CLAIMED BY THE WOLF

BY JUNO BLAKE

© 2017 All Rights Reserved

CHAPTER 1

All the world was forest, and the forest was the world. Lucy ran through the trees on a carpet of fallen pine needles, her heart singing.

Above her, the moon blazed silver. Shafts of white light cut through the branches, crosshatching the forest floor.

Lucy ran—and the wolf followed.

She ran, the cold night air whipping past her face, and the wolf chased her, as it did every night.

It was a dream. Even now, driving her toes into the damp forest floor with every stride, she knew it was a dream.

And she knew who the wolf was. His name was already on her lips. Ciaran.

Ciaran Mallory, the coldly passionate Scottish werewolf. She’d spent one single night in his castle as his captive, prey to his every sexual whim.

He’d tormented her, forcing pleasure from her body in ways she never thought possible. And every night since she had escaped his castle, she’d found herself here: in the forest, running from the wolf.

Running from Ciaran.

Lucy’s breath burned in her lungs, but her dreaming body thrilled at the hunt. She could feel him behind her, his golden eyes raking over her body as he chased her.

He was getting closer. With every step, he gained on her, his powerful strides longer and faster than Lucy’s. He was bigger than her. Stronger than her. He could overpower her as easily as swatting a fly.

All he had to do was catch her.

And when he did…

Lucy groaned. For six weeks she’d had this dream. Each night, she’d run until her lungs burned and her feet were cut and bleeding. Ciaran had gotten closer, and closer—but she’d always woken up before he caught her.

She had sworn to herself that she would never let Ciaran dominate her again.

But this isn’t real life. It’s a dream. It’s not real…

But her feelings were. Why else would I dream about this every night?

Lucy’s whole body throbbed with desire as she heard Ciaran’s heavy footsteps on the forest floor grow closer. She could keep running. Do the same thing she’d done every night since she escaped, and run until she woke up, hot and sweating and frustrated. Or…

She could give in to him.

Her breath caught in her throat. Give in—and give up her body to the werewolf.

Her brain rebelled at the thought, but her body thrilled at it. Give in to his strength, his rough, violent passion. Lose herself in her own body’s shameful pleasure.

Lucy’s foot caught on a root and she stumbled, throwing her hands out to stop her fall. She rolled over, scrambling in the needle-covered dirt.

A shadow moved through the trees, so fast she only got glimpses of it: long, hairy arms tipped with claws. A muscular torso. Sharp fangs gleaming in the moonlight.

Lucy pushed herself up onto her elbows, heart in her throat. He was so close, there was no chance she would be able to get up before he was on top of her.

Is this what I want? Time seemed to slow down. Is this what I’ve always wanted? To be completely in Ciaran’s power?

Lucy told herself it couldn’t be true. She had been terrified and confused every moment of her captivity in the castle. In all her life she’d never been so helpless—or so aroused.

Maybe that was what had terrified her so much. Everything Ciaran had done to her… she’d enjoyed it. And she wanted more. Even if she could only admit it in her dreams.

Ciaran bust out from the trees. He was in his full-moon form, his body still human-shaped but over seven feet tall with rippling muscles. His hands were huge, with a claw-like nail at the end of each long finger. His face was fierce, inhuman, fangs bursting through his lips and heavy brows shadowing his eyes.

And his eyes…

Lucy went limp, drowning in the golden blaze of Ciaran’s wolf eyes.

“Hello, Lucy,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. She whimpered as he tore her shirt from her body, exposing her bare skin to the cold night air and his lustful gaze. He reached for her…

…And Lucy woke up.

She stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, panting. Bedsheets were strewn around her, knotted around her legs. Her whole body was slick with cold sweat.

For a moment, Lucy couldn’t remember where she was. The forest still pressed in on her mind, long branches stretching like arms towards the moon. She closed her eyes, desperate to bring it back. Just one more moment, she begged. Just to feel his touch…

It was no use. She was awake, in her cramped, damp London flat.

Safe.

Hundreds of miles from Ciaran Mallory in his silver-walled castle.

She should have been glad. Instead, she was so frustrated she could feel tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

Lucy couldn’t hide the truth from herself any longer. Ciaran Mallory terrified her. If she hadn’t escaped, he might have ended up killing her. At the very least, he would have used her, again and again, forcing himself on her regardless of her cries for mercy.

And Lucy wanted more. Her dreams, the thrill of desire that rushed through her whenever she remembered Ciaran’s assaults on her body… It made her sick, but she couldn’t deny it any longer. Ciaran Mallory had taken her, body and soul, and she would never be satisfied by another man.

Tears squeezed out of Lucy’s eyes as she shut them tight. She had thought she could leave what happened in the castle behind her, like a nightmare that would disappear in the light of day.

Instead, it was going to haunt her forever.

She groaned and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the narrow single bed. Haunted or not, I have to get on with my life, she thought, gritting her teeth. What’s left of it, at least.

Before she met Ciaran Mallory, Lucy had her life all figured out. Her career as a photographer was just taking off. She had saved for years to fund her travels through Europe, excited by the prospect of adventure and life on the road—and the chance to take more of the sorts of atmospheric landscape photos she’d made her name with.

All that had changed in one night. Lucy had been forced to leave behind most of her belongings when she fled from Ciaran and his brutal demands—including her passport and wallet.

No passport. Barely any money. Worst of all, no camera. All that work, lost.

Lucy had fled on her motorbike as far as she could, begging and stealing food and fuel until she found herself in London. She’d sold her bike, planning to hide in the city until she could raise the money for a ticket back home to America.

