Master of Wolves (8 page)

“No, other than this first time, you'll be able to transform at will.”

“Will it hurt?” She forced a smile that was more grimace than anything else. “Not that it isn't hurting now.”

Jim laid a careful hand on her uninjured shoulder and gently rubbed it up and down. “The first time is usually a little rough. But the good news is, the transformation will heal that bite. It'll be gone when you become human again.”

“Well, that's something.” A wave of cold rolled across her skin, and she shivered. Her head was spinning. “How much longer? I feel like I'm going to black out.”

London lowered his head toward her and inhaled, scenting her. “Not long.” He slid a hand under her elbow, bracing her on her feet. “Just try to stay on your feet for a few more minutes, and the worst will be over.”

She had the distinct feeling he was jollying her along. “If I live through this, I swear to God, I'm going to kill Reynolds.”

“Sounds like a plan.” His smile looked strained.

He's afraid for me,
Faith realized suddenly. Surprisingly, that made her feel a little less alone. “If I don't make it…” She broke off, a dozen messages crowding her tongue. She finally contented herself with, “Tell my family I love them. My Dad lives in Columbia. Richard Weston. He's in the book.”

“I'll call him.” He cupped her face in one big, warm palm. “One way or another, Faith, I'm going to get Reynolds and the witch. They're not going to get away with this.”

Touched, she smiled at him. “I appreciate that. You—” Before she could get the rest of the sentence out of her mouth, pain detonated in her arm. The ferocity of it bent her double. London caught her, lowering her to the leaves as she writhed in his arms. “Shit!” she gasped. “That hurts!”

“I know, baby.” He tightened his hold as her muscles knotted and shook. “Hang on, Faith. It'll be okay.”

Her only possible response was a strangled yell. Fire spread from her arm and up her shoulder, racing through her veins like a river of acid. A scream tore its way past her control.

He pulled her close, stilling her thrashing body. “Hang on, Faith, it's almost here. A little longer—”

“I don't like this!” she gritted out.

“I know, baby. You can make it.” He inhaled again, this time more sharply. “Okay, it's time. Here we go!”

No!
Her mind howled a panicked denial, but it was too late. The magic spilled from his eyes again, rolling over his body and leaping to hers. She screamed as the pain in her arm blazed, engulfing her consciousness in flame. It felt as though a vise gripped her, twisting and jerking muscle and bone until they stretched like taffy. Her skin seemed to swell, heating as though she were cooking from the inside.

I'm dying!
The thought howled through her. The magic was going rogue.

Faith whimpered helplessly as the fire built, hotter and hotter, jerking and knotting her body until she flailed helplessly, like a manic rag doll. She found herself praying to die quickly.

And then…

…the fire winked out.

A whip-poor-will called somewhere over her head in sad liquid notes. Faith froze, panting, not quite daring to open her eyes.

The pain in her arm had vanished as if it had never been.

Gradually, her stunned and violated senses began to report in. Something firm and covered with fur pressed against her back. She felt warm, almost hot, though a breeze blew across her face, ruffling her hair.

“Faith?” The voice was so deep and rumbling it barely sounded like Jim at all.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. London's dark silhouette loomed over her. He still held her across his lap. She blinked, and her eyes began to adjust.

He tilted his head, and she saw the long shape of his muzzle in the moonlight. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded strange—almost as deep as his. She cleared her throat, but she still sounded hoarse when she asked, “I made it?”

He stroked a hand over her shoulder. “Yeah. You made it.”

Faith sucked in a relieved breath and tried to sit up. He helped her, pulling her upright. Automatically, she glanced at her hands.

Her skin was covered with thick red fur the same color as her hair. Her hands were much bigger than they should be, tipped with three-inch claws that gleamed in the moonlight, their points sharp as knives. “Damn,” she muttered, staring at them blankly. “I can't believe any of this.” When she tried to stand, her quivering legs refused to cooperate.

“I know.” London shifted her off his lap and rose easily to his feet. “But you'll adjust, Faith. You're strong.” He reached down to help her up.

Automatically, she put a hand in his. Their palms, unlike the rest of their bodies, were bare of fur. She looked at their joined fingers. Red fur gleamed against black. “I'm going to kick Keith Reynolds's ass.”

London laughed, his deep voice booming. “I'll help.” With an easy tug, he pulled her to her feet.

Faith looked up at him, taking in his wolflike face. She knew her own must look just as inhuman. “I should wake up right about now.”

His big head tilted. “'Fraid not. You really are a werewolf. Sorry.”

