Alpha Pack 02 - Savage Awakening (12 page)

Such a simple, mundane action. One he wouldn’t take for granted again.

Reaching out, he let his fingers trace over the keypad. After a couple of incorrect entries, the sequence came back to him and he was inside, breathing deeply and looking around.

The apartment wasn’t the same as he’d left it—the place was spotless. He was sure there’d been newspapers, beer bottles, food wrappers, and a few issues of
Big Tits-N-Asses
scattered everywhere. He could’ve sworn he was in the wrong place, except the code worked.

Every surface gleamed and the scent of lemon polish hung in the air. The counter separating the bar from the kitchen had been straightened up and cleaned, and so had the counters in the kitchen itself.

Moving into the kitchen, he inspected the fridge. The milk inside, as well as sandwich meat and an assortment of condiments, was fresh. There was a covered casserole dish, too, and he suspected one of the women had baked it for his return.

And yeah, there must be lint in his eyes. He sniffed and cursed simultaneously, glad nobody was here to witness his homecoming. Closing the fridge, he turned
and padded toward the bedroom, stripping off the awful gown as he went. He tossed the thing on the floor and made a beeline straight for the shower.

His bathroom sparkled as well, and he winced, thinking of the layer of grunge his friends must’ve tackled to help him out. He turned on the water, gave it a minute to heat, and then stepped inside into heaven.

Hot streams of water sluiced over the top of his head, wet his hair, and ran down his body. Massaged tired, abused muscles. He groaned in sheer bliss and stood under the spray for several minutes, and it hit him that he hadn’t even realized until that moment how bone-cold he’d been.

After shampooing his hair twice, he squeezed some men’s shower gel into his palm, sudsing his face, neck, chest, stomach. Legs and feet. He saved the glory trail for last, following it down between his thighs to soap his balls.

“Ahhh, yes.”

Too goddamned long. Felt so freakin’ good to rub the slippery suds along his sac, roll them around. Thank God his balls weren’t sore anymore. His cock took interest in playtime, lengthening to curve toward his belly and beg for attention. He took his sweet time, washing his balls, rinsing. Then he poured a generous amount of the liquid soap—unarguably the greatest invention
ever
—along his cock and took the eager member in hand.

Hissing, he gripped his shaft tighter, shivering at the pleasure flowing through his belly. He began to pump, down to the tight sac, up again to the plump head, flushed purple with need. Good, but…

The intensity was missing. The
Oh, my God
factor
that made him strain to hold back from coming and sent waves of fire through his body. Concentrating, he fisted himself almost brutally, reaching for the pinnacle that remained elusive.

To his complete astonishment, his erection began to wilt.

“What the—? No fucking way!”

Leaning against the tiled wall, he gaped at his flagging dick, trying to imagine what had gone wrong. He and the rest of the Pack had the highest libidos he’d ever seen and required release on a regular basis—something they took care of with occasional trips to Las Vegas. Aric had been denied any sort of sexual contact—well, he wasn’t about to jack himself in front of his stepsister or her cohorts even if he’d been able—so he should’ve been ready to blow the second he touched himself.

This was
so
not right. Thinking hard, he called to mind the last whore he’d fucked in Sin City. Problem was, she wasn’t all that memorable, though he’d been in ecstasy at the time. No, only one woman interested him in the least. A gross understatement.

Rowan’s face, her tall, strong body and luscious ass, invaded his mind. Arousal slammed into his gut like a sledgehammer and his cock stiffened instantly. A growl of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he began to stroke himself, fantasizing that she was here with him. As eager to taste him as he was to slide the head between her lips. Deeper, inching all of his meat down her slender throat.

“Oh, fuck.”

That’s what he’d do. Fuck that lush mouth of hers, slow and easy. Grip her thick sable hair, guide himself
in and out, increasing the pace until he was giving all she could take. Fast and furious as she slurped him down.

“Shit, yes!”

His balls drew up, ribbons of electricity zinging through his groin, his thighs. Orgasm bore down on him like a freight train and his cock erupted, creamy streams of come arching into the spray of water to swirl down the drain. Shuddering, he milked the last of it and slumped.