Today was an important day. The process of getting her passport replaced had been long and aggravating, but today the Embassy was finally going to hand it over. By this evening, she would be one step closer to putting an ocean between herself and Ciaran Mallory.

But first… she needed a cold shower.

Lucy hurried through to the flat’s cramped bathroom. Luckily, none of the other people who were living in the over-crowded house were using it. She stepped into the shower, hissing at the cold water.

The house was so run-down, it didn’t have hot water. Most of Lucy’s housemates grumbled about it, but Lucy was grateful. Nothing else helped to dampen down her body’s shameful lust for the werewolf whose clutches she’d fled from.

She stood under the icy water, shivering as it trickled over her breasts and belly. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see Ciaran’s gaze, pinning her to the ground.

The bruises from her night in the castle had faded weeks ago, but sometimes, Lucy still thought she could feel Ciaran’s hands on her body. His firm, entitled touch as he squeezed her breasts and raked his claws across her sides. The pressure of his fingers on her waist as he pulled her towards him…

Someone knocked on the bathroom door, shocking Lucy out of her memories. She gasped and splashed cold water over her face.

“What?” she yelled over the sound of the shower.

“Can you hurry up? I’ve got to get to work!”

Lucy recognized the voice as that of Sibby, one of her housemates. Sighing, she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a threadbare towel.

“It’s all yours,” she told Sibby as she pushed past her and scurried back to her bedroom.

“Thanks!” Sibby called over her shoulder. Lucy smiled at her as she wedged her bedroom door shut. Sibby was the same age as Lucy, although sometimes Lucy felt a lot older than her. She was a fresh-faced new graduate who’d only just moved from her small village to London. Everything in the city seemed to amaze and delight her… even the rats that crept into their flat’s poky kitchen at night.

Some days, Lucy wished she was still as innocent about the world as Sibby was.

The door to her bedroom was skewed, and only closed properly if Lucy threw her whole weight against it. Whoever had installed it couldn’t have been a real builder. In fact, Lucy suspected that the landlord had just nailed new doorways in front of every nook and cranny in the building, creating new “bedrooms” in spaces that had previously been closets, pantries, the ends of corridors and anywhere else he could fit in an extra closet-sized room.

As a result, Lucy’s room was just big enough to fit her single bed and a small cupboard where she kept the few possessions she’d been able to gather together since she made her way to London. The most important of these were her second-hand laptop and camera.

She’d spent most of the money from selling her motorbike on these two items. It was foolish and frivolous, but Lucy didn’t really feel whole without a camera, even a cheap second-hand one. It was nothing compared to the DSLR she had lost at Ciaran’s castle, but it was something, at least.

Besides, it was a practical purchase. Lucy had made a living as a photographer before, and she intended to do so again. She’d already done a few small jobs since she arrived in London, mainly taking cutesy photos of people’s children and pets. It wasn’t much money—but it was a start.

And it was less humiliating than waiting tables. At least puppies didn’t try to pinch her ass as she walked by.

Lucy dried herself off quickly and got dressed. Her appointment at the Embassy wasn’t for another few hours, and she needed to find some way to keep her mind occupied. Work would distract her from the glowing golden eyes in her imagination.

She grabbed her laptop and sat back on her bed, waiting for it to boot up.

Her eyes roamed around the bare walls as she waited, lingering on the mysterious stain that had started getting bigger ever since the last big downpour.

Ew. At least the castle didn’t have black mold…

Lucy shook herself. Don’t even joke about that. Focus on what you need to do to get home. And fast.

She still found it difficult to accept that everything she owned fit in this tiny room. Just a few changes of clothes, a pair of boots, and her laptop, camera and phone.

Not for long, she told herself firmly. Today, you’ll get your passport back. After that, all you need to do is save another few hundred pounds to get a ticket back home.

At last her laptop finished booting. Lucy logged onto her email, idling scrolling past spam messages and social media notifications to find any new work emails. She wasn’t expecting anything, but something caught her eye:

Blackpaw Pack: An Exclusive Invitation.

CHAPTER 2

A shiver went down Lucy’s spine.

Blackpaw Pack? Lucy had never heard of them. But she knew what they must be. A werewolf pack.

Her cursor hovered over the email. It’s probably just spam, she told herself, biting her lip. Junk mail.

But if it wasn’t…

Lucy hadn’t known about werewolf pack-meets before she met Ciaran, but in the weeks since then she’d done her research. Werewolf Packs were territorial, and one of the only times different Packs came together was for special ceremonies during which the unattached wolves would choose mates.

Ceremonies? That makes it sound way too formal, Lucy thought. The truth—at least, what the forums Lucy had read claimed was the truth—was far more twisted. Human women applied to attend the parties, and if their applications were successful…

Lucy gulped. Any woman who attended these parties was shared among the werewolves until one or more of the wolves decided to claim her as theirs alone.

She didn’t know what pack Ciaran was from. Could it be Blackpaw Pack? Was this message from him?

Her fingers itched.

If the message was from him, she should delete it straight away. Submitting to him in her dreams was one thing, but in real life? She couldn’t risk ever meeting him in person again. She didn’t know what he would do to her. Or what she would let him do.

Lucy held her breath and opened the email.

Dear Ms. Abbotsford, the message began.

As a long-time admirer of your work, I would like to invite you to act as events photographer for an upcoming soiree to be hosted by the Blackpaw Pack…

She skipped to the end. The email was signed Katelyn Moir.

Lucy closed her eyes, sighing. It wasn’t Ciaran, after all.