She sighed and released him. Experimenting, she took a step away from him. Her too-long legs shook, and she felt as awkward and weak as a newborn colt. “That's what I figured. How do I turn back? Not that I'm looking forward to going through
that
again.”

“Wait a few minutes,” he told her. “It's not a good idea to Change too many times in too short a period. The magic can get away from you.”

Faith grimaced. “Wouldn't want that.” Cautiously, she reached up and explored her head. Her ears were triangular points thrusting up from the mass of her hair, which fell around her shoulders in a thick, surprisingly soft mane. Probing warily, she discovered no tangles. Even the twigs she knew she'd collected in their flight through the woods had vanished. “So what do we do in the meantime?”

“Breathe.”

Faith glanced up at him. “Ha. Funny.”

“No, I'm serious.” He stepped closer to her, staring into her eyes. She suddenly realized she could see him as clearly as if it were twilight instead of past midnight. “Your senses are more acute now than they've ever been. Just take a moment and feel that. Breathe.” He inhaled sharply, demonstrating. Almost hypnotized by his intensity, Faith did the same.

He was right. She'd been so focused on the crisis that she hadn't realized just how rich and intense the air smelled. The crisp, sharply green scent of pine needles, the turpentine reek of sap, the rich, dark aroma of loam and dead leaves. The night breeze carried the imprint of those scents so vividly, she could almost see them, taste them in her mouth, vivid as wine.

Then the breeze shifted, blowing Jim's scent into her face—clean, wild, richly masculine. Faith swallowed, staring at him wide-eyed.

The werewolf didn't seem aware of her fascination as he turned to pace the clearing in long, muscular strides. He didn't speak, seeming lost in thought as if he struggled to put something important into words.

Moonlight silvered his fur, making it shimmer as muscle rippled beneath it. The effect was heightened by the fluid power that gave a spring to his every step. He moved more like a tiger than a wolf.

Why, he's beautiful,
Faith thought, startled. It wasn't the conventional male beauty of a
GQ
model—he was too fierce and elemental for that, too animal. Yet even as lupine as he was, something about him brought her body to quivering awareness.

Jim stopped and turned back to her. She watched, hypnotized, as he strode back toward her as if he'd decided how to approach a difficult subject. His shoulders looked impossibly wide.

“Don't look at this as turning into some kind of monster, Faith.” His pale eyes gazed down into hers, intense and earnest. “I realize that's an easy, almost natural conclusion to draw, but it shortchanges the experience.”

Faith started to lick her lips, then stopped. Her mouth felt so damned alien, long and narrow. She wondered what it looked like. “How should I see it, then?”

He took her hand in his, long fingers curling around hers. “Tonight you've become magic. You could rip the doors off a Hummer if you wanted. You can run faster than a horse. You can see in the dark. As time goes on and your body adjusts, your senses will become even more acute.” A smile curved his mouth. “Tonight you were born to a new life.”

Standing this close, his scent flooded her senses. Her body responded, nipples peaking beneath the fur that covered her body. She had the embarrassing suspicion she was getting wet.

For God's sake, Faith, he's not human,
she told herself, shaken by the sudden, fierce rise of hunger.

Neither am I,
something dark and hidden replied.

“It's a lot to take in.” She spoke more for something to say than anything else. Her voice sounded tight and hoarse.

Jim's gaze didn't shift from hers. “I know. Remember, no matter how difficult all this is for you, I'm here. I'll help.”

Faith dropped her eyes, unable to deal with the sheer emotional intensity of the moment. She'd learned the hard way that vulnerability could have painful consequences. “I…I…When can I turn back?” Human again. She needed to be human again, with dull human senses she understood.

He sighed, then seemed to accept her reaction. “Just close your eyes and listen to the dark, Faith.”

She was more than happy to obey.

But as she stood there, Faith suddenly grew aware of Something. It was huge and restless and powerful, that Something, coiled and waiting on the edges of her consciousness. A vast, glowing Thing that seemed to sense her in return. It stirred.

Moved toward her.

A chill rolled over her. “What the hell is
that
?”

“What?”

“There's this…thing out there. A huge, glowing thing.” She opened her eyes wide to stare at him.

“That's the Mageverse.”

“The what?”

“The Mageverse.” He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders. “I guess you could call it an alternate universe. It lies alongside our own—it even has its own version of Earth and its own version of humanity.”

Faith remembered countless science fiction novels she'd devoured as a child. “Like another dimension?”