Lord, he was tired. The exhaustion from his ordeal, followed by a refreshing shower and a great orgasm, left him hardly able to stand. Quickly, he finished and got out, drying off and toweling his long hair to get out all the moisture he could.

He fished under the sink for the blow dryer, took a brush, and went to work on getting out weeks’ worth of tangles. Maybe someday he’d just hack all of it off short. He liked his long hair—and so did the women, they said—but taking care of it was a bitch. He had to blow it dry because he hated sleeping with wet hair.

As he did, he winced at his reflection in the mirror. He’d lost weight; no surprise there. His chest still sported a few bruises, but he wondered about his back since he’d yet to look. Once the long mass was reasonably dry, he put away the dryer and, taking a deep breath, turned his back to the mirror. Moving his hair out of the way, he peered over his shoulder and studied his reflection—and cursed.

His skin looked like a fucking road map.

Angry, puckered pink lines crisscrossed the entire area from his shoulder blades to his ass. The silver barbs in Beryl’s favorite whip had performed just the
way she’d known they would on a shifter, taking twice as long to heal and leaving terrible scars when a regular whip wouldn’t have.

He would be carrying these reminders of captivity for the rest of his life. However long, or short, that might be. If it took his last breath, he’d find a way to make Beryl, Chappell, and whoever was calling the shots suffer. Scream as he’d done.

As he walked out of the bathroom, a wave of dizziness nearly toppled him. He braced himself with one hand on the wall until the rocking stopped, and suddenly hoped he could make it to the bed. He was that tired.

Lurching the last few feet, he fell onto the mattress and let his body sink into the softness. He didn’t have the energy to pull back the covers, but didn’t care. He was home. His eyes drifted shut and his last thought was that it was kind of warm in the room.

And then sleep claimed him, and he no longer cared about that, either.

Aric knew he was dreaming.

Dreams were like that sometimes. The subconscious mind knew you were in bed, cozy and slumbering away, but the spirit was willing to go along and see where the adventure led.

His inner twenty-one-year-old
loved
Las Vegas. Had ever since he’d become legal and had first set foot in the city, a lifetime ago, it seemed. He’d never forget the lights at night, the city in constant motion, strangely alluring, like a gaudy lady getting a bit older, wearing too much makeup and jewelry, laughing a little too
loud. Yet when she beckoned, a young man couldn’t help but follow.

It made perfect sense that he found himself standing on the street downtown, gazing at the light show on the awning overhead. Crowds of people bustled in and out of Fitzgeralds, the Golden Nugget, the Horseshoe, and Union Plaza. Others strolled toward the main drag, on their way to hop buses to the Strip, to partake of shows or other pleasures.

Aric knew what sort of pleasures he sought—and they didn’t involve gambling away his hard-earned cash or going to one of the adult shows. Not when he could participate in a private show of his own.

He started walking, thinking maybe he’d grab one of the flyers from the newspaper box that didn’t really contain news at all but ads outlining the various escort establishments and the experienced women a man could find there. His wolf, however, growled in anger at the idea.

What the hell? It’s
my
dream,
damn it
! I can do what or who I please.

Determined to ignore his furry counterpart, he reached for the handle on one of the stands.

“Will you find what you’re looking for in there?”

Straightening at the familiar voice, he turned and blinked at Rowan. She stood a few feet away, wearing a pair of snug brown leather pants and a cropped black top that showed a tantalizing slice of her tanned abs. Shiny, rich brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and her bold mouth and cheekbones were accented with a hint of makeup. Truthfully, she didn’t need any, but the total effect had his cock hardening in his jeans.

The woman was stunning.

“I’d thought so,” he replied, stepping closer. “But now I have serious doubts.”

“Because I showed up?” Her tone was amused, teasing.

“Why did you? How are you here, with me?”

Her expression became thoughtful. “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking for you.”

“Then who?”

“Micah. I’d hoped to find him in our dreams, like we used to do as kids. I wanted to reach out to him, try to bring him back.” She frowned. “I tried so hard, but it didn’t work.”

“Did Nick tell you everything?”

“About all of you, what the team does, and Micah’s gift, yes.”

“Are you a Dreamwalker, too?” The idea fascinated him.

“I don’t know.” She regarded him with hope. “If you and I both remember this dream, then maybe I am. I could still reach him.”