But it was a job.

She read the email again. Katelyn Moir introduced herself as the assistant to the Alpha, Bruce Blackpaw. Apparently, the Alpha and his wife had seen some of Lucy’s work at an exhibition back in the States the year before. When they’d seen she was now working at London, the Alpha had ordered his assistant to hire her for his event—at any cost.

Lucy gulped. The email said she should name her price.

Katelyn had given a phone number for her to call. Lucy grabbed her phone from under her pillow. Her fingers twitched over the Call button. This could be the solution to all of her money problems. All she had to do was attend one of the infamous werewolf parties.

As a photographer, she reminded herself. Not as one of the women on the menu.

Before she could change her mind, she tapped in Katelyn Moir’s number and hit Call.

“Blackpaw Pack headquarters, you’re speaking to Katelyn.” Katelyn Moir had a soft Scottish burr that reminded Lucy of Ciaran’s voice.

“Ms. Moir? My name is Lucy Abbotsford—”

“Lucy! I’m so glad you called. You got my email?”

“Yes,” Lucy said slowly. “I just had a few questions…”

“Of course. Go ahead,” Katelyn said at once.

Lucy opened her mouth—and paused. She had so many questions—but she didn’t want to seem ignorant or unprofessional by blurting them out all at once. She cleared her throat.

“This will be the first time I have attended—er—a werewolf event,” she said, picking her words carefully. “Not my first cocktail evening, of course, but if there is anything in particular I should be aware of in advance…”

“Certainly. As staff, you will be exempted from the duties required by other human women attending the evening’s festivities.”

Lucy’s mouth went dry as she imagined what the festivities would involve.

Katelyn went on, her voice crisp and professional. “However, please ensure you wear all black, to visually differentiate yourself from the packchasers. Some of the bachelors can be… inobservant.”

Lucy licked her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind. And what would the Alpha and his wife prefer I—er—focus on… in the photographs?”

“Oh—nothing risqué, don’t worry!” Katelyn gave a tinkling laugh. “You will remain in the main hall and pavilion, where things remain—ah—relatively discreet. Our bachelors expect a level of privacy in the gardens which we are happy to provide.”

“That sounds great,” Lucy said, hoping she didn’t sound as relieved as she felt. “What time should I arrive?”

She hashed out the details with Katelyn. When Ms. Moir asked her to confirm her fees, Lucy crossed her fingers and named a number triple her usual. The Blackpaws’ PA agreed without hesitation.

Lucy bit her lips shut over a final question. How do you find out what Pack a werewolf is from?

She forced herself to say her goodbyes politely, without letting the question slip out.

Afterwards, Lucy dropped the phone and stared up at the ceiling. The money she was going to get for this job was going to solve all her problems, and more. She could fly back to America, buy a full new set of gear… re-start her life.

But that wasn’t all.

Lucy let her breath out slowly. Six weeks ago, she hadn’t known anything about werewolves. After what Ciaran had done to her, she should feel too scared of wolves to attend a party, no matter how much she was being paid.

Instead, she was excited. And that was what frightened her.

CHAPTER 3

A week later, Lucy stepped out of a taxi in front of a grand mansion. The Blackpaw stately home wasn’t near any train or bus lines, and the taxi bill had emptied her wallet, but she was trying not to worry about that. As soon as she received her pay for tonight’s work, all of her money problems would be over.

Including the debt she had racked up buying a higher-quality camera on credit. Her fingers tightened around it.

It was a sensible purchase, she reminded herself. You can’t take photos at a fancy soiree with a shitty digital camera. They’d throw you out without a second thought.

The taxi took off so fast its brakes squealed. Lucy watched it go, then turned to look at the mansion.

The Blackpaw Pack mansion sat in the middle of an ancient estate an hour’s drive out of London. It was built of pale brown stone. If she hadn’t known it belonged to a Pack, Lucy would have assumed it belonged to the National Trust or a similar heritage establishment.

There weren’t any photos of the estate online. Lucy could only imagine the lawsuits that had taken. The absence of any images of the place had intrigued her.

She had expected a looming castle. Something more like Ciaran’s forbidding lair. This was… civilized. Neatly pruned topiaries lined the drive up to the main doors, where golden light flooded across the mansion’s façade. It looked like something out of a Jane Austen adaptation.

Lucy pulled out her camera and lined up a shot of the mansion. The moon hung in the air just over the building. Not a full moon, of course. The moment she’d taken the job, she’d double-checked the lunar calendar. It was still a week before the moon would be full, and every werewolf in the world would feel its power transform their bodies into wolf form.

Every werewolf except Ciaran. Lucy frowned as she remembered. Ciaran could not fully transform into a wolf. He’d spoken as though it was a disability, but it had probably saved Lucy’s life. She had stumbled on his castle during the full moon. If Ciaran had transformed into a wolf, the beast would have ripped her into pieces. Instead…

Instead, Ciaran had transformed into a wolf-man, seven feet tall and immensely powerful. The wolf-man was Ciaran, not an animal—but a version of Ciaran with no self-control, no ability to restrain his instincts and base desires. A version of Ciaran who had ravished her without hesitation or compassion for her frail human body.

Lucy stared up at the gibbous moon. Ciaran isn’t here, she told herself. He’s still in his castle half a continent away. By the time the next full moon rolls around… hell, he’ll probably still be there.

She squared her shoulders and took the photo. Time to go inside. Remember, after tonight, you can leave all of this behind. Forever.