“Something like that. Only in the Mageverse, magic is one of the elemental forces of the universe. Kind of like magnetism and gravity here. That's the power we draw on to Change.”

She blinked, returning her attention to the Thing. “Wow. I'm supposed to use all that? How?”

“Picture yourself as if you're looking into a mirror. Then you open your mind to the magic and let it work through you.”

“That's it?” She felt her lips quirk up. “I don't have to chant some magic spell or something?”

“No. Just give the magic room to come to you.”

Faith frowned, really thinking about the idea. “I didn't do that when I changed the first time.”

He shook his big head. Moonlight silvered his pointed ears. “That was different. That was Merlin's magic. This is yours.”

“Merlin?” Surprised, she stared at him. “Like King Arthur? That Merlin? What does he have to do with this?”

“Long story, I'll explain later. Just”—he made a fanning gesture with his clawed hands—“open yourself to the magic.”

It all sounded a little too mumbo jumbo to Faith. But then, none of the rest of this made sense, either. Closing her eyes, she pictured looking into the mirror that morning. She saw her own face, narrow and foxy, with its stubborn chin and red hair, tightly braided to her head.

The Something stirred, massive and glowing. Her lips parted. A chill rolled over her in blended surprise and fear.

The power rushed toward her in a hot, bright wave. She sucked in a breath.

And it slammed into her, burning and foaming, dragging at her body, twisting it…an endless instant later, it was over. She stood on shaking legs and lifted her hands in front of her eyes. The skin was pale and hairless. She was human once more.

Well, as human as she'd ever be again, anyway.

George Ayers stalked
through the woods, his belly churning. He could feel the witch up ahead. His very blood and balls responded to her seductive tug.

In his moments of clarity, the chief knew Celestine Gentry was going to destroy him, along with every other man in his department. The only chance any of them had was to kill her.

Yet when he was in her presence, all he could think about was fucking her and feeling her fangs sink into his throat. He hated himself for that weakness, but her magical grip was too strong.

God, he wanted to find a way out of this trap.

The only thing that kept him from doing something really stupid—like, say, planting a bomb somewhere she was going to be—was the thought that she really could deliver on her promises. In his more reckless moments, he thought that was a chance worth taking.

He walked into the clearing just as Celestine's pet werewolf shifted form.

Sergeant Keith Reynolds turned toward him with that smug quirk to his lips that never failed to make George want to hit him. Reynolds was barely thirty, a tall, good-looking brunet who'd been a hotdogging glory hound even before he'd become a werewolf. The chief blamed him as much as Celestine for dragging them all into this mess. If Reynolds hadn't pulled the little bitch over as she'd speeded through town, she might have kept right on going.

Then Reynolds had compounded the problem by getting himself bitten by that damn werewolf. Not only had he become a furry Superman, he was now Celestine's favorite. The vampire seemed to like screwing and feeding on him more than the rest of them.

“Where's Weston?” George eyed Celestine, who sat beside the body of a man sprawled in the leaves. More bodies lay around her, variously burned and gutted.
Shit, the vamp's murdered half a dozen people,
the chief thought, appalled.
How the hell are we going to cover
this
up?
“I know she was here. Her unit is sitting by the side of the road with the door open.”

George had been listening to his radio at home when Weston had called for assistance. He immediately radioed in and canceled the request as a false alarm, only to learn a county deputy was already on the way. He'd driven to the scene barely in time to intercept the man.

Unfortunately, the deputy had been determined to investigate such an obviously urgent cry for help from another officer. George had finally ordered him from the scene. Luckily the other cop had been cowed by his chief's badge, because he had no authority to order a sheriff's deputy to do anything.

Now Weston was missing. George hoped they hadn't killed her, too. He'd have a hell of a time talking his way around that one.

Celestine looked at him, indifferent. “I don't know where the little bitch went, and I don't much care.”

These idiots were going to get them all killed. “You let her get away?”

“She had help.” Reynolds's voice held a distinct rumble of frustration. “Another werewolf. Fucker was tough. He grabbed her and ran off.”

George stiffened. “Another werewolf? What do you mean, another werewolf? What other werewolf?”

Reynolds shrugged and moved to help Celestine to her feet. She swayed slightly, wincing. Apparently one of her opponents had managed to hurt her. “Who knows? I've never seen him before.”

“He must be connected to Shay. Looking for payback.” George frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe the guy that showed up with Shay's mother. What was his name…?” He snapped his fingers. “Jim London! I knew there was something off about that bastard.”

