Where Wild Things Roam

Dangerous

Darby    

Good morning, beautiful.

Have some things to take care of at the office.

Townsend and David will take good care of you.

I’ll see you at lunch time.

All my love,

Ian

I lay the note aside. “Tessa?”

With a graceful leap, she lands beside me on the bed, looming over me and wiggling excitedly. Good morning, Luna.

“And to you, little lady. Our alpha didn’t tell me what morning it is though.”

“Oh no. How much did I destroy this time?”

“Alphas?”

“Well, that’s comforting. I have no recollection of either. What else have I missed?”

I scramble into sit up and look down at my body.

Of course I’m naked.

Damn weres.

“Tell me why.”

“Compromised? By what?”

“Oh no. A residual. I have to see him, Tessa.” Floundering, I struggle out of the covers. As soon as I attempt to stand, I collapse to the floor, my legs too weak to support me, and even my arms can barely lift my chest upright to maintain my sit. Light-headed, I sway woozily, locking my elbows to keep me upright.

Tessa leaps lightly to the floor beside me. Dragging at the bedcovers, she pulls them over my shoulders.

I pull the blanket entirely from the bed, tucking it around my exposed body.

She trots to the door and scratches, then looks up expectantly. When nothing happens, she scratches again. This time, the door opens a crack and Tessa moves so she can see the person outside.

“Hello? Who’s there?” I call.

“Tessa says you need help. May I come in, Luna?”

I was expecting Kasey. Or Townsend. Or David. Perhaps even Jack. But this is a male voice familiar but unrecognized. I hesitate, looking around helplessly. I’m certain I couldn’t pull myself back onto the bed and I’ve no desire to remain on the cold floor.

“Luna?”

“Yes. I do need help, please.”

The bedroom door swings open immediately and I gasp, swallowing hard as the Desert pack Alpha triumvir enters. Two deep lines form between his brows as his golden eyes land on me, then he’s at my side. Scooping me up as if I weigh nothing, he sets me on the edge of my bed. “Can you sit up? Or do I need to lay you down?”

“I’m just a bit weak to stand.”

Not trusting my strength, he withdraws incrementally, ready to catch me, then kneels in front of me. “I’m not surprised. That was some show of power you put on, especially for someone as dainty as you.”

His golden eyes study my face, in particular my mouth, much too directly and much too long and I can feel the heat of his body through the thin blanket, warm and enticing. I cave under his intense scrutiny, looking away, then flinch with surprise, feeling his warm hands slip inside the blanket wrapped haphazardly about me, pulling my leg out where he can see it.

His callused thumb strokes the smooth flesh below my knee, then presses gently, looking for pain or tenderness. “You heal faster than a were. This was a nasty gash. Does it hurt at all?”

I give a tight little shake of my head in reply, then feel frozen, trapped, when he looks up again. I slide my leg away from him, tucking it as close to me as I can. “Thank you for helping me off the floor, Alpha.”

“It’s Sean, and I insist you use it.”

“You—you shouldn’t—shouldn’t be—in here.”

A wry smile curls his lips, and it changes his face entirely. It’s not that he’s not gorgeous anyway— they all are, damn weres—but his smile, it’s a delightful scorching invitation to let go and let him attend you. To relax into the charm, like dozing on sun-kissed grass.

But it’s not Ian’s smile.

“No. I doubt that monstrous black wolf that claims you would be happy about it,” he admits reluctantly, then qualifies. “I think he’d be less happy to find you’d been left on the cold floor for hours after falling. There’s no one else here right now, Luna.”

That the packhouse might be empty—ever—shocks me. There’s constantly someone coming or going, even if only those of Townsend’s staff. “Why are you here alone?”

“My brother and I have been staying in the packhouse. We were generously offered a couple of the Triumvir’s rooms since the vampire attack. There’s some—issue. Alpha Ian is trying to resolve it—so he, Jack and David are gone and Townsend stepped out to pick up supplies for the kitchen.”

Ah, there’s the insolence I didn’t like about him. As though I need sheltering. “You mean about Ivan having a residual. I assume they’re at the hospital.”

Ha! That got him, abrasive nuisance. Serves him right.

His face goes deliberately blank, hiding his thoughts from me, then he peers at me closely. “You’re an amazing woman, Luna.”

I gasp, completely disarmed, and find myself with nothing to say.

Sean smiles at my consternation and leaps athletically to his feet. “You need something to eat and drink. I’ll be right back, then how about you tell me more about having a residual?”