Lucy strode confidently up the drive, fine gravel crunching under her court heels. She’d borrowed the shoes and a little black dress off her housemate Sibby, who had a huge wardrobe for someone who lived in a glorified pantry. Sibby had a date that evening as well, and getting ready with her had been a lot of fun. Lucy didn’t realize how much she missed having close friends. Sibby had seemed equal parts nervous and excited, and Lucy hoped her date went well.

“Lucy Abbotsford?”

Lucy paused, one foot on the stairs that led up to the huge front doors. “Yes?”

“Oh, wonderful. I’m Katelyn.”

The curvy, dark-haired woman hurried down the steps, hand outstretched to shake Lucy’s. Lucy moved her camera to her left hand and shook.

“Pleased to meet you, Katelyn. I’m sorry if I’m a bit late—”

“Nonsense. You’re perfectly on time. And thank you for sticking to the dress code—you wouldn’t believe the people we get sometimes. Women who don’t make the cut as offerings, trying to get in by acting as staff… anyway.” She interrupted herself with a flash of a smile. “Shall I give you the tour?”

Katelyn showed Lucy around the rooms which had been prepared for the pack-meet. The main hall, the colonnaded pavilion that looked out onto the gardens—and the gardens themselves.

“I recommend you stay out of the gardens,” Katelynn said seriously. “Things can get… a little heated out there over the course of the evening.”

Lucy bit her lips on the thousands of questions that sprang into her mind. “I understand,” she replied. “Should I go back out front, now, to wait for the guests to arrive?”

Katelyn checked her watch. “Oh, God, yes! I hadn’t realized how late it was! Please go—Lady Blackpaw will have your head if you’re late to your post. Literally.”

Lucy blinked as Katelynn went pale. “O-kay. I’ll get going, then.”

“Yes—hurry!”

Lucy raced back to the grand front doors. What have I got myself into? she thought, her heart racing. Lady Blackpaw will literally have my head if I run late? Not just dock my pay, like a normal employer?

Lucy found a suitable spot at the bottom of the steps and straightened her dress as she waited for the first of the guests to arrive. The night air was refreshingly cool, and soft lights illuminated the path up to the mansion.

The first guests to arrive were all men. They wore beautifully tailored suits in dark colors, and all looked human. They barely glanced at Lucy as they walked past her camera, but she managed to get a few good candid shots in.

Then a black cab pulled up outside the gates, and a group of young women dressed all in white stepped out of it.

Lucy squinted, peering down the path through the growing shadows.

They must be the… what are they called? Lucy bit her lip. Bait? Sacrificial lambs? No, wait. What did Ciaran call them?

Pack-chasers.

That was what he had called her. Pack-chaser. As though she had been the one that hunted him down, instead of the other way around.

Another taxicab pulled up, with another group of young women. The new pack-chasers joined the first ones at the end of the drive, clustering together in groups of two or three.

Their white dresses were ankle-length, and they all wore their hair long and loose. Grouped together like that, Lucy would have expected them to be nervous, keeping together for safety—but then one of them looked up at the mansion and Lucy saw the expression of excited anticipation on her face.

She looked as excited as a high-school senior on her way to the prom. And, to her horror, Lucy recognized her.

“Sibby?”

Lucy’s blonde-haired housemate looked across at her. “Oh, my God! Lucy!”

Sibby whispered something to her friends and then skipped along the path to meet Lucy.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked her in a hushed voice. “I thought you had a date?”

“Oh, I do!” Sibby explained happily. “Damian. He’s already inside, I think. I’ve been seeing him for a few months, but now it’s time for me to meet the rest of his Pack. You know. In case…”

Her voice trailed off. Lucy frowned.

“In case what?”

Sibby’s eyes shone as she took Lucy’s arm and whispered in her ear. “In case our connection is more than just the usual human-werewolf infatuation. If he chooses me over all the women in here, and refuses to let any of the other wolves take me… then that means I’m his mate!”

She squeezed Lucy’s arm, squealing happily. Lucy just stared at her.

“The… infatuation?” she said slowly.

“Oh, you know. Werewolf fever. All of us pack-chasers have it. I guess if you didn’t want to end up with a werewolf, it would be a pain, but honestly? It is so hot.”

“Okay, sure, but what—”

Sibby sighed happily. “It’s true what they say. Once you go wolf, no human man will ever be enough. You just have to go to enough pack-meets to find your true mate, is all.” She flicked her long blonde hair back over one shoulder. “But Damian’s going to be my mate. I know it.”

She gave Lucy’s arm one final squeeze and darted back to her friends, calling over her shoulder:

“Lucy, take a photo of us all!”

Lucy stared after her, dazed. Sibby had only moved to London from her tiny home village a few months ago, and now she was skipping happily into a werewolf sex-party?

Lucy hoped Sibby knew what she was really getting herself into.

Hell, she hoped she knew what she was getting herself into. Could she really act as photographer tonight without getting involved?

Especially after what Sibby had just revealed to her. If human women became infatuated with werewolves after sleeping with them… then that must be what had happened to her.

Only half paying attention, Lucy shuffled the girls into place for a group shot. They all smiled and laughed for the camera. As she took the photo, Lucy’s mind was whirling.

Werewolf fever…

Lucy gulped. This explained why she hadn’t been able to get Ciaran out of her head. When he claimed her, he had woken something inside of her. Something that wouldn’t rest until a werewolf had taken her as his own.

She felt light-headed. If that was true… then tonight might be her chance to get Ciaran out of her head forever.

