Blue Moon Brides: The Complete Series (30 page)

CLAIMED
BY THE
PACK

ANNE MARSH

The grey wolf inhaled and the female’s scent hit him, hard and sweet.

His body readied itself to fuck, tail straightening as he crouched lower. His balls tightened as his dick hardened. Arousal pumped through his veins. Ripe and ready, her scent teased him. She wasn’t in heat—not yet—but she would be soon and then she would be
his
. He was the first wolf here. He could protect her. Take care of her. When she denned with him and bore his cubs, he would keep her safe.  The animal’s interest in finding a mate was both a biological drive and a natural imperative. The wolf knew it was important. The man lost deep inside the animal did too, but for different reasons.

Those reasons, half-remembered, were why he had followed the trail twenty miles until he’d found her. Primitive satisfaction flooded the wolf, pleasure in a successful hunt. Silently, he slipped through the thick underbrush, angling closer. Nearby a gator cut through the bayou, water streaming away from its reptilian body in an unmistakable vee. Powerful jaws snapped around a catfish and the beast dragged its meal beneath the surface. The wolf’s blood thrummed in sympathetic harmony.

Hunt
.

Yes.

The sensual notes hid beneath other, less pleasant scents of blood and pain. That too familiar, thick, copper scent drew him deeper into the bayou and toward the weather-beaten house lurching over the algae-green water like a drunken old man. It had taken him almost two days to follow the trail here. Anyone else would have lost the scent almost at the start, but he was good. Hell, he was the best and that was why his Alpha had sent him.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting close to her. Females like this one deserved better, but he was the only one here for her now.
Maybe she’d even want him. Maybe she’d look at him and see more than the wolf.

Not that it mattered.

He had her scent now and she smelled so damned good. He had to have her, had to run his fingers and his mouth over her pretty skin and press her close. Skin to skin, closing up the space between them. If she were the blue moon bride he’d been promised, that moon would heat her up good. She’d want him. Her body would soften, warming for him. All he had to do was wait for the clouds to clear away so the moon’s rays could pick her out and then she’d be his. A centuries-long wait, almost over, because soon, soon, he’d be holding her and loving on her.

After he killed the vampire that had taken her.

The wolf moved stealthily towards the cabin. Movement inside caught his eye. The windows were long since broken and boarded up, but the imperfect patch job gave him an inside view.
Oui
. His prey was there all right, guarded by two vamps. Seven feet of coiled strength, those vamps could scale near-impossible heights. The trick was keeping them grounded. These two would be the remnants from the coven that had attacked his Pack last week.

The wolf intended to eliminate this final threat.

“You watch her, Marcel. I’m going to get us a replacement. Those Breauxs will be coming.” Clothing rustled inside the shack as the speaker stood up.

For a long moment the other didn’t answer, then the blood-thickened voice of the second vamp followed the wet sound of a mouth tearing away flesh. “You sure?”

An expectant beat. The first vamp leaned towards the woman chained to the wall. “Beyond a doubt. They’ll want this one back. She’s one of theirs, a Pack mate.”

The younger vamp shrugged, clearly more interested in finishing its meal than in bayou power plays.
The weak link
. “Plenty of women in the bayou. She don’t even smell of wolf, so why would they come for her?”

The female picked that moment to lift her head, a dark mane of hair sliding over her face. He’d bet she hated the mess. This was a woman who liked things orderly. He’d seen the toolbox she’d left behind on the
Bayou Sweetie
when the vamps had grabbed her from the boat and she could be the Martha Stewart of the fucking bayou. Now she was beyond dirty, her blue jeans and tank top filthy and blood-streaked. The vamps had dragged her to hell and back, which gave him one more reason to kill them tonight.

“The Breauxs don’t own me,” she snapped. She still had fight left in her, her voice tired but certain. The low, throaty notes plucked at something inside him. She didn’t sound disbelieving or hopeful, just matter-of-fact. In her world, she had nothing to do with Dag or his Pack.
Dag
, he reminded himself.
I have a name besides Wolf.

