even through the haze of pain, was desperate for forgiveness.
Tail tucked under her hunched body, weaving back and forth, she approached. He whined again, and she rushed over to him on her belly, then licked his face. He tried to nose the wound on her neck, but the pain kept him from focusing long enough.
“Grey,” Wade said, kneeling close. “You have to Change before you pass out again. I have to work on your injuries, but I can’t do it when you are Wolf. I could miss something.”
Morgan lay beside him, whining. He understood what had Wade said, but adding the pain of the Change on top of what he was already feeling had his mind skittering away from the idea.
“She needs you, Grey. Morgan and Lana and Marissa, they all need you. You have to Change,” Wade encouraged him.
He began to Change, pushing it quickly. His roar turned into the agonized scream of a man. The edges of his vision blurred and collapsed until the thick, black folds of unconsciousness relieved him.
As much as he fought to wake up, he was only able to do so in short spurts. He would open his eyes to the pain—always the pain. Morgan was there as an anchor to focus on. Her soft fur, always reassuring under his fingertips. Her eyes so full of worry as Wade and Marissa worked over him. The red on the matted fur of her neck. Her scent, just strong enough to hold him for a few seconds before his eyes grew too heavy to keep open anymore. There was only time to worry about her injured throat for a second before the darkness dragged him back under, again and again.
When at last consciousness washed over him and held, he stared in confusion at the slowly spinning ceiling fan above him. He searched for pockets of coolness under the familiar sheets but the motion stretched newly stitched skin. He froze and sucked air quietly through his teeth. God, that hurt.
Morgan lay beside him in her human form, lacking a single stitch of clothing save her engagement ring. She was sound asleep. She didn’t even wake as he adjusted his position to get a better look at her. The blanket draped around her hips, and rays of early morning sunlight caressed her soft cheek. The webs of light brought out the faint auburn highlights in her dark hair as it cascaded across her pillow. She was stunning.
She had healed from Montana. Only a long, thin scar along her hairline was visible. He pulled his hand up to touch her cheek but stopped when he spotted the large bandage where his teeth had grazed her last night. It brought a sick pang to his stomach. When he looked back at her face, two light purple eyes stared steadily back at him.
“You scared me last night,” she said in a sleepy voice.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“No, not that, silly man. I knew you were going to bite me when Wade gave you the smelling salts. I mean I was scared that I was going to lose you.”
He shrugged off the things about this life he couldn’t avoid. “I have to protect you and there will be times when it’s going to have to be like this. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t understand how hard it is to not be able to defend myself. I have to watch the man I care about do it for me and try my best to clean up the pieces afterward. The scars on your body are because of me.”
Touching the bandage on her neck, he said, “Yours are from me.” They were both marked. Unable to take his eyes from her bare breasts, he trailed his finger down until he cupped the weight of one. “I like sharing a bed.”
“Today I’ll be claimed by you,” she whispered from behind the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. God, she looked like an angel. “I’m going to finally be yours. You’re already mine.”
He chuckled and tucked a strand behind her ear. “You’ve been mine since I was human.”
“Could you ever have imagined that awful night in the woods would lead to this?”
The pillow under him rustled as he shook his head. “The happiest day of my life was born from the worst.”
“Would you take it all back if you could?”
He shook his head and let honestly fill his words. “Not a single second of it.”
“Mmm, that was a good answer. Wade dialed back your pain meds so you won’t be groggy today. That’s the only reason I’m not molesting you right now. He said you’re going to be really sore.”
She reached between his legs and rubbed his cock, and he groaned. He was already hard as a rock just from massaging her tit.
“Do you want me to help you shower?” she asked innocently.
“Maybe in a little while. Grab it. Hard.”
She gripped him tightly and moved her hand up and down until he was rocking her hips with the pace she set. God her little grip felt so good. When she reached down and cupped his balls with her other hand, he knew he wouldn’t care about pulled stitches. He rolled over on top of her, ignoring all of his soreness, and grabbed her hand off his balls, put it between her legs. “Come,” he told her, and watched the wicked smile spread across her face.
She fingered herself, arching her little back and making those needy sounds that made him lose his mind. And the whole time, that tight grip of hers was stroking his dick. Faster and faster, harder, and she was close now, gasping his name. As she cried out, he pumped forward into her grip and splashed his release all across her tits. She pulled at him until he was twitching and panting, his entire body numbing as he spilled every last drop onto her skin.
“Mine,” he growled out.
And she lifted up just enough to press her lips over his heart. “Mine,” she whispered in return.
Chapter Nine
Morgan padded quietly downstairs to assess the damage from last night. How was she going to explain all of what happened to Mom? She was already suspicious, and who could blame her? A month ago, Morgan had been living in a tiny house in a bad part of town, and now she was shacked up in a ranch mansion and getting married on a week’s notice. She’d already answered the shotgun wedding question at least ten times, and then the rehearsal dinner goes down in flames? It was damage control time.
The sound of laughter vibrated against the bones of the house as it rang through the first floor. The wedding attendees were enjoying a huge breakfast around the island. Apparently, all tension from last night had escaped with the first rays of li
ght. Maybe, just maybe, today wouldn’t be ruined by the stubbornness of power-hungry werewolves. It was still early though.
Mom dropped a set of red oven mitts and rushed to hug her. “Oh, Morgan! Are you alright, honey?” She shoved her back at arms’ length and narrowed her eyes on the bandage on Morgan’s neck. “What is that?”
“Uuuuuh.” She looked at the others but their faces had all gone blank. “Hickey?” she said with a grimace.
Brent snorted, and Rachel whacked him in the arm.
“Morgan Carter, you couldn’t wait until after wedding pictures? The bandage looks terrible! How are we going to cover that up?”
“Uuuuuh. Photoshop?”
Mom was looking awfully squinty and suspicious, so it was time for a subject change.
She picked up Lana and hugged her tight. “Did you have fun sleeping in Mimi’s room?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Lana said with a solemn nod.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted you to tuck me in and you didn’t even sing me a lullaby.” When Lana’s little lips puckered out, Morgan covered her in kisses until she giggled.
“Where is your dog?” Mom asked.
Lana pushed her cheeks together until she probably resembled a dolphin, her lips barely moving when she admitted, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know, the big white dog you gave Marissa for her birthday?”
“Oh,” Marissa spoke up, “Snow…ball. Snowball. She ran off. I haven’t seen her since last night. She kind of comes and goes.”
Morgan jerked her attention from Lana and stared in horror at her mother, who had seen her in all her furry, growling, four-legged glory last night. She’d forgotten all about that.
“What is that look for?” Mom asked.
“Oooh, I just, I uh—” Come on, Morgan. She tried to shake her thoughts loose and cleared her throat. “I think that Snowball is a terrible name for that poor…dog. She should be named something like Xena, or Rogue, or Kai the Mountain Warrior, or something else befitting a proper…guard dog.”