All she had to do was throw herself at the mercy of the pack.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lucy’s head was still spinning when the last of the guests arrived and started walking up the path to the mansion. The final VIPs to arrive were a group of men, all dressed formally like the other male guests, in dark suits that strained over their muscular physiques. The flickering candle-light from inside the mansion cast strange shadows on their faces.

She raised her camera automatically, calculating angles and light. In the firelight, the men’s faces looked strangely animal, their eyes appearing to gleam an inhuman gold. It would make an amazing shot.

One of them noticed her movement and glanced her way. He was heavyset, his body thick with muscle. His nose had been broken and poorly set, healing flattened against his face, and his mouth seemed paralyzed in an unpleasant scowl.

His eyes flared gold as he looked at Lucy. Real gold, not just reflecting the firelight.

Lucy stepped back, her breath a hiss of shock. She didn’t know why she was surprised; she knew they must be werewolves, after all.

But those golden eyes reminded her so strongly of Ciaran, it was all she could do to keep her knees from collapsing beneath her.

The man turned to stare at Lucy full-on, openly ogling her. Lucy stiffened, regretting wearing such a form-fitting dress.

Her finger hit the shutter button, capturing the werewolf’s hungry leer.

“Group photo, sirs?” she raised the camera again with a tight smile. “Before you go in?”

The man who’d ogled her sneered. “Hell. She’s just staff.”

One of his friends punched him on the arm. “The help? Have some bloody class, Delauncey.”

The first one—Delauncey—sniffed, but didn’t take his eyes off Lucy. When she took the group shot, he didn’t smile.

After she took the photo, Lucy hung back, waiting for the men to go into the mansion. She didn’t like the look of Delauncey—or either of his friends.

Maybe I don’t have this werewolf fever, after all, she thought.

Or maybe even supernatural curses have some taste.

She walked carefully in through the huge front doors, through a cloakroom and into the main entrance hall. As she stepped into the hall she kept an eye out for Delauncey and his friends. Luckily, they were nowhere to be seen.

The hall was a grand room, lit by towering gold chandeliers. The floor was white marble and the polished stone caught the light, reflecting it back around the room.

Floor-to-ceiling marble columns gave the room a classical look. The far end of the hall opened out onto a beautiful open-air pavilion decorated with more columns, all dripping with lush ivy. Beyond the pavilion were the estate grounds.

The gardens were lit not by delicate chandeliers but by burning torches. Compared to the civilized mansions, they looked like something out of myth or legend. A dark, dangerous forest, where anything might happen.

Lucy realized she was staring wide-eyed at the dark gardens. She shook herself. It might look like a forest, but that was all. The trees were carefully pruned topiaries and figs, not the pine trees she ran through in her dreams.

She forced herself to focus on the hall around her. The Alpha’s guests were milling around, forming small groups, looking each other up and down with wary respect. Lucy walked around, invisible behind her camera as she photographed the guests.

There must be several Packs here, Lucy thought, noticing small differences between the werewolves. They were all richly dressed, but in slightly different fashions; some of the men were even wearing kilts, rather than the usual three-piece suit.

Most of the guests were men, but there were a few female werewolves present, as well. At least, Lucy assumed they were werewolves. They were all mature women, some greying, all festooned with jewels and wearing expensive gowns.

The other, younger women were not wolves, and clearly another sort of guest entirely. The pack-chasers. There were maybe a dozen of them, all dressed neck to toe in gauzy white, with their hair loose down their backs.

Some of them looked nervous, but most of them were practically vibrating with excitement. Lucy saw Sibby among them. She was looking around intently, as though searching for someone. Her boyfriend, Lucy guessed. The mysterious Damian.

Lucy slipped through the crowd as surreptitiously as she could, taking candid shots of the guests. Every now and then, she would take a shot that she thought looked normal, but see golden eyes staring through the lens at her. Hairs rose on the backs of her arms.

It was strange. This might have been any high-society cocktail event. Except for the occasional flash of golden eyes, all the guests looked human.

But although her eyes might be fooled, Lucy’s body could sense the animals lurking beneath the werewolves’ human forms. Her heart was racing, and the back of her neck prickled, as though someone was watching her.

A man who must have been in his late fifties, with silver streaking through his black hair, cleared his throat and began to address the crowd.

That must be the Alpha, Lucy thought, and took the opportunity to slip back into the shadows at the edge of the room. The hawk-nosed woman at his side must be Lady Blackpaw, and Lucy didn’t like the predatory glitter in the woman’s eye as she surveyed the crowd. Were her sharp eyes trying to catch out a poorly-performing employee to decapitate? Lucy didn’t want to wait around and find out.

Lucy made her way to the colonnade at the far end of the room. From here, she could take photos of the Alpha as he made his speech—and keep herself out of the way of the werewolves.

She leaned back against a marble column, letting out her breath slowly. Most of the male werewolves were fixated on the pack-chasers, who stood out like flags of surrender in their white dresses. But despite her black staff dress, she couldn’t help feeling that she was being watched, too.

Lucy only half-paid attention to the Alpha as he welcomed his guests to the pack-meet. His words wouldn’t have been out of place at a board meeting, until he got to the end.

“…I hope you will all enjoy the beautiful examples of womanhood who are offering themselves to you tonight. Some new to the hunt; some brought to the test by the wolf who broke them in.” He paused and raised his glass of champagne to Sibby, who blushed a pleased pink. “And all here for a common goal—to strengthen the Packs!”

The other werewolves all raised their glasses, too, and voiced their agreement—not with a cheer, but a howl that sent shivers down Lucy’s spine.

Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to run, to escape this room of predators before she became their prey. But that instinctual fear was nothing compared to what she felt when a low voice whispered in her ear:

“Is that why you’re here, Lucy Abbotsford? To sacrifice yourself to the Blackpaw Pack? I must admit, you didn’t strike me as the sacrificial type.”

Lucy would have recognized that voice anywhere. Her breath caught in her throat and she stood, paralyzed, unable to move even the smallest muscle.

Ciaran Mallory.

She should have known he would find her eventually.

CHAPTER 5

Lucy took a deep breath. She glanced sideways, barely daring to turn her head.

Ciaran was standing at her shoulder. Lucy had no idea how long he’d been there.

How long this evening have you felt like someone was watching you? she asked herself, and shivered. Had he been watching her since she came inside?

But how had she not seen him come in? She’d been at the front door since the first guests started arriving.

“Surprised to see me?” he asked, his Scottish accent clipped.

Rage sparked white-hot in Lucy’s heart. “You!” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

Ciaran raised one winged eyebrow. “What am I, a werewolf, doing at a pack-meet?”

His voice was amused, but the expression in his dark eyes was cold as ice. His cool control only made Lucy’s rage burn hotter. She stepped forward and jabbed his chest with her fore-finger.

“You’re not part of this pack,” Lucy retorted. “Or any of the allied packs the Blackpaws invited. I checked. Do you really think I would have come if I thought you would be here?”

It was true. After she had chickened out from asking Katelyn Moir whether Ciaran was associated with her Pack, she had delved into the internet, determined to find out as much as she could.

She hadn’t been able to find much about Ciaran’s Pack, but she had confirmed that he wasn’t a member of any of the Packs the Blackpaws had invited tonight.

So why is he here?

Lucy narrowed her eyes and prodded him again. He grabbed her hand, black eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“I see,” he growled. “You thought you’d left me back in the castle, crippled and trapped in my silver cage? I’m sorry to disappoint. As it happens I’ve been the Blackpaws’ guest for the last week.”

Lucy tried to wrench her hand free, but Ciaran’s grip was too strong. Her heart thudded in her throat.

Ciaran leaned his head closer to hers. “The question is, what are you doing here? This is an Alpha’s den, sweetheart. There are no silver walls here for you to hide behind once you’ve had your fun.”

Lucy could have screamed. “I can’t believe it. You still think I intended everything that happened that night? I told you then and I’ll tell you again, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. All I wanted was shelter from the storm, and you—you—” Lucy bit her lip and groaned. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What the last few months have been like? Every night of them?”

He was so close she could smell him. His hot, masculine musk filled her veins, sending urgent signals of pure need into her brain and body.

Lucy slammed her free hand into Ciaran’s chest, pushing him back. His eyes widened.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice urgent.

“You heard me,” Lucy snapped. She put both hands on his chest, acutely aware of the solid muscles hidden under the fine fabric of his suit shirt and jacket. “You did this to me.” She pushed him backwards, away from the candlelit hall and garden-side pavilion, around to the side of the mansion where everything was wreathed in shadows. “This is all your fault…”

Her blood was on fire. Heat pooled inside her, sending blazing tendrils of desire out through her body. For weeks, Ciaran had haunted her dreams, and now he was here.

She had imagined what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. The accusations. The anger. But now that he was in front of him, she only wanted one thing.

Lucy shoved Ciaran back up against the wall and threw herself at him. She wound her fingers into his collar and pulled him down to meet her ravenous kiss.

He kissed her back with the same reckless passion, biting her lower lip and making her groan. His strong arms wound around Lucy’s waist, holding her firmly in place. She trembled as she remembered those arms around her before, all those weeks ago…

Without thinking, Lucy undid Ciaran’s shirt buttons, running her hands over his muscular chest and down to the smooth lines of his abs and stomach. Her eager fingers caught on his belt buckle.

Ciaran’s cock was already hard. If she pressed herself against him, she could feel it pushing into her stomach. If she explored further with her hands…

She moaned as she slid her hand into Ciaran’s pants and her fingers brushed his thick, hard cock. She’d never touched it with her hands before. He’d used it on her—in her—but he’d always been the aggressor. He’d pinned her down, held her hands away.

But now…

Ciaran gripped the back of her head, deepening the kiss as his fingernails bit into her scalp. Lucy gasped as her fingers slid around his cock, feeling how thick it was. In his wolf-man form, Ciaran had been monstrously large, but even as a human he was thick, heavy and long. And she ached for him.

She scrambled at his belt, pulling it free and undoing his flies as fast as her lust-clumsy hands could manage. Her knees were trembling, and she let them collapse.

Lucy fell to her knees in front of Ciaran. He was still holding her hair and with his other hand he freed his cock from his boxers. It sprang up, thick and hard, directly in front of Lucy’s open mouth.

Oh, God. Lucy licked her lips and Ciaran’s grip on her hair tightened. She looked up and saw him gazing down at her, his black eyes heavy with lust. An answering spark of desire flared inside Lucy.

She leaned forward and delicately, tentatively, licked the head of Ciaran’s cock. Salty pre-cum burst onto her tongue and she swirled it over Ciaran’s bulbous head, lapping up every drop.

Above her, Ciaran groaned. “Don’t stop,” he moaned. “God—why did I ever let you go…”

You didn’t, Lucy thought as she tasted him. I escaped. God, why did I ever run away from this?

She latched her lips around his shaft and took it deeper into her mouth. The head of Ciaran’s cock bumped against the back of her throat and she swirled her tongue along his thick length.