Reynolds shrugged. “Don't know, but this guy did mention Shay when we were fighting. Something about making me pay.”

“Great!” George threw up his hands. “Just fucking fantastic! And you let him get away?”

“He'll be back.” Celestine dismissed his concerns with an infuriating little wave. She turned to Reynolds. “You bit Weston, didn't you?”

Reynolds looked uneasy. “Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry about that. Situation got away from me.”

“You bit her?” George was horrified. “Does that mean she's going to become a werewolf, too? What the fuck did you do that for?”

The sergeant shrugged. “I was going for her throat. She got an arm up. Before I could finish her off, the other wolf slammed into me, and I got a little busy.”

Celestine patted him on one brawny shoulder. “It's all right, darling. I'll make good use of them.”

“What are you talking about, Celestine?” George demanded.

“If this woman has been infected, she's magical now,” Celestine explained. “I can sacrifice her and this other were and feed on them.” With a gesture, the vampire created a gateway in the air. Through the glowing opening, the chief could see a wavering image of her mansion's bedroom. “She'll report in, won't she?”

George stared at her uneasily. She wanted to sacrifice Weston? “Even after becoming a werewolf? Hell, Celestine, I don't know.”

“Well, if she does, bring her to me.”

“How? If she's a werewolf—”

“Don't be dense, George. Do the same thing you did to Tony. That worked well enough.” She turned toward Reynolds, hooking his forearm with one hand. “Come, love. I need you.”

“Oh, yeah.” His eyes lighting with eager lust, Reynolds started to follow her through the gate.

“Wait!” the chief protested. “What if we need his help? We've got two werewolves loose here!”

“You'll just have to manage.” Celestine tightened her grip on Reynolds's arm. “The fight with our friend there took a lot out of me. I need Keith.”

George threw an appalled look at the corpses that littered the clearing. “Don't forget the bodies.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “You deal with them.”

“Celestine!”

“Dig a hole and throw them in, George. I'm not spending my power on them.” As the two stepped through the gateway, Reynolds threw him a smug look over his shoulder that made him grit his teeth.

Prick.

The gate winked out. With a muttered curse, George turned on his heel and stalked back toward his car. He was going to need reinforcements.

With shovels.

 

The night was
so intensely bright, Faith could see each leaf and blade of grass. Small animals and birds rustled and scuttled in the woods around her, and the breeze rattled the leaves over her head like a windstorm. And the smells…She took a deep breath. Leaf mold, fresh dirt, something a little rank that was probably an animal, and…

Masculinity. Clean, dark, seductive.

Faith looked around at London. He was human again, and even more breathtakingly handsome than she'd thought. She could see the clean lines of his face so much more clearly now—the strong angles of cheekbones, the sensual line of a seductive upper lip, the hooded shimmer of his eyes.

Faith wanted to kiss him again. The strength of her growing desire was shocking. It had hit her hard the moment she'd become human again, a ferocious craving that made her hands shake and her mouth go dry.

She wanted to peel that knit shirt up so she could touch the hard flesh of his chest. Run her hands over his abdominals and thumb his flat male nipples. Take him inside her in long, grinding thrusts…

“Faith.” London sounded hoarse. His nostrils flared, scenting her, and he took a step toward her. He cleared his throat. “You look…better.”

“I feel better.” She licked her dry lips, trying to ignore the ringing ferocity of her desire. “But for a while there, I didn't think I was going to make it at all.”

“Yeah, I was worried, too.” He dropped his eyes to her right wrist. “But here you are, all healed up.”

She glanced down. The skin Reynolds had savaged was unbroken now, pale and healthy in the moonlight. “Yeah, just like you said. If I didn't know better, I'd think I dreamed the whole thing.”

“But you didn't.” There was tension in the set of Jim's shoulders, hunger in his eyes. She knew he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Stepping in close, he looked down at her for a long, thrumming moment. “It did happen, and you survived.” He brushed his warm knuckles across her cheekbone. “You were very brave. But then, you always are.”

“I feel strange.” Swallowing, she rested her hands on his chest through the soft, skin-warmed cotton. “Hot.”

“It's the Burning Moon.” A muscle worked in his jaw, and she sensed he was holding himself fiercely in control. “When you changed that second time, it kicked in.”

“What the heck is the Burning Moon?” Faith traced her fingertips over the fabric-covered muscles of his pecs. It seemed she could feel each tiny thread in the fabric. The scent of him rolled up through the material, sensual and intoxicating. She breathed in, savoring it.

