Master of Wolves (19 page)

Depends.
The attempted sarcasm emerged as a soft woof.

But when Sheri got the door open, Snowball spotted Faith and Jim through the screen. Her doggy brown eyes widened. She whirled and fled, yelping, painted pink toe-nails clicking on the vinyl floor, her white puffball of a tail tucked firmly against her woolly butt. Apparently Snowball knew a couple of werewolves when she smelled them.

“Wow.” Sheri frowned after her. “She never did that before. I've seen her try to jump a Doberman.”

Jim shot Faith a significant look. Faith laughed, though it ended up sounding like another woof.

She was still grinning when she followed Jim and Sheri inside. “Want a beer?” Sheri asked her handsome guest. “Or I've got Jack Daniels.”

Faith narrowed her eyes. What was the waitress planning to do—get him drunk and take advantage of him? She suppressed a growl.

“Beer's fine.” Jim gave Sheri an easy smile and sauntered into the narrow living room.

The trailer looked like every other mobile home Faith had ever been in over the course of her law enforcement career. The kitchen was cramped, with avocado appliances and green vinyl flooring that was peeling in places.

The long, narrow living room held a brown plaid couch and a couple of worn armchairs, one of them patched with silver duct tape. The carpet was a gold shag in desperate need of a good cleaning. Faith lay down on it cautiously, trying not to inhale the sour smell from an old spill.

Jim and Sheri exchanged chitchat while the waitress opened a couple of Buds. Finally they settled down on the couch together. Sheri's knee brushed Jim's. Faith suppressed a growl.

“So what can you tell me about what happened to Shay?” he asked.

Sheri drew back and took a sip of her beer as if buying time to think. “It wasn't our customers that killed that guy, no matter what the chief says.”

“So who was it?” He looked at her, his silver gaze steady and honest.

Sheri was no more immune to it than Faith herself. She cleared her throat. “Maybe the paper was right.”

“About what?”

She licked her lips, her gaze anxious. “About it being magic.”

Jim said nothing, letting the silence build with a skill Faith had to admire. He might be an artist by profession, but he knew how to work a witness like a cop.

Sheri finally gave in to the need to fill the silence. “I'm hearing stuff that ain't natural. Crazy stuff. Like about the guy they found with his guts ripped out.”

“What about him?”

“They're saying he was killed by a werewolf. People say they saw it. Big fucker. Head like a wolf. And claws. Running through town in the moonlight.” There was something haunted in her eyes that suggested she wasn't just reporting a rumor. She forced a laugh and looked away. “Like I said, crazy stuff.”

“Maybe it's not as crazy as it sounds.” Jim's voice was calm and quiet, and his gaze was sympathetic.

Sheri studied him a wary moment before she went on, talking faster and faster as she gained confidence that he wouldn't laugh at her. “And there's other stuff, too. Like rumors about people being fine one day, and the next they're walking around like zombies with their souls sucked out.”

“I heard something about that.”

Sheri looked down at the beer in her lap and began to nervously peel the label away with her long red fingernails. The polish was cracking. “I did see something one night. Something…weird.”

He waited patiently, his gaze encouraging.

Finally she worked up the courage to finish her story. “There's this old house outside town. It was some kind of plantation or something. They say it goes all the way back to the Revolution. Burned down five, six years ago. Some kid arsonist.” She raked the label down the center with a nail. “I heard it was whole again. Between one week and the next, it just reappeared. But it wasn't like somebody rebuilt it. This guy I know, he said it was magic. And he said the cops was over there all the time. I told him he was nuts, but I wanted to find Keith, so I went over one night to take a look.”

“What did you find?”

She looked up, her eyes wide in a pale face. “I went to that place once when I was a kid on a dare. It always looked rundown and haunted as all hell. But now…now it looks like something out of an old movie. There was red stained glass windows with light shinin' out. Looked like fires burnin'. And…” Sheri broke off.

“And what?”

“I heard screams.”

Despite her thick fur, Faith felt a chill roll over her skin.

She knew the house Sheri was talking about. Keith had taken her out there one evening, apparently in an attempt to spook the rookie. As the waitress said, it was widely reputed to be haunted. It was easy to see why, with the boarded-up windows and sagging porch barely visible through the briars and overgrown bushes that surrounded it.