He was so thick her jaw was already beginning to ache. She pulled back and sucked him in again, slowly, savoring every inch. The head of his cock bumped the back of her throat again, harder, almost making her gag.

“Fuck,” Ciaran grunted. He double-handed her head, winding her hair around his fists. Lucy whined as he tugged on her hair. He responded by tightening his grip and pulling her off his cock.

Lucy looked up at him, questioning. Her mouth still hung open and she could feel the cool night air on her wet lips.

Ciaran tipped her head further back, his eyes dark with lust. “You filthy slut,” he said, his voice rough. “I should have done this weeks ago. Open wider.”

Lucy obeyed, her heart in her throat. Her hands were on Ciaran’s hips, but she knew how strong he was. If he took control now…

…then she wouldn’t be able to take it back. He could do anything to her.

“God, you’re beautiful like this. I’ll never let you out of my grasp again.”

Ciaran positioned himself in front of Lucy and thrust his cock into her open mouth. At first he held her head steady but then he started to jerk her head forward every time he thrust into her, increasing his force and speed as he mercilessly fucked her face.

Lucy moaned as Ciaran’s cock forced past her lips, pounding into the back of her throat with every thrust. She gagged, forcing herself to keep her mouth wide open as Ciaran used her.

She kept her eyes up, watching Ciaran’s face as he pleasured himself with her mouth. He was watching her, too, watching her with an animal fierceness that made her insides melt. His cock was hot and hard in her mouth, but he was moving too fast…

“Give me more, you filthy pack-chaser. Let me in.” Ciaran shifted his hold on Lucy’s head, bringing one hand around to grip her jaw. “Just—relax—”

He thrust into her again. This time, instead of yanking her head back again he pulled her further towards him. Lucy’s surprised yelp was muffled by his cock as she felt it press into her throat. She swallowed desperately as he forced himself deeper and deeper, cutting off her air with his thick, hot shaft.

Lucy was completely helpless. Ciaran groaned as he buried his cock in her throat, so deep that her nose pressed up into the thick hair at the base of his shaft. She moaned, too, the vibration from her throat traveling up Ciaran’s cock to her lips as she gave in to her utter helplessness.

“Oh, God. Lucy. Lucy, my precious little whore…” Ciaran gave a groan that shook his whole frame and pulled out Lucy’s mouth. She collapsed to the ground, sucking in breath after breath of sweet, cool air.

Then Ciaran’s hands were on her again. He lifted her and roughly shoved her face-first against the stone wall, one hand on the back of her neck and the other pushing under her dress and pulling her panties aside.

He thrust into her in one smooth, fierce motion, skewering her against the mansion wall. Lucy gave a juddering gasp as he filled her. She was slick with need but he didn’t give her time to adjust to his size. Her pussy walls stretched as he pounded into her, again and again. The fire that had filled her since he first whispered into her ear grew white-hot.

It was everything she wanted. Everything her body had been waiting for since she ran away from him.

“Oh-h-h-h,” she screamed as she came, her orgasm tearing through her body like wildfire. Ciaran came a moment later, his teeth grazing the back of her neck as he spilled his hot seed deep inside her.

“Oh, Lucy,” Ciaran murmured. She was still panting, dizzy with orgasm, but his voice focused her attention like a knife held against her neck. “You can’t possibly think I’ll let you go after this.”

CHAPTER 6

The stone wall of the mansion was cold against Lucy’s cheek. She struggled, but Ciaran held her firm, his cock still buried deep inside her.

“Still trying to run?” Ciaran laughed softly. “Isn’t it a little late for that, pack-chaser?”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a pack-chaser,” Lucy insisted through gritted teeth. She tried to push Ciaran away, but it was no use. She was as weak as a kitten compared to him. “I’m here for work.”

“Work?” Ciaran’s hand stroked up her arm, until he was touching her camera’s neck-strap where it hung over her collarbone. A note of surprise entered his voice. “You’re not here for…”

“Excuse me?” Lucy shoved herself back from the wall. This time, Ciaran released her, and she spun to glare at him in shock. “Do I look like I’m one of the guests? I’m here on a job, Ciaran.”

“Really? How… convenient.”

Ciaran’s eyes roved over her body, and Lucy gritted her teeth. She had to ignore how good it felt when he looked at her like that. Just his eyes on her, the memory of his touch, and the wetness between her legs. It made her…

Stop that. Don’t think about how it feels. Focus on your anger.

He reached out for her again, and she jerked out of his grip. “Stop it. Go and find one of those girls in white, if that’s what you’re here for.”

“There’s only one thing here I want,” Ciaran his, his voice hoarse. He grabbed hold of Lucy, shoving her back against the wall. “And you’re not getting away from me again.”

Lucy gasped. Before she could protest, he kissed her.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no… yes…

Lucy moaned as Ciaran’s tongue flickered against her lower lip. “Stop it,” she murmured as he laid burning kisses along her jaw. “Not again…”

“Stop?” Ciaran hissed. He cupped Lucy’s jaw in one hand, twisting her head to one side so he could attack her neck with his kisses. “I thought this evening would help me escape you—and here you are. Nothing in the world could make me stop now.”

He pushed her back against the wall and she could tell that he was hard again already. Worse, she could feel renewed desire flickering to life inside her, as well.

This is all his fault.

“No,” she mumbled, and then more strongly: “No! Stop it!” She shoved him away and, to her surprise, he stepped back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I know it’s your fault. If you’ve given me some sort of, of werewolf fever…”

Ciaran’s eyes gleamed. “So you keep claiming,” he said in a low voice. “That’s what you said after you burned me, wasn’t it? As though I was your first—”

“Because it’s true!” Lucy groaned and rubbed one hand over her face. “You know what? Screw you. I left you behind once, and I’ll do it again.”