**

Sean    

I’m surprised at how desperately thirsty she is, watching her from my seat on the floor at her feet guzzling her second glass of some fruity-smelling juice I found in the refrigerator. Then again, she’s nowhere near as robust as a were—in fact, she’s marvelously petite and wonderful. And those tip-tilted eyes, damn—and her luscious lips, umm. Sweet Arianrhod, the Luna Darby is a woman made for a man to worship.

I wrench my mind away from some pretty erotic thoughts, knowing I’m wandering where angels fear to tread. This is the Luna of Alpha Ian Gallagher, the Great Black Wolf of Candlewood, and marked or not, it’s clear he claims her as mate. Her hand shakes badly as she refills her glass, the rounded lip of the pitcher ringing like a tiny frantic bell against the crystalline brim.

I wonder again why Ian hasn’t bitten her. Left his claim upon her in a permanent scar like other wolves. There. In the tender flesh at the base of her throat that pulls with each swallow. That’s where I’d do it.

It’d certainly be a shame to mar such flawless skin. Then again, with the graces she possesses, it’s foolish at best not to. True, his scent is strong on her. Maybe he thinks that’s enough—he’s certainly intimidating, even if he wasn’t an alpha. Or maybe there’s something he knows that I don’t.

Yet.

Because I intend to know everything about her. Down to the taste of her creamy skin. The hitch of her silky voice when I enter her velvet tunnel. The way she feels writhing under my body. They’re addicting, these thoughts—taming all that raw power hidden in such a delicate and demure package. Stealing her out from under another alpha’s claim. If such a thing can be done without a direct challenge.

Her slim hands are steadier now, holding her third glass to her lips, but she’s still thirsty. She’s too polite to slake her desire more primally. I want to see it though. Want to see her come undone. “Stop wasting manners on me. You need the fluid. Drink from the pitcher.”

Silent, she stares down at me with those fae-wide eyes, sitting as I am at her feet paying court to a queen. If it binds her to me, I’ll willingly be her slave. “Here, I’ll even make it easy.” Bracing one arm on the floor, I roll to my feet. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

When I return with two more carafes, the last of nectars and juices in the refrigerator, the first one is gone. I offer one to her, smiling encouragingly when she takes it from me with both slender hands. It’s heavy, and she raises it to her full lips hesitantly, then drinks directly from it.  

“Feel better? You look a little better.” The dry wrinkles in her full lips are fading, filling in, rounding into kissable plumpness. The creamy paleness of her skin brightens from ash to rose. The gray circles under her eyes disappear. “Here,” I push her a bowl of fruit. “Eat that and tell me about residuals.”

She looks over the bowl of whole chilled fruit, selecting a blue-black plum. “Residuals are unreversed or uncanceled magic. Attenuated versions of the original hex.”

In the silence, I hear the dull pop as her teeth break the plum’s dark skin, the quiet tearing of the orangy-peach colored flesh inside as she takes her first bite. The rich fruity-sweet tang overlays her enthralling superbloom scent in a perfect wine-like bouquet. A whispered moan of appreciation escapes her, unbridled enjoyment suffusing her face as she chews.

What wouldn’t I give to be the source of such enjoyment? “And?”

Her tip-tilted eyes narrow. Her jaw moves more slowly, forcing my patience until she swallows before answering. “How much do you know?”

Clever Luna. She’s vigilant. I’ll need to be more careful. “I thought you were telling me about residual magic,” I chuckle mockingly, looking for a way under her defenses.

“And I think you know more than you’re letting on.” There’s ice in her retort, despite the smooth accent. “You’ll tell me why you want the information, or you’ll get nothing else from me.”

“You’re shrewd, Luna. I admire that in a woman.” I smile lazily, but she’s not charmed by wolf charms or any other ones I possess for that matter, and the silence takes on a physical form around us. “Alright,” I concede, and attempt the disarming grin again. “I know Candlewood’s triumvirate was attacked last week. They disappeared for three days. Then turned up in our territory on the fourth day, with a wounded Second triumvir and you.”

“And?”

It’s prey behavior—paratrepsis—the quickness of her words. I relax, prepared to give chase and enjoy the game. “I know the arrow your Second took was targeted.”

“Targeted? Meaning what?”

“We see them in our territory occasionally. The vamps can make poison and silver arrows.” I shrug. “A were can survive those. But the spells, they get those from witches—and those are a good deal more troublesome.”

“Why do they need spells? Fill it with enough arrows, even a were won’t survive.”

“Taking out one at a time, that process is slow and they lose their own during it. They aim for leaders—cut off the head of the snake, the body dies too.” She doesn’t seem surprised by my answer, which hints at more ruthlessness than I thought her capable of.

“Why your territory?”

“Close to the border, there’s a huge traffic for drugs for the humans.”