“Are you certain?” The vamp glided towards her. “But we’re betting your screams will draw them here,
chére
. You need to do your part.”

Ah, hell. Her denial pissed Dag off, but he’d have time to show her the truth. He’d
always
come for her. Any fight she picked, he’d be right there by her side and, from the looks of what was shaping up inside the cabin, he needed to step in fast. Her chin came up, her glare full of fuck-off at the predator barreling towards her. Yeah. He’d have a word or two with his female about strategy.

“Don’t kill her,” the older vamp snapped, but he was already moving toward the door. Whatever happened here, that bastard didn’t much care. The female might not know it yet, but she was Pack. If they killed her, the Pack would avenge her. The older vampire recognized that truth, though. The bastard was simply using her as bait to catch himself some wolves. Whether the trap succeeded or not, the woman’s death was a forgone conclusion in the vamp’s mind.

Dag however wasn’t losing her now, however, not after all these centuries.

He melted back into the shadows as the older vamp left in a rush, launching itself towards the tree canopy in a blur. That left just the younger vamp inside, its oily, bitter scent seeping out into the bayou night, and the two females. One dead, one alive. He inhaled again, testing the air. Not too late after all, the animal decided with satisfaction. He didn’t recognize the dead woman, didn’t care. She was dead. There was nothing the wolf or the man could do for her.

His mate was a different story.

He padded closer. With the wolf in control, the world was black, white, and shades of grey. Beneath his paws, the wooden boards of the deck were still pleasantly warm from the sun despite the midnight hour. He dropped low, ears flattening against his head when the vamp turned his direction, but the vamp didn’t spot him.

Because it was too busy tormenting its prey.

Riley
. The name came to him through the red hunting haze. That was her name. In her mid- to late-twenties, she barely reached the vamp’s chest. Her dirty T-shirt shouted
Boat with the Best!
. Barefoot, the wolf recognized with displeasure. When she ran, the bayou would tear her feet to shreds. Injuries infected quickly out here, so he would need to take care. Blood streaked her forearms and the side of her face. The vamp had tied her wrists tied over her head to a beam, wire biting into the tender skin.

His
.

His claws shredded the weathered wood, marking this space for his own. He almost missed the vamp’s swift move as it yanked her hard against its body, arms springing round her like a lover’s. One arm gripped her throat, pulling her head back to bare the long, vulnerable arch. The other arm pinned her left hand to her waist, locking her in place. Her mouth moved, but even the wolf couldn’t make out the sound. Still, he read anger and pain in the stiff line of her back. One hand clawed at the vamp’s. Short and practical, her nails somehow fit her pretty hands. Silver lines crisscrossed her palms from close encounters with fishing lines. His brothers had hands like that, marked by years working the bayou on their own boat. She’d fought the steamy waters for a living and she’d won.

Fight now
, the wolf urged her.

Would she be strong enough to best her attacker? The wolf respected the beauty of that feminine strength and the fuck-you she sent to the vamp, even if the wolf could take her in minutes.

Take?

Was that what he wanted to do?

The vamp lowered his head, razor-sharp teeth shredding her forearm. Blood spattered. The wolf bit back a growl as the man forced his way to the surface.
Not yet
. The thick, rich scent of her blood filled the air, but the injury wasn’t a fatal one. Still, her low groan tore from her throat as if she couldn’t quite keep the pain and anger inside. As if those feelings had to go somewhere.

Her position in the vamp’s arms was almost sexual. Images flood the wolf’s mind, teasing the man inside. She was tied up, waiting for him. Two minutes to get inside the room. Another minute to shift back to his human form and strip her clothes from her. First the T-shirt, then the jeans. Pop the button and shove the denim down her thighs until he could touch but she couldn’t move much.  He’d lick his fingers and make her wet, tunneling deep inside her body.
Jesus Christ
. Her sweet, hot hole gripping his fingers as he pushed in might kill him on the spot, but she’d be wanting right back on him, fighting to spread her legs.