“I hope so,” he said sincerely. “But I’m sure he’ll start making progress soon. The doctors at the compound are the best.”

“Thanks.”

He gestured to her eye-catching outfit. “If you weren’t expecting to find me, what’s with the leather? Assuming that’s not the way you’d dress to meet your brother.”

Glancing briefly down at herself, she looked up again and smiled. “I had on jeans and a T-shirt, but when I saw you—poof! New clothes. Dreams are great, huh?”

Cocking his head, he felt a slow grin spread across his face. “You changed for me?”

She shrugged. “That’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”

“Sure. It’s just that when we met, you didn’t strike me as the type to go out of your way to impress a man by wearing snazzy clothes and makeup.”

A hand fisted on one hip and her eyes narrowed. “Why, because I’m a cop? Because even if I can’t do something cool like turn into a wolf, I could still probably get you in a choke hold and take you down like a petty thief?”

He laughed. God, she was beautiful, especially when she was annoyed. How could he ever have believed she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen? “No. Okay, maybe,” he admitted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “At ease, officer. I try to take people at face value when I meet them, that’s all. You struck me as being a very earthy and honest, no-frills lady. I liked that.”

“But you don’t like this?”

“Of course I do, honey. I’m a guy.” Well, damn, that didn’t sound like much of a compliment. He sucked at this. “But on
you
it looks extra hot.
Smokin’
.” There. Better.

“Then I guess you don’t need that paper to find the fantasy you were searching for.”

Lips turned up in a catlike smile, she closed the distance between them and reached up, running a nail down the side of his face. Down his neck, and his chest. His cock pulsed painfully behind his zipper as he stared at her, asking himself if he’d won the lottery or been plunged into hell.

“I can’t.” Taking her wrist in a gentle grip, he removed her hand.

“Why not?”

“For one, you’re the sister of my good friend, who will kick my ass when he gets better and finds out I took advantage of her.”

“Funny, I don’t see it that way. Maybe
I’m
taking advantage of
you
.” She pressed her front to his, her warmth, her ocean-and-flowers scent making him light-headed.

“Rowan, we just met.” The argument sounded weak. His wolf agreed.

“You wouldn’t have said that was a problem with any of those women,” she said, gesturing to the news dispenser.

“You’re not like them.”
No, she’s worth one hundred of them. More.

“You don’t think so?”

“No.”

She appeared pleased by this. “Good. Just because it’s been way too long and I have a need to scratch an itch with one man in particular doesn’t make me a slut. Well, much.” Her free hand wormed underneath the edge of his T-shirt, smoothed over his flat belly. Crept lower, to the button of his jeans.

Scratch an itch? Why didn’t he like the sound of that? In the past, that’s exactly the term he would’ve used, but with Rowan… it didn’t seem like the right description. He did like one part of what she’d said, though.

“You’ve been thinking of being with me?”
Please say yes.

“Every minute of going on two days, since we rescued you guys.” Her intense gaze held him immobile. “I’m drawn to you and I don’t understand it.”

“Sexually?”

“Yes. But it feels like more, too. Do we have to analyze it here and now?”

“God, no! This is our dream, and we can do what we want.”

“Anything?”

“Tell me want you want.”

“You.”

She brought her mouth to his, and Jesus, her lips were soft. Kissable. One of her arms slid around his neck while the other hand pressed to his crotch. Rubbed the hard rod straining to get free. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, desperate for a taste. So good, better than he’d hoped. Their tongues tangled, bodies ground together, fanning the flames of desire.

Breaking the kiss, she panted, gripping his shirt in one fist. “You want to hear my fantasy?”

“Like you can’t believe.”

“I want you to take me in there,” she said, pointing at the entrance to the Golden Nugget. “And I want you to fuck me right on top of a blackjack table.”

Aric almost choked. “Holy shit! You’re not serious. Are you?”

“Why not? It’s only a dream.”

That was a suggestion he wasn’t about to refuse. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her toward the casino as she laughed joyously in a low, husky voice. The sound sent a thrill down his spine, so sexy he almost came in his jeans. Jogging, he pulled her down an aisle of slot machines, looking for the tables. Any table would be fine for him, but Rowan wanted a blackjack table and she’d have it if he had to search forever.