Master of Wolves (13 page)

She smiled wickedly. “I've got confidence in you.”

His balls tightened as she milked him. He gritted his teeth and thrust again. He damn well was not going to come until she did.

But it wasn't going to be easy.

To distract himself, Jim looked into her face. Her green eyes were starting to look dazed over those sweet, parted lips. With a sigh of need, he leaned down and kissed her. He loved the way she tasted—toothpaste and woman and clean magic, like an evergreen forest after a rain. Stroking his tongue into her mouth, he slid his cock deep into her sex.

When he drew back, Jim breathed, “I had dreams about this, but doing it is even better.”

She rolled her head back, spilling her long red hair over the pillow. “Dreams?”

“Yeah.” Another mind-blowing thrust. “Lying on the rug next to your bed. In my dreams, I'd turn into a man, and…”

Her lips tilted up. “And here I thought you were chasing rabbits.”

“Nope.” He picked up the pace, grinding a little harder. “Just you.”

She gasped. “You seem to have caught me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Another thrust, strong and sweet. “And I don't intend to let go.”

Faith threw back her head and groaned. He thought she muttered, “They always let go.”

His eyes narrowed in sudden, fierce determination. “Not me.”

Faith gasped as Jim began to ride her hard, in long, deep plunges. She writhed, maddened by the deliciously brutal delight.

God, he made every other man she'd ever had feel like a toothpick. She didn't think she'd ever been hotter in her life, not even the first time they'd made love.

The raw sensations of sex had never felt so intense. It seemed that every nerve in her body was broadcasting at twice the volume. Just the rasp of his chest hair over her nipples was maddening.

And his cock…the way he angled his hips with every deep thrust hit her clit with just the right pressure at just the right angle. Her climax had gathered in a tight, pulsing knot right under her belly button, swelling like a heated balloon every time he sank inside her. Tighter…

Thrust.

Tighter…

Thrust.

Tighter!

Maddened by the building pressure, she twisted against him, rolling her hips mindlessly against him, trying to force it that last fraction. Responding to her desperation, Jim started hammering her with his width and heat, faster and faster and…

The ball of pleasure blew wide, showering burning sparks into her blood. Faith arched, screaming. Jim growled and slammed to his full length inside her.

And came, the tendons standing in hard relief along his muscular neck as he threw back his head and roared.

 

At last Jim
collapsed over her, mantling her in his damp, sweating strength. Faith clung to him, panting, listening to their hearts hammer. The double thump seemed incredibly loud—probably another result of her transformation.

With a groan, he coiled his arms tighter around her. “Thank you.”

She grinned and wrapped her own arms around his broad back. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Jim lifted his head to give her a teasing grin. “Well, not
all
yours.” Slowly, he arched his hips, carefully pulling free. She groaned as his softened cock slid from her sex. He sat back and rose to take care of the condom.

Lax and sated with pleasure, she watched him bend to dispose of it in a bedside wastebasket. The long, bare curve of his back and the flexing muscles of his rump made her smile in lazy approval.

The smile slowly faded.

It was one thing to satisfy a mutual itch with him, but she couldn't afford to let it get any deeper than that. A man like him made a dandy partner in a fight or the bedroom, but falling for him would be nothing less than emotional Russian roulette.

And that was a game she had no intention of playing again.

Abruptly she rolled out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. “I'm going to take a shower.”

He looked around at her and grinned. “I'll join you.”

“I'd…rather you didn't.” She started to walk into the bathroom, but his voice stopped her.

“Faith, what are you going to wear when you get out? You don't have any clothes.”

She frowned. “Good point. I need to hit Wal-Mart or something.”

“Not unless you want to have every cop in Clarkston down on your head.” He reached into the bedside table and rummaged around for a pen and pad. Handing them to her, he said, “Why don't you give me a list of your sizes, and I'll pick up something for you.”

She accepted the pad, frowning. “Didn't you Change in front of them last night? They may recognize you.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but it was dark, and they were busy trying to kill us. I doubt anybody got a good look. I should be safe.”