“And do what?”

Lucy spread her hands wide. “Hell, I don’t know! Apparently the cure to this goddamn werewolf fever is to fuck your way around the local Packs. Maybe I should try that!”

She almost spat the last sentence, just to taunt some sort of reaction out of Ciaran. She didn’t know what she wanted to see—anger? Betrayal? Or just anything but the cold, controlled expression that came down like a blind over his face?

“Perhaps you should,” he said coldly, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. “This would be the perfect opportunity, after all.”

“I…” Lucy searched his eyes, still not sure what she was looking for. Whatever it was, she didn’t find it. “Fine!”

Lucy stalked away, head held high, heels clicking against the stone path. She couldn’t face going back to the party and taking photos, not now. She needed to pull herself together first.

Instead of turning back to the candle-lit pavilion, Lucy headed farther into the garden. The stone path wound through flowerbeds and low hedges. The farther away from the mansion she walked, the taller the hedges, until Lucy felt as though she was walking through a maze.

Only then, when she was sure she was out of Ciaran’s sight, did she let out a ragged sigh, almost a sob. Her confident stride faltered and she half-ran, half-stumbled until she found herself in a small courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and a stone seat in front of it. Lucy collapsed on the bench with a cry of unhappiness.

She sat with her head in her hands, swearing under her breath. What was she doing? She must have imagined a thousand times what she would do if she ever saw Ciaran in the flesh again, and none of the scenarios she’d played out in her head had gone like—like that.

The chill of the stone bench seeped through her dress, but the contrast between the cold stone and the heat of her body only made her heart race faster. Color rose in her cheeks and she covered them with her hands, groaning.

What was I thinking? “Screw you for having sex with me! Hey, I know what’ll show you! More sex!” Really? That’s the tactic you chose? “Fuck you! Want a blow job?” Ugh!

Lucy slid sideways and banged the side of her head against the bench. Stupid. Stupid. And what was she meant to do now? Waltz around the party, taking photos and knowing Ciaran was probably watching her the whole time?

She sure as hell wasn’t going to go and throw herself at any other werewolves. One werewolf was more than enough trouble. Besides, although even thinking about Ciaran made her hot and bothered, none of the other werewolves here stirred her interest in the slightest.

Lucy sighed and wriggled around until she was lying with her back flat against the bench. At least now he knows what he did, she told herself.

She’d never intended to cross paths with him, not at the castle, and certainly not here. Ciaran might not have believed her the last time they met, but there had been a moment, before, when she was almost sure she’d finally gotten through to him…

Lucy groaned. Sure. In between sucking his cock, and writhing on the end of it. He—

She sat up. That’s enough, she told herself firmly. She was not going to spend any more time thinking about Ciaran Mallory. If he regretted what he’d done, or still thought she’d got herself into this mess deliberately—fine. Whatever. That was his business. She didn’t want anything more to do with him.

She had work to do. And then she would go home, have a shower—a cold shower—and ask Sibby what the hell she was meant to do about this werewolf fever.

And never waste another thought on Ciaran Mallory again.

Lucy stood up. How long have I been sitting here, moping? she wondered, rubbing her arms to get some warmth back into them. Her whole body was chilly from the stone bench.

She looked around. This small courtyard was in a quiet corner of the garden, and the tall hedges muffled the noise from the rest of the grounds. She could barely hear a murmur of conversation from beyond the hedges. Or any noises that weren’t conversation, for which she gave a sigh of relief.

After all, most of the party guests were probably still up at the pavilion. Where she should be, doing her goddamn job.

A few strands of her hair had escaped from their pins, so she carefully smoothed them back. A quick glance in the mirrored lens of her camera told her that her makeup had survived her—activities—intact. Her dress wasn’t ripped, but…

This wasn’t a human cocktail party. These were werewolves.

Oh, God. They’ll all be able to smell him on me, won’t they?

Lucy clenched her legs together. She was still wet, her own juices mixed with Ciaran’s hot seed. But there was nothing she could do about that. Maybe find a bathroom, and—

“Well, hello. What have we got here?”

The voice was male and oily with self-satisfaction. It wasn’t Ciaran’s voice—but Lucy did recognize it. She turned around.

“Delauncey, was it?”

The slab-faced man who’d leered at her earlier in the evening stepped into the courtyard. Lucy could just see two large shapes in the shadows behind him: his two friends from earlier, she guessed.

Lucy steeled herself and raised her camera. “Here for another photo, sirs?”

Delauncey didn’t reply. He walked slowly towards her, heavy arms swinging at his sides. Lucy’s skin crawled. He was eyeing her with the same entitled arrogance as before, as though she wasn’t a person at all, just something there for his convenience.

Or pleasure.

Lucy shivered, but it wasn’t the delicious, thrilling shiver she got when Ciaran looked at her. This shiver started as ice in her stomach and rose up like bile up into the back of her throat.

Nevertheless, she plastered a customer-service smile on her face and held her ground. “Just you, or a group shot?”

“Oh, I think we’ll all have a go,” said the werewolf, licking his lips. He circled behind Lucy. She turned, following him. She knew she was probably being ridiculous, but something about him made her not want to let him get behind her.

“Well, if you’ll all stand together over there…” she suggested, eyeing up the distance to the nearest exit. She really didn’t like the look in Delauncey’s eye.

Lucy’s heels scraped