“You know how animals go into heat?” His gaze rested on the rise of her breasts through her uniform shirt. “It's like that. Your body is producing all these hormones and pheromones. Urging you to…”

“Have sex.” She should probably be outraged at the idea, but all she felt was fierce, burning desire. “And you feel it, too.”

“Yes.” When he drew her into his arms, Faith knew she should step away. She didn't. He lowered his head and took her mouth.

Cupping her face in one broad, warm hand, he savored her, licking her lips, teasing and kissing. The taste of him exploded in her senses, a hot male feast of lips and tongue and wicked skill. She groaned at the lush pleasure. He growled back, a deep sound that vibrated with feral masculine need.

His free hand settled on her backside, dragged her closer. She felt his erection against her belly, thick and rock hard, a blunt statement of his lust.

Faith's senses spun. How long had it been since she'd made love? A year? Eighteen months? She couldn't remember. Too long. After Ron, she hadn't wanted to risk it.

She shouldn't want to risk it now. London was even better looking than her faithless ex, the kind of man women threw themselves at. The kind of man all too willing to take anything he was given.

But when he kissed her like this, her body didn't care. Whether it was this Burning Moon or deprivation or simple crazed euphoria from surviving a close call, she wanted him.

Desperate to touch his bare skin, Faith grabbed the bottom of his shirt and dragged it up. Her hands slid beneath the knit and found firm flesh dusted with hair. He groaned against her mouth. She growled back. The sound was surprisingly throaty and deep, more animal than human.

Just like her.

He wasn't Ron. She didn't love him. But she did need him. She knew the score now, where she hadn't before. Why couldn't she take what she needed, as long as she kept her eyes open and her heart guarded?

In the back of her mind, Faith knew there were good arguments against it, but her clamoring body wasn't interested. She could feel herself skidding out of control.

And she didn't care. She wanted to touch that hard cock pressing against her zipper, wanted to feel it spill into her hands. Needed it.

Faith didn't give a damn about anything else.

 

Mouth open against
hers, Jim gulped in her scent. Every swallow brought the taste of building arousal, rich with salt and musk and Faith. His entire body vibrated like a tuning fork with hunger.

It wasn't just the Burning Moon. It was Faith herself. She'd scared the shit out of him so many times tonight, relief alone would have had him all over her.

In her case, though, it was all chemical, and he knew it. Wary and wounded as she was, she never would have come anywhere near him had it not been for the demands of her body.

Jim had every intention of taking advantage of the situation anyway. Those hormones of hers had breached her formidable emotional walls, and he meant to make the most of the opportunity. He wanted her for his own, and he was by God going to have her.

She could have died a dozen times tonight, but she hadn't, in part because of him.

He rolled his hips against hers and felt her grind back. Some deep, atavistic part of him growled,
Mine!

Jim wasn't in the mood to argue with it.

Dragging his mouth away from Faith's, he gently nibbled his way to the corner of her jaw. The hand in her hair tightened, pulling her head back. His mouth found her banging pulse. With exquisite care, he closed his teeth over it, just hard enough to sting. She made a shocked sound of arousal and arched. He smiled against her throat.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her off her feet and lowered her to the leaves. She coiled her long legs around his hips, one heel digging into his ass in silent demand. Hands dragged at clothing. He fought the impulse to rip her uniform open.

His collar dragged at his neck with the ragged sound of tearing fabric. “Sorry,” Faith growled.

Jim grinned as he wrestled with her shirt. “No, you're not.” Then, frustrated, he demanded, “Why are your buttons so damn small?”

She laughed, the sound throaty with arousal. “Let me do that.”

The black fabric parted, revealing more black fabric. “Fucking bulletproof vest.” He peeled the shirt off her and attacked the velcro straps. They yielded with a protesting rip. More fabric. “Jesus, what are you wearing?”

“T-shirt.”

“Fuck that.” Riiiiiiip. Scraps of black fabric went flying.

Finally, the gleam of white lace in the moonlight. Her bra. With a growl of satisfaction, he jerked the soft cups up, revealing what he'd been dying to see for weeks.

Sitting back on his heels, Jim looked down at her, drinking in the sight. Her breasts were pretty cream mounds in the moonlight, tipped with tight nipples. Reverently, he brushed his fingertips over them.

Soft skin, damp from being trapped under too many layers of uniform. The scent of her rolled up, pure, intoxicating Faith, spiked with potent pheromones. His cock hardened still more, bucking against his zipper.