Faith nodded and started to write in long, slashing strokes. “I hope you're right.”

Folding the list a moment later, Jim watched as she retreated into the master bathroom and closed the door.

Give her time,
he told himself.
She's had a lot thrown at her over the past twenty-four hours.

Then again, so had he.

He'd fallen in love with her. If he'd had any doubt, it was gone now. Watching all that strength, intelligence, and passion in action had finished off his heart.

He'd finally met a woman he was actually willing to enter a Spirit Link with. At thirty-four, he'd almost given up hope of knowing the kind of complete union his parents had.

He could love Faith like that. And now that she was a Dire Wolf, she could love him—if she'd allow it.

Unfortunately, Faith Weston seemed incapable of doing anything the easy way. He was going to have to win her over, despite her ex-husband, despite her fears, despite Charlie.

Hell. Charlie. He let his head fall back with a silent groan. He needed to report in before he hit Wal-Mart. And wasn't that going to be fun?

With a sigh, he unplugged his cell phone, which he'd left charging by the bedside lamp, and went downstairs to make his call.

The chieftain picked up on the second ring. Without mincing words, Jim told him the whole thing, though he carefully left out the fact that Diana had told him most of it. No point in pouring gasoline on that particular situation.

“You're kidding me,” Charlie said when he'd finished. “The cops actually
want
to become vamps? What the hell for?”

“Apparently they like the whole immortality thing. You've got to admit, living forever would be a pretty powerful lure.”

Charlie grunted. “Those assholes'll be lucky to live a week if the Round Table starts gunning for them. And once they all start hunting the same Black Grail, it's bound to happen. You get somebody like Lancelot or Gawain pissed off, you'd better have your life insurance policy paid up.”

“I don't think the cops have any idea what the Magekind is capable of. Celestine seems to have kept them in the dark about a lot.”

“Well, you need to make sure that rogue gets dead before Arthur and the boys find out about
him
.”

“That's the plan.”

“Speaking of ugly realizations, how's Weston handling her new fur coat?”

An image flashed through Jim's mind: Faith, moaning in pleasure as he slowly thrust into her. He cleared his throat. “Pretty well, all things considered. I'm more concerned about Reynolds.”

“Yeah, well, you keep an eye on the girl, too, London. Make sure she understands that we keep our secrets, period. If she looks like she's going to have a problem with that, teach her otherwise.”

Jim opened his mouth to tell the chieftain what he thought of that order, but Charlie bulled on. “And don't give me any of your chivalry bullshit. She toes the line, or I'll send Don Jennings in to eliminate the problem.”

Jim's temper went into a slow boil. He'd had about as much of Charlie's bloody-mindedness as he could take. “I wouldn't advise it.”

There was a long pause before Charlie spoke, his voice dropping dangerously. “What did you say?”

“I'm Faith's Wolfmaster. I'll take care of her. You send anybody else down here, it had better be with sanction papers for both of us.”

It sounded as if Charlie was speaking through his teeth. “London, you took an oath to obey the council.”

“I also took an oath to protect civilians, women, and children,” Jim snapped. “I'll make sure your precious secret stays kept, but I'm not going to allow the abuse of an innocent woman under my protection.”

“Do I need to remind you I'm high chieftain of the Southern states?”

“Do I need to remind you that you took the same oath I did? Maybe you ought to think about that before you advocate killing everybody in sight.”

Charlie was all but panting in sheer rage. “All I have to say is, you'd better not fuck this up. Or I swear to Merlin, I will sanction you—
and
your pet bitch.”

The cell went dead.

“Asshole.” With a growl, Jim clicked it off and shoved it into a pocket.

Charlie was going to be a problem.

When Celestine strutted
into the ballroom, the cops came to attention with a combination of fear and desire. Thirty of them, some in uniform, some in civilian clothes, most young. Almost all healthy and well-built, though a month of satisfying her needs had taken a toll. She smiled a cat smile and swirled her diaphanous crimson skirts, watching their eyes glaze in lust.