If she'd been a vampire, she could think of nowhere better to hole up during the day than a haunted house.

“I don't think I want to talk about all that anymore.” Sheri had eased over next to Jim. Giving him a seductive smile, she ran a long red nail across his wrist. “That's the kind of thing that gives me nightmares, you know?”

He studied her, his gaze compassionate rather than lustful. “I can see how that would be a problem.”

“Yeah, it gets right lonely here all by myself.” She looked up at him through the screen of her eyelashes.

“I know.” He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Faith's werewolf hearing picked up what he breathed in her ear. “But I'm afraid I've misled you. I'm spoken for.”

Anger flashed through the waitress's eyes, to be replaced by resignation. “Yeah. You would be.”

He rose to his feet with easy masculine grace. “We'd better be getting home.” Faith stood and headed for the door, eager to escape the role of doggy companion.

“Are you sure?” Sheri said, a hint of a whine in her voice as she followed them to the door. “Your girlfriend doesn't have to know.”

“But I would.”

The waitress sighed heavily and opened the door, letting Faith slip past them and down the trailer's cement steps. “Yeah, guys like you are always spoken for.”

Jim paused, then pulled a notebook out of his pocket and scrawled a number on it. “Look, this is my cell. If Reynolds comes back and starts giving you a hard time, give me a call, okay?”

Sheri took the paper, but her expression was bitter. “I doubt he'll ever be back. I hear he's taken up with somebody else.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “But just in case.”

 

Faith remained a
dog all the way home, mostly because she was in no mood to talk. Knowing she couldn't continue to stall, she transformed once he closed the door behind them.

“I know what house she was talking about. Sounds like a good, solid lead.”

“It also sounds like the place is going to be swarming with cops,” Jim said, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and dropping onto the couch. “I suggest we follow the tradition of great vampire hunters everywhere and hit the bitch after the sun comes up. Once we kill her off, we can pick off the rogue and figure out what to do about the cops.”

Faith considered the idea a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Good.” His silver gaze narrowed, his expression going cold. “In the meantime, I think we need to get a couple of things straight.”

Oh, great,
she thought.
Here we go again.
“Like what?”

Jim crossed those brawny, powerful arms and rocked back on his heels. “For example, Ron was a self-serving asshole, and it offends the hell out of me when you persist in seeing me in the same light.”

Faith stiffened. “When did I accuse you of being anything like Ron? Sure hasn't been tonight, considering I've been a dog for the past three hours.”

“I could tell by the look on your face what you were thinking. I flirted with that girl to get the information we needed, Faith. For no other reason.”

“And you were very good at it.” She was proud of her cool tone. “You almost fooled me, and I knew the truth.”

“Yes, I'm good at it.” His gaze didn't shift from hers. “I've had a lot of practice deceiving people. My parents are werewolves living in a small Southern town. I grew up lying to protect them. After I Changed the first time, I started lying to protect myself.” His voice lowered to a deep, angry rumble. “But that does not make me an immoral, cheating son of a bitch.”

“I never said it did.”

“No, you think just having a dick makes me an immoral, cheating son of a bitch. Makes me wonder about your brothers.”

She gaped at him before hot outrage steamed through her astonishment. “You wait just one minute!”

“No, you wait!” He pointed a stiff finger at her chest. “I was raised to be an Alpha. I realize that doesn't mean anything to you, but—”

“Frankly, I don't care.” She spun toward the hallway.

“But I do.” A strong hand grabbed her shoulders and spun her back around. Her Burning Moon temper sparked, and she tried to jerk away. Strong as she was though, she couldn't break his seemingly gentle grip. “An Alpha protects his mate and his children—”

“Let go of me!”

“…as well as the elders of his family. He does not hurt them. Hell, since a Linked Alpha shares his mate's emotions, any pain he inflicts on her, he feels himself.”

She bared her teeth. “You're about to feel some serious pain if you don't let go of me!”

Ignoring her rage, he continued coolly, “My father lived by those principles, and so did both my grandfathers. They taught me.”

“So you're a third generation sexist jerk.” Too furious to think about the consequences, she hooked an ankle behind his and threw her weight against him, meaning to throw him and stalk past.

Instead he twisted like the wolf he was and dragged her down with him, taking the brunt of their fall on his shoulders before rolling on top of her.

The next thing she knew, Faith lay wrapped in those long, powerful arms. She jerked and fought, but he didn't let go. For a furious moment, she glared into his eyes, tempted to Change.

“Don't,” he said in a low, deep voice.

She inhaled, about to tell him exactly what she thought of him. But as she breathed in, his scent filled her senses, potent and male. Faith froze, suddenly aware of him with disconcerting intensity.

He felt so big and hard beneath her body, his arms strong around her. Her Burning Moon anger twisted neatly into desire.

Awareness flamed in his eyes.

“Forget it,” she snapped, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “We're so not doing this.”

“You keep telling yourself that. But unless I miss my guess, your body has other ideas.” As Faith battled conflicting desires to throw him off her and pull him closer, he settled between her thighs.

She felt his erection harden against her belly with a rush. Apparently, her body wasn't the only one with other ideas.

Bracing his weight
on his arms, Jim let his aching hard-on grind between Faith's long legs. Even in human form, she was strong enough that there was no danger of crushing her, and he wanted her aware of him.

Judging from the furious blend of heat and anger in her eyes, it was working. “What are you going to do now?” she jeered. “Force me?”

That she could even ask such a question pissed him off even more. “I don't have to.” Tauntingly, he grinned into her face. “You're going to beg me.”

She spat a curse that had his brows rising. He still didn't budge. He was tired of paying for Ron's sins.

He'd much rather pay for his own.

As Jim stared into her angry face, breathed in the sweet hot musk of the Burning Moon, his own hunger began to steam. He remembered what she felt like when he thrust into the tight clasp of her sex. He could almost taste her skin, rich satin against his tongue, nipples deliciously hard as they filled his mouth. His cock swelled behind his zipper. He started to lower his head, and triumph flared in her eyes.

He stopped.

No, dammit. She was going to admit she wanted him—
needed
him—as much as he did her. Holding tight to her wrists, Jim stared into the angry green of Faith's eyes and prepared to endure.

He lay over her, hard, strong, heavy and thoroughly pissed off. Faith had no idea why he felt so good.

His erection pressed against her belly, promising in its heat. His metallic eyes glared into hers, narrow and demanding. Helplessly, her attention dropped to his mouth. His lower lip seemed to be beg for her teeth.

Her nipples peaked as his chest pressed against them. Faith could feel herself growing damp.

“It's not going to work,” she told him defiantly. “I'm not going to beg for a damn thing, Burning Moon or not.”

He curled his lip. “Then this is going to be a very uncomfortable night, because I'm not getting off you.”

“Wanna bet?” She bucked, seeking to throw him. He calmly wrapped his long legs around hers and held on.

Jeez, he was strong. It was easy to see why, too—he was built like a brick wall. She could feel every ridge, hollow, and ripple of his hard strength.

And it was insanely tempting.

An image flashed through her mind—lying beneath him as he stroked that thick cock in and out of her in luscious digs. His head, lowering to lick and suckle her aching nipples, sending sweet streamers of pleasure through her body.

She realized she was panting and tried to stop.

Her gaze locked on his mouth. She remembered how his lips felt moving over hers, surprisingly soft and possessive.

God, she wanted to taste him.

Without really intending to, Faith lifted her head to seek his mouth. He lowered his, and her heart began to pound even harder.

Then, so close his lips brushed hers, he breathed, “Beg me.”

She pulled back and snarled, furious. “Bite me!”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

But he'd miscalculated. Though she couldn't quite reach his mouth, his neck was still accessible. She lifted her head and raked her teeth gently over one of the cords of his throat. He drew back even farther with a low growl of hunger. Faith smiled and licked the hollow of his throat, then nibbled at his Adam's apple.

Another delicious rumble. Strong fingers wrapped around her jaw, tilted up her face. His mouth crushed down over hers in a slow, famished kiss that made a tingle of pleasure roll over her body. His tongue slid into her mouth in a lazy swirl. Her nipples hardened still more. She rolled her hips against his and knew the gesture held more than a hint of pleading. She didn't much care.

He was breathing harder, too, as he licked and bit at her lips.

Faith ached between her legs, the sensation growing increasingly desperate. She untangled her thighs from his and put her feet flat on the floor for more leverage. But grinding her hips against the thick, teasing promise of his erection only made her ache more intense.

She wanted his hands on her nipples. “Touch me, dammit,” she panted against his mouth.

Faith half expected him to refuse in the name of making her beg, but he didn't. Instead he released her wrist to reach under the hem of her shirt and tug down one cup of her bra.

They both groaned when he palmed her bare breast.

With a low growl, he jerked the shirt up. For a moment he stared at her panting breasts as she waited for him to touch her in an agony of need. Then, at last, he lowered his head and took the aching point in his mouth.

That hot, skillful tongue teasing her nipple sent pulses of pleasure through Faith so potent, she threw her head back and groaned. “God, Jim…”

Silver eyes flicked up to look into hers. “That's right—Jim.” He swirled his tongue around the peak, then raked it with his teeth. “Not Ron. I'm nothing like Ron. Say it.”

That was for damn sure. Ron had never made her feel anything like this. “You're nothing like Ron.” She whimpered, tormented by a strong suckling pull on her nipple.

“Damn right.” He reached down and unsnapped her jeans. The whisper of the zipper sounded loud against their strained breathing. “And I'm going to make you love me like you never loved that lying son of a bitch.”

He released her and sat back on his heels to drag her jeans down her legs and off. They sailed across the room as he turned his attention to her underwear. Removing her jeans had worked the panties down onto her thighs, but Jim didn't even bother to pull them the rest of the way off. A ruthless tug was followed by a loud rip.

Faith blinked at him, caught between amusement and outrage. “Did you just tear my panties off?”

“Yeah,” he growled. “Got a problem with that?”

She found herself laughing. “Not really.”

“Good, 'cause I don't much care if you do.” He settled down between her thighs and spread her knees wide, then spread her nether lips with two fingers.

Faith caught her breath as he nuzzled her sex, blew tenderly across her flesh. Licked. Her sex clenched in anticipation.

His tongue flicked out, traced slowly and lovingly across her clit, then circled it in teasing little flicks. Faith squirmed and panted.

“You taste good,” he murmured, and turned his head to nibble at the taut flesh of her thigh.

She laughed at the ticklish sensation. “You feel good.”

“I do try.” Jim slid one finger into her opening, thrust deep. Lapped slowly, as if she were a particularly delicious ice-cream cone.

A second finger pumped inside her, slowly delving. He locked his mouth around her clit and suckled until she whimpered at the storm of pleasure.

Faith threaded her fingers through his hair as he teased her slowly. He reached up her body with his free hand, found one breast, stroked and petted. Teased her aching nipples while he feasted.

Desire stormed through her, driving her to roll her hips. “God, Jim,” she moaned. “You make me insane.”

“Good.” Pulling away from her, he caught her by the hips and flipped her over onto her belly. Dazed, she lifted her head as he pulled her up onto her hands and knees.

Ready to be mounted.

Excitement surged through her as she braced her trembling knees apart. His thumb stroked over and around her clit, sending another set of blazing jolts through her. At the same time, he slid two fingers deep again. Pumped slowly. “Very nice,” he said in that low rumble of his. “Soooo hot. So ready.”

He twisted his wrist, screwing his fingers into her with a total lack of mercy. Faith whimpered as the motion teased her clinging sex.

“
Are
you ready?”

“God, yes!” she gritted, throwing her head back and her hips up, wordlessly begging for his cock.

“Good.” She heard his zipper hiss and twisted her head around to watch his cock spill free, violently hard. He took the thick shaft and aimed it for her core. His hand trembled slightly with the intensity of his lust.

She caught her breath at the seductive sensation of his width slowly impaling her.

He worked his way inside another hot fraction. “We belong like this.” His voice was rough with hunger. “Mated. Linked.”

More and more of him, deeper and deeper. Faith closed her eyes and shivered.

At last he was in to the balls. Jim stopped there as if basking in the sensation. Or perhaps, giving her a chance to experience what it was like to be stuffed so very full of him.

“You never loved him.” He spoke in a fierce growl. “Never.”

Before she could even remember who he was talking about, Jim caught her backside in his hands and started pumping—grinding the strokes in, rolling his hips until she writhed at the pleasure.

“But you're going to love me,” he rumbled a burning eternity later. “And nothing he did will mean anything to you anymore.” He slammed all the way in, ruthlessly hard.

Fire exploded through her, tearing a scream from her throat.

Faith's silken sheath clamped around Jim, milking him with every thrust. Her smooth ass slapped against his hips, round and warm in his hands. He watched the fiery red of her hair fly as she tossed her head in pleasure.

Every time he stroked deep, heat surged, sweet and fierce, until it exploded in a supernova of a climax that made him roar. He felt his balls empty in endless hot pulses, and he shuddered like a palsy victim, blinded by the stark delight.

For a long moment afterward, they crouched there like survivors of a storm, panting. Jim's thighs shook, and she trembled under his hands.

“Ummm,” Faith said finally. “Wow.”

“That about sums it up.” He hesitated, knowing he should withdraw from her, but oddly reluctant.

“You know, maybe you could…” She let the words trail off.

“I was just thinking I like it in here.”

Faith looked over her shoulder at him with amusement in her eyes. “I hate to point this out, but as a lifestyle choice, this ain't going to work.”

“Too bad, too.” He laughed and withdrew, groaning a little at the sensation. Suddenly concerned for her, he asked, “Are you sore?”

She sat back on her haunches and rolled her slender back from side to side, stretching her muscles. “Little bit. But it's a good sore.”

He smiled. “Me, too. And yes, it is a very good sore.”

Faith's bra and T-shirt were twisted up over the pretty mounds of her breasts. He reached out and tugged them back into place.

She looked him over, a smile teasing her mouth. “Do you know, you're still dressed. Basically.”

Jim looked down and realized it was true. He'd pulled down his jeans only enough to free himself. “I was in a hurry.”

“Apparently.” She glanced around. “Where are my pants?”

He found them under the coffee table and handed them to her. Instead of putting them on, though, she sauntered out of the living room carrying them. He followed her, watching her backside with deep appreciation as she climbed the stairs. “You know, you've got an ass like a peach.”

She looked back at him and tucked her tongue in her cheek. “You silver-tongued romantic, you.”

Jim shrugged. “Hey, I'm male.”

“Now there's a point I'm not going to argue.”

 

They took a
shower together, stroking soap over each other, enjoying the sensation of flesh sliding on flesh. One thing soon led to another, and the shower ended with them shivering as they escaped its icy spray.

“The hot water heater's not the best,” Jim said, toweling her off.

“No.” Faith was frowning, her thoughts apparently drifting back to something he'd said when they'd made love. “You don't think I loved Ron?”

Jim blinked at the abrupt conversational switch. “No, I really don't. I think he was a good-looking bastard who made all the right noises, so you wanted to be in love with him.”

“And you know this how?”

It belatedly occurred to him that it might be a good idea to step carefully. He bulled on anyway. “There were an awful lot of midnight patrols there when nothing was going on. You liked to kill time by talking to Rambo.”

“And?” She faced him, chin lifted in challenge, long skeins of wet, red hair draping her slim shoulders.

He looked her in the eye. “When you talked about catching Ron with that dispatcher, you didn't focus on being hurt that he'd cheated. What really pissed you off was that you were a cop, and you never noticed the signs he was betraying you.”

“So?”

“So if you'd really loved him, it wouldn't have been your observational skills that you were worried about.” He caught her by her shoulders and turned her to face him. “There was more grief in your voice when you talked about the drug dog those gang members killed.”

“Sherlock was a really good dog,” Faith told him dryly. “Ron was just a hound.”

“Exactly. And despite the fact that I sometimes run around on four legs, I'm not.”

 

“Give me one
good reason I shouldn't kill you right now!” Celestine snarled, as death magic gathered around her shaking hands.

Reynolds glanced down at the cold glow. There was not even a trace of fear on his face. Belatedly she remembered her most powerful spell wouldn't work on the son of a bitch.

It only pissed her off even more.

She conjured a blade instead and eyed him, trying to decide where to strike. Something in her face finally sent a flicker of alarm through his eyes, and he took a wary step back.

“Calm down, Celestine. Think about this,” he said, lifting his hands as he eyed the knife. “Given the games you're playing with Korbal and Arthur, you may end up with them both on your ass. And nobody kills vampires the way I do.”

“Well, thanks to you, I now have
seven
werewolves,” Celestine spat. “What's one less?”

She'd say one thing for him, Reynolds didn't lack courage. “I have a feeling that before it's all over, you'll be glad of every werewolf you can get.”