Master of Fire (38 page)

His socks soared across the room as she approached him in a hip-swaying stalk. He grinned as she bent and reached for his zipper, her eyes locked with his dark and hungry gaze. Yet beneath the hunger, she could still feel his pain.

The zipper hissed as Giada went after his belt, making the buckle ring as she unfastened it. Looking through the open fly, she found the head of his cock peeking over the waistband of his boxers, a drop of arousal beading its heart-shaped curve.

When Giada went to her knees, he growled, a soft, hungry vampire rumble.
Oooh, yeah
, she thought in the Truebond.
Your mood is defi nitely lifting.

It’s not the only thing.
He caught his breath as she leaned down and licked the bead away with a flick of her pointed pink tongue. His cock reared against the soft cotton of his underwear with an eager jerk. She tugged the fabric lower, catching it under his balls, so she could trace a long nail down the length of his shaft. It was delightfully hard, with a single fat vein snaking along its blood-darkened length. Giada gently traced her nails back up that vein, and grinned as he shuddered.

She hooked her hands in the waistband of his jeans and began to pull. He’d gotten rid of his shoes during her impromptu striptease, so she was able to peel them off and toss them aside without any pause in the delightful action.

Rising to her feet, Giada looked down at Logan as he sprawled in the dim light of the living room lamp. The light cast intriguing shadows over the muscled ridges and hollows of his big body. An intriguing ruff of soft hair rolled down his chest to fluff around his tight testicles, inviting her fingers.

Giada went to her knees and leaned forward to take his big shaft in hand. Through the Truebond, she felt pleasure jolt up his spine at her touch, and she grinned.

Then she lowered her head and gave him a long, slow lick from the base of his shaft to the head of his cock. He sucked in a breath and arched his back hard as he gasped, “That’s . . . God!”

She purred at him and gave the head a slow swirling lick, as though his cock were a particularly delicious ice cream cone. The feral hunger that rolled through the bond in reply made her own arousal spike. Enjoying it thoroughly, she started licking—little flicks, long strokes, fluttering kisses.

From the corner of one eye, she watched his fingers dig into the arm of the couch in a ferocious bid for control. She hummed in satisfaction and swooped her mouth down over his cock.

The suckle she gave him made Logan’s back arch like a drawn bow. “That’s . . . enough!” he managed. “I want to . . .”

She dragged her mouth up until his cock escaped from her with a loud, deliberate pop. “Nope.” Swirling her tongue thoughtfully over the head, she added after a moment, “I’m not finished.”

“Yeah, well, unless you want
me
to finish . . .”

She lifted her head and raised a taunting brow. “I suggest you try to develop a little self-control.”

But before she could pounce on his dick again, Logan reared up and grabbed her around the waist. Before she knew what hit her, he picked her up off the floor and draped her belly-down across the thickly padded arm of the chair.

“Hey!” Giada protested, trying to rear up again.

He planted one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her down as he picked up his belt.

This time her “Hey!” had considerably more emphasis, though he still didn’t let her up. “I am
not
into spanking!”

Logan’s chuckle sounded more than a little wicked. “Actually, I’ve got another kink in mind. Remember that first dream we shared?”

Intrigued, Giada subsided to stare over her shoulder at him. “The one where you . . . ?”

“Tied you up and screwed your brains out?” He wrapped the belt around her wrists and buckled it. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“Didn’t that turn into a nightmare?” she said as he crawled onto the couch behind her.

“Yeah, well, I thought we’d give it a rewrite.” He pushed her over farther and parted her cheeks so he could get at her sex. He rumbled approval when he found out how wet she was.

Hanging head-down over the couch arm, Giada moaned in delight as his tongue scooped between her nether lips, licking and swirling delicious little patterns. “Oooh,” she whimpered. “That’s . . . incredible. And more than a little evil.”

“Just wait.” He laughed wickedly. “I’ve barely gotten started.”

Hands tied behind her back, she could only quiver in response.