Just the reaction she'd intended when she'd designed the gown to make the most of her considerable assets. The jeweled bustier lifted her full breasts until their nipples played peekaboo with the lace neckline, while the skirt's countless glittering scarves swirled around her legs, revealing as much as it hid. Normally she hated using magic unless she absolutely had to, but this particular outfit needed to be something special.

She had to bait her hook.

And it was working. Even the chief was all but drooling, and he normally thought far too much to suit her. Only Reynolds seemed to realize she was playing a part for them. He wore a faint, cynical smile as he leaned on the wall next to Gary Morrow. Celestine made a note to torture him a little later. He obviously needed to be taken down a peg.

“Hello, boys,” she purred.

“Hello, Celestine,” they chorused, polite as infatuated schoolboys greeting their teacher.

Ah, this was sweet. She never had liked cops.

A memory flashed through her mind: the sneer on the school resource officer's face when she'd tried to report her grandfather. “Lying little brat probably made the whole thing up, looking for attention.”

She supposed she couldn't blame him. After all, her own mother hadn't believed her, even after Celestine showed her the bruises on her inner thighs.

Grandpa had been very, very rich and very, very powerful.

Celestine later spotted the cop driving a brand new Mus-tang convertible. Even at twelve, it hadn't surprised her.

She never forgot the lesson they'd all taught her that day—the powerful made their own rules. And enjoyed it.

When she'd gotten her new powers, she'd certainly enjoyed hunting the cop down and ripping out his throat. Almost as much as she'd enjoyed killing Granddad.

Now, of course, she had another errant cop to deal with. Anticipation sizzled through her at the thought. She struck a seductive pose and watched the men come to attention like bird dogs.

“I've got good news,” Celestine announced with a flirtatious smile. Ayers, apparently recognizing it, paled. “I've located that grail I told you about. The problem is, it's heavily guarded, so I'm going to have to lay the groundwork before I can acquire it.”

“What kind of groundwork?” the chief demanded, his gaze hard and suspicious. She reminded herself to keep an eye on him.

Celestine dropped her head, letting her black hair tumble to cover her face, then slowly tilted her chin to look at him with a sidelong smile. It was a move she'd practiced in mirrors from the time she'd hit sixteen. “The grail has thick magical shields around it to protect it from detection by Arthur and his witches. I had to create a spell to breach those barriers.”

Ayers frowned. “But that risks Arthur getting his hands on it before we do.”

She laughed lightly, concealing her anger. Who did the bastard think he was, questioning her? “Oh, that won't be a problem. There are a good two thousand vampires guarding that grail. Arthur will have his hands full with them—and vice versa. And while they're all busy…” She smiled slowly.

“You'll sweep in and steal it out from under their collective noses.”

Celestine gave him a sunny smile. “Something like that.” Ayers really was too smart for his own good. Fortunately for him, she suspected she might have a use for those brains down the line.

Otherwise she'd be tempted to spill them from his skull.

“And of course, once I have the grail, a whole new world will open up for all of us.” She sauntered across the ballroom's gleaming floor. The men straightened with a heady combination of fear and eagerness.

Smiling, Celestine paused to trail her long nails across Frank Granger's jaw. His eyes flamed with sexual hunger, and she inhaled, feeding on the small emotional charge like a woman savoring a bon-bon.

“You have no idea of the world that will open up for you once you become lords of the night,” she told them all. “Power such as you've never dreamed of. Blood. Sex. Magic.”

Sweeping her gaze over them, she began to pace like a general whipping up the troops. With each step, she reinforced the spell she'd laid over them. Making them believe. Blunting their willingness to question or doubt. “And let's not forget immortality. Think of it, boys—living forever at the age you are now. Never growing old. Never getting so much as a head cold for the rest of your life. No threat of cancer or Alzheimer's. Never watching your life bleed away with every tick of the clock. Immortal and powerful. What a beautiful thought.”