The wolf growled, getting excited at the picture forming in his head.
Oui
, he’d keep her tied up. She’d be a hard one to tame, and he might not try too hard, just a little tease to spice things up. She’d melt, ride his fingers hard, and only then would he put himself inside her, her legs pinned so the hot, sweet friction about pushed them both over the edge.

She shifted, drawing his attention back to the present. He’d planned to take the vamp as soon as the creature stepped away from her. She was a liability and, if he had been the vamp, he would have snapped her neck at the first sign of an attack. He couldn’t discount the possibility this vamp would act likewise.

When her right arm dropped down over the vamp’s head, he saw for the first time the thin wire—fishing line maybe—strung between the fragile bones of her wrist and a chair rung. Looping the wire around the vamp’s neck, she twisted hard and fast. Well, son of a bitch. She didn’t need the Breaux brothers at all, because she was clearly taking care of business on her own. He’d come here to rescue her, but she had it in hand.  He hung back, waiting to see what she would do next and wondering where she had found the wire.

“Gotcha,” she growled as the vamp’s head snapped up. It had lowered its guard while feeding, believing her beaten and cowed. That complacency was a death sentence. The wolf’s lips peeled back from his teeth. Yeah. The vamp would get what it deserved.

Riley turned, trading places with the vamp as the creature’s blood pumped out. She yanked its head backwards, her hips sealed to his, as she pulled a makeshift shiv from her jeans. Someone had definitely failed to keep an eye on his female, he thought, savage satisfaction filling him. After all, why would she let anyone lock her up without trying to get free? Instead, she’d taken what looked like a goddamned can of Campbell’s—he could still see the red and white paper twisted around the handle—and fashioned herself a weapon.

“Newsflash,” she said roughly, slicing the makeshift blade deep across the vamp’s throat. “I’m not your snack bar.”

She was sexy, dirty, and rough. Not to mention angry as hell. The wolf liked that. She didn’t cry—she got even. The man liked
that
. The problem was, she wouldn’t be strong enough to finish what she’d started. Mentally, yeah. Riley Jones was one tough woman. Physically, though, she was just too small. At five foot four, she simply couldn’t pack enough muscle to take down the seven-foot vamp. She’d half-severed the head from the vamp’s body, but she needed to finish the job or the monster would rise again. He’d lend her a hand. She could thank him later.

He slammed the door open.

Pushing her carefully out of the way, he inserted his body between her and the vamp. The sensation of her body brushing against his as she scrambled backward was a sweet distraction he couldn’t afford. His jaws clamped down on the vamp’s throat, tearing through bone and flesh.

“Landry?” His brother’s name was a rough sough of sound from her lips when he wanted her to call
his
name. He couldn’t ask now, though, and she was already turning away from him.

Bare feet slapped against the floor as she moved to the other woman. “Don’t be dead,” he heard her say.

Her hands pulled at the woman sprawled on the floor. He could have told her it was too late. She wasted time when she should have run flat out, putting all the distance in the world between herself and this place of death. The other female had slipped away hours ago and there was no bringing her back. Instead, Riley needed to leave before the second vamp returned—

“Damn it.” Sadness leaked into her voice and she swiped at her eyes. The emotion was unfamiliar to the wolf. She ran a hand down the dead female’s face, closed the staring eyes. She pulled down the shirt and straightened the woman’s skirt.
A waste of time
.

“Sorry,” she muttered finally and reached down. Unlacing the dead female’s Converses, she popped them on her own feet. Better, he thought. She was smart, more than a pretty face. Now she could run. Now the bayou wouldn’t tear her feet to shreds.

The vamp’s neck finally snapped, falling away from its body.
Mission accomplished.
Dropping his prey, he turned towards Riley, uncertain what to say.
Stay with me.
Her eyes widened as she got her first good look at him.