Logan was merciless, licking and nibbling at her as if she were a particularly juicy peach, pressing his face close so he could get at every inch of her. Giada squirmed at the little jolts of pleasure that arrowed from his busy tongue. Threw back her head when he slid one arm around her left leg so he could cup her hanging breast. Rolling and squeezing her nipple with delicate ruthlessness, he went on driving her slowly insane.

Her orgasm hit in a storm of heat and light, roaring through the Truebond with maddening intensity. With a growl, Logan released her, straightened, and grabbed his cock.

Giada screamed in delight as he drove into her right to his balls. Growling, he started thrusting, driving hard, grinding deep. Each deep lunge added another crazed sensation to her ferocious climax. She writhed, yelling her delight without an ounce of self-consciousness.

He came, bellowing right back at her, flooding the Truebond with the incredible erotic feedback of a shared orgasm. When the blaze finally winked out, he clung to her back, both of them sweating and half-stunned.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “Marry me, Giada. I love you. I don’t want to live without you.”

She could feel the utter truth of that statement in their bond, just as he could feel her own love for him. “Yes, Logan. God, yes!”

With a soft, triumphant growl, he took her throat, drinking deep.

Giada moaned in delight—both his, and her own.

Together at last.

A werewolf was
killing a man. But not with claws.

With magic.

Beth Roman watched in horror from the concealment of the woods. Thick brush screened her hiding place even as branches scratched her arms. She ignored the sting, too wired to care. Next to her, Rhett Butler whined at her distress, while Scarlett licked her face. Beth gently pushed the Irish Setter’s muzzle away, her eyes locked on the scene as her pack pressed close around her, the four dogs whimpering softly.

The armored man writhed almost five feet off the ground, suspended in a glowing globe of energy. An enormous werewolf watched him, a vicious grin on his fanged muzzle, eyes glowing feral and orange with greed.

The creature looked even bigger than the monster that had attacked Beth, easily eight feet tall, as brawny as a polar bear. Like the bear, his fur was a snowy white, though flecked with dark splatters—the man’s blood.

I’ve got to do something
. Beth flexed her hands as cold anxiety drew her muscles into quivering knots. As soon as the werewolf got tired of torturing his victim with . . . whatever it was he was doing, he was going to start using fangs and claws. And the man would have no more chance than she’d had.

She had to save the poor bastard. She couldn’t just sit here and watch the monster rip him apart.

Beth’s stomach roiled in icy nausea at the thought of fighting another werewolf. Memories flashed through her mind, blood-soaked and echoing with screams.
Claws ripping flesh, fangs sinking into her belly, the spreading cold of death as her life drained away
. . . She swallowed hard, trying to keep from tossing the burger she’d had for dinner.

Sucking in a hard breath, Beth started to call her magic.
No
, cried a shrill little mental voice.
He’ll sense me change. He’ll come after me
. . .

But if she did nothing, the armored man would die. And she didn’t want to live with that kind of guilt. What if someone could have saved
her
, and done nothing because of cowardice?

And that’s what it was. Cowardice.

Beth breathed deep again, shoving aside her howling terror and stuffing the memory of pain and blood back into its scarred psychic box.

But just as she reached for the magic, the armored man did . . .
something
. Magic began to surge and swirl, hotter, brighter inside the energy globe, streaming into the clawed fingers the werewolf had shoved into the shimmering blue field.

Before she could even finish the thought, the magic detonated like a bomb. The blast was eye-searing, yet utterly silent except for the psychic rumble it sent rolling through her brain.

Gasping, Beth threw up a hand to shield her tearing eyes. The dogs howled in alarm.

When she could see again, the werewolf lay on his back, smoke rising from his singed claws, from his muzzle, even from his closed eyes.

And both the energy globe and the man were gone.

Had he blown himself up?

No, wait—there he was, running for the woods. Actually, more staggering than running, his face white and blank, stunned, as if he was moving on blind instinct.

And good grief, he was naked. Beth blinked. What had happened to his armor?

Not that it mattered. He was hurt. She had to help him.

Beth scrambled to her feet, the dogs whining in excitement as she plunged after the staggering man. Her pack galloped at her heels—the black German shepherd she called Rhett, Irish Setter Scarlett, Rocky the pit bull, and Marty the fox terrier.

Even as she ran, she threw a quick look back at the werewolf. He hadn’t moved, apparently out cold on his back in the driveway of the middle-class house, curls of smoke still wafting from his body into the spring night.

Why the hell hadn’t the neighbors called the cops? Could be the monster had cast some kind of spell to keep them from noticing while he tried to commit murder next door.

Though the idea of a magic-using werewolf was just
wrong
. Wasn’t it enough being a seven-foot tall fanged, furry sociopath?
I mean, come
on,
Cujo. Isn’t that a little over the top?

Beth glanced around. Cujo’s former victim wasn’t letting any grass grow under his bare feet. He reeled through the woods as if he could see in the dark, every step shouting of a grim determination to put as much distance as possible between himself and Cujo. Not that Beth could blame him.

Hell,
she
was feeling a little better at leaving the bastard behind, and he hadn’t been trying to kill her.

Though he probably would have gotten around to it sooner or later. He had that sort of charming personality. Kind of like a furry Komodo dragon.

So Beth didn’t blame Naked Guy a bit for beating feet. Especially since he had a really nice ass. She could see it, showing pale and muscular through the darkness as it bobbed up and down with his determined strides.

Then he stumbled over a root, slammed a shoulder into a tree trunk, and fell on his face in the leaves.

Shit.
Beth raced toward him, the dogs yipping in excitement as they paced her. Reaching the man, she slid to her knees.

“Hey, are you okay?” She took him by one brawny shoulder and rolled him over. He was heavy, massive with bone and muscle. Back in her human days, she probably wouldn’t have been able to budge him at all. He stared at her, dazed. She tried again, enunciating. “Are you hurt?”

“Don’t . . . know.” Swallowing, he blinked up at her. “Who’re you?”

“Beth Roman.” She scanned his face. Damn, he was handsome, even with scratches marring his face. “What’s your name?”

He opened his mouth, only to close it again. The expression of puzzlement grew in his striking blue eyes. They were pale as crystal in the moonlight. “I . . . don’t know.”

Beth frowned down at him, then raised a hand before his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Two.”

Okay, not seeing double or anything, which was a good sign. Still . . . She bit her lip. “You probably have a concussion.” Her first instinct was to tell him to stay put while she dug out her cell and called 911. Unfortunately, they were still way too close to Cujo.

If the werewolf came to before the ambulance arrived, they’d have serious trouble. And they wouldn’t be the only ones, either, because Cujo might decide to eat the ambulance crew. Which was why she hadn’t called the cops earlier. “Do you think you can walk?”

He considered the question, frowning deeply. “I . . . believe so. I think I’d better.”

“I think you’re right.” She reached to help him up, sliding one arm around his bare waist and grabbing his hand in her own. He reeled to his feet and almost fell again.

“Whoa! Hey, not so fast, big guy.” Beth tightened her grip and braced him against her hip, pulling one of his arms around her shoulders by the hand.

She was abruptly aware of the feel of his body, tall and warm, his waist solid under her palm, his arm heavy with muscle.
Cut it out
, she told herself savagely.

Beth could generally ignore men, no matter how handsome—and this guy was definitely handsome, his features as sharply sculpted as a male model’s. Her gaze lingered on his profile, on the full curve of lips that seemed to invite . . .

Stop it
.

Just her luck to run into a guy like him this time of year, when all she could think about was sex. She badly wanted to get the heck away from him, but she strongly suspected he’d fall on his face if she let him go.
The man is hurt. Quit acting like a nympho.

Gritting her teeth, Beth concentrated on steering him deeper into the woods.