Power. Oh, yes, a very beautiful thought. Especially now that she'd finished designing the spell that would put them all completely under her control after they'd drunk from the grail. Unlike Korbal, she wouldn't have to worry about her followers turning on her once they had powers of their own. They'd be her loyal foot soldiers, willing to fight and die at her command.

All she had to do was cull out a few bad apples whose willpower was a little too strong.

“Any questions?” she asked, with deceptive mildness.

None of them answered. They didn't dare, which was encouraging. Either they were afraid of her or they were afraid of losing the chance at that rosy future she'd painted for them.

Unfortunately, there was still a worm of rebellion gnawing away at what she was trying to build. And it was past time to stomp it out.

“Gary?” She paused in front of Morrow. “Any questions?” Raising on tiptoe until her mouth was inches from his, she breathed, “Any doubts or fears I could lay to rest?”

He licked his lips as the terror he'd been fighting sprang to the fore of his mind. Celestine could smell the acrid stench of it. “No. No questions.”

“Are you sure, Gary?” Shuttering her lids, she breathed in his fear, savoring it. God, this was power. Holding his life in her hands, and knowing Morrow knew it. “I realize I ask so much of you. Particularly when it involves other cops. You're such a moral man.”

Sweat popped out on his forehead as his eyes widened. “No. I'm…I'm loyal, Celestine. I swear!”

“Well, of course you are. That's why you weren't comfortable with the idea of sacrificing a cop, even though your chief assured you it was necessary.”

The whites showed all around his gray pupils, reminding her of a frightened horse. “I'm sorry, Celestine. It won't happen again.”

She smiled slightly. “Of course it won't. Because you understand I needed the power from Weston's death to work my spell. Otherwise, I won't be able to acquire the grail and make you all immortal. You can see how important that is.”

“Yeah. Oh yeah.” He licked his dry lips, fear stench rolling from his body. “I'll go out and find her, Celestine. I'll bring her back for you.”

“What a kind offer, Gary. I appreciate your team spirit.” She slid an arm around him and smiled brightly up into his eyes. “But I'm afraid that's not good enough. Because I need that sacrifice right now.”

The knife sparkled into existence in her free hand. He tried to jerk back, but she tightened her grip around his waist, holding him still as she drove the blade into his chest.

Gary's wide eyes met hers in agony and disbelief as she began to chant the spell to drain his spilling life force.

 

Guinevere nibbled on
some unpronounceable Sidhe delicacy and tried to make conversation with King Llyr's new queen. Lithe and dark haired, Diana Galatyn seemed a nice enough girl, but there was a wariness in her silver eyes that had aroused Arthur's suspicions. Particularly since it was damn sure she wasn't Sidhe—or even Magekind. Gwen hoped to find out exactly what she was hiding and calm her husband's suspicions.

So far she'd determined Diana was (A) pregnant, (B) desperately in love with Llyr, who was equally devoted to her, and (C) surrounded by the a cadre of bodyguards who could give the Round Table a run for its money for sheer menacing paranoia.

Currently, the one with pink hair was exchanging glares with Gawain, who stood behind Arthur's seat pretending to be a bodyguard.

Gwen glanced around the hall, appraising the crowd of glittering fairy nobles. She'd dined with the Sidhe king before, of course—thanks to Merlin, they'd been allies since the beginning. But something had changed here in the palace, and she thought it was for the better.

The decor was the same—glittering white marble, jeweled tiles on the floor, impossibly beautiful Sidhe artwork hanging on the walls or standing in niches. And court fashion hadn't changed in six hundred years. The women wore exquisite gowns shimmering with embroidery and gems, while velvet doublets and hose showcased the impressive physiques of the men. They were, without doubt, the most beautiful people Gwen had ever seen.

Yet the atmosphere had subtly changed. An air of grief had always hovered around Llyr Galatyn—no surprise, since his murderous brother had arranged the death of every wife and child he'd ever had.

But last month, Llyr had finally slain Ansgar—and she'd love to know how he'd pulled that one off—and acquired a new queen in the process. One the Sidhe seemed to view with something close to awe, an emotion that seemed even stronger because she was pregnant. Gwen gathered this particular child had some kind of religious significance to them. Given all that, it was really no surprise that Llyr and his guards were so protective of her.

Unfortunately, the bodyguards' icy paranoia was bringing out the worst in the Magekind knights. Even Arthur was unusually tense.

“I don't know about you,” Gwen murmured to her hostess, “but I'm starting to get testosterone burns.”

Diana chuckled, the sound rich and throaty. “They are laying it on a little thick, aren't they?” She sat back in her seat, toying absently with her golden fork. “Ansgar may be dead, but I'm afraid Llyr and his people are going to carry the psychic scars for a while. I keep telling them I'm more than capable of defending myself, but it doesn't seem to reassure them.”

“I'm curious.” Gwen leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair. “Just exactly how
would
you defend yourself?”

Diana smiled wickedly. “I could tell you, but then I'd have to eat you.”

Gwen blinked. Somehow she had the definite feeling Diana hadn't mangled that particular idiom by accident.

Maybe she was Dragonkind.

Well, Llyr had wanted a queen who could take care of herself. A shape-shifting dragon would definitely qualify.

The lighting dimmed. Gwen looked up automatically, only to see the ceiling darken overhead. As she watched, the elegant white marble melted into blood-red stone.

Gwen frowned. “What the…Diana, do you see…” She turned to her hostess only to realize she, too, had melted away, along with Arthur and the rest of the dinner guests.

Instead, everywhere Gwen looked, there was blood-red stone, supported by massive black columns.
A vision,
she realized belatedly.
I'm having a vision.

But of what? Where was she?

Wherever it was, it wasn't good. The sense of evil that surrounded her was almost choking. And it was even stronger off to the left.

Driven by a compulsion she didn't even attempt to analyze, Gwen followed the intensifying sense of menace. Passing one of the columns, she absently glanced at it. Figures were worked into its gleaming black surface—men and women, some writhing in sexual congress, others attacking one another with swords or knives.

Repulsed, Gwen veered away from the column and kept walking. Rounding a corner, she saw a complement of heavily armed men and women standing guard over a doorway. Still driven by an inexplicable compulsion, she moved toward the group, her insubstantial body passing through their armored forms like smoke.

Looking through the doorway, she saw a cup sitting on a blood-red pedestal. Made of solid gold, the goblet was heavily engraved in writhing figures.

It was one of the Black Grails. It couldn't be anything else.

 

Diana Galatyn took
a sip of her Sidhe wine and turned to address another remark to Gwen. The delicate, ageless blonde sat next to her in an elaborate court gown that shimmered with magic, its blue silk a perfect complement for her pale hair.

Except…breathing in, Diana caught scent of the smell of rot so intense, she almost gagged. What the hell?

“Guinevere?” Blinking, she gazed into her guest's pretty face. The Maja's expression was blank, her eyes un-focused. And the smell of black magic surrounded her with such intensity, Diana wanted to vomit. “Bloody hell! Llyr!” She jumped from her place and started to reach for Gwen, then froze, her hand extended. What if touching the Maja would hurt her?

“What?” Arthur demanded from the other side of Gwen, turning to look at his wife. Alarm filled his voice as he, too, realized something was wrong. He jumped to his feet. “Gwen, what's wrong?”

“Don't touch her,” Llyr snapped.

“To hell with that,” Arthur growled, jerking his wife into his arms. “She's under some kind of spell. I can feel it through our Truebond. Gwen!”

“Arthur…” Guinevere moaned and stirred in her husband's arms. The scent of rot retreated, and Diana relaxed.

“What happened?” Arthur demanded. His face was white with anxiety.

“A vision.” Guinevere wrapped her small fists in his velvet doublet. “I had a vision. I saw one of the Black Grails.” Her vague gaze cleared and sharpened with excitement. “I know where it is!”

“Maybe.” Diana studied her with narrowed eyes. “Or maybe you know where somebody wants you to think it is.”