“Drugs aren’t an issue for weres—you prefer to get your highs the natural way.”

I’m enjoying the verbal sparring, but I like her on the defensive and this comment of hers, I can turn around. I nod, one side of my mouth curling in a smile. “Adrenaline. Endorphins.” My voice roughens and I know there’s a carnal glint in my eye, partially because I want it there, and mostly because I can’t help it being there. “Oxytocin.”

Her cheeks flush, hot with what can only be the desire I want to see. Her eyes close and she swallows hard. Of course she knows what oxytocin is. Bonding hormone. It’s one of the most powerful in weres, responsible for our devotion to our offspring and mates, our ferocious s*x drives.

I’m not expecting what I see when those mesmerizing golden-green eyes open again. They’re filled with guilty pain.

Shit. I pushed her too far.

I look away to ease the pressure on her. “We leave drug trafficking for the human task forces. But the border’s also a supply line for the vamps. Human trafficking.”

“If you don’t care about the drugs killing humans, why would you care about the vampires doing it?”

“We didn’t. Then one of the traffickers killed off a Desert pack family to use their ranch as a base. My father went after them in retaliation. Cut the supply lines, so the vamps upped their game. That’s when we started seeing witch-cursed arrows. Silas and I were still kids.”

“So that’s it. You’re hexed.”

I can’t help my laugh, suddenly aware of what she’s done. “You baited me.”

“Yes and no. Predators are nothing if not reliable. You always chase when something runs. Tell me about the hex.”

“My pack is dying, Luna.” I heave a sigh and she arches a brow. “It’s more than just desert life being hard. More than just lacking the myriad resources that so benefit packs like Candlewood. The witches didn’t bother trying to kill us quickly—the vamps can afford to be patient. Weres age out faster, so they cursed us to male offspring.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The weres who were hit, their mates bear only sons. My generation and the next are almost entirely unmated males. The rare family that still produces females isn’t enough to keep my pack alive.”

“But a curse only lives as long as the witch. Why not hunt the witches?”

“We did. We do. It’s lifted somewhat. But I’m Desert pack’s alpha. The entire Desert triumvirate has been hit, which trickles down through the pack’s blood bonds. Silas and I, we haven’t found the witch who cursed our father. The vamps cut off the head—just not the one we expected,” I finish wryly.

“The answer is yes.”

“I don’t think I asked a question,” I chuckle, not just a little confused. The Luna isn’t making sense. Perhaps she’s still hypoglycemic.  

“But it brought you here, nevertheless. I can lift your hex, but I’d like to get dressed first.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m going to have to touch you to lift it. I think it’s best if that’s in as uncompromising a circumstance as possible. We both know Ian is—,” she inhales a pause, “— triggered by your interest. If you’d help me to the closet, please.”

“Not that—about getting dressed.” I scoop her up, then realize as I set her on her feet in the closet, she had planned to walk and only wanted a support. “What do I have that you want in exchange for lifting the curse?”

Conflicting emotions flit across her pretty face. Oh, there’s an interesting response I’ll be looking to pursue later. Her emotions war with her and I wait.

Gripping the bar supporting her hanging clothes, she makes a turnaround gesture with her hand. “An alliance.”

That answer isn’t what I’m expecting, and I study her eyes, seeking answers. I turn, because she asks me to. But not being able to see her, doesn’t mean I don’t recognize the hushed slither of the lightweight blanket over her nakedness as it falls to the floor. The tickle of low heat her exposed body releases into the ambient space between us. The subtle intensification of her superbloom scent on the air.

“Did you hear me?”

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Yes. That discussion’s on the table between Candlewood and Desert already.” I hear her ease herself towards me, using the clothing bar to keep herself steady, and extend my hand behind to help.

“Not alpha to alpha, pack to pack.”

Her voice is close behind me, her hand closes around mine.

“You to me.”

Something in her tone makes my hackles rise and my senses prick, like staring into the darkness when you’ve heard an unfamiliar sound. And the words conjure every dark yearning I harbor into her shape. I want this—those words—no matter the price. Cursed by a faery—this faery—is infinitely preferable to the curse of a witch. “Done.”

She leans hard into my hand a few steps on the way back to the side of her bed, then sits, looking up at me. “You haven’t even heard what your part is.”

“Doesn’t matter. You free my pack, and whatever it is, I’ll die doing it." 

“Find the witch, and the vampire behind her. Kill them both."

"Agreed. When can you lift the curse?”

“Give me your hands.”

The skin on the inside of her arms is velvety, and the touch along the inside of mine with her slender fingers burns icy-hot.

“You need to open yourself. To me. No matter what you feel, don’t let go until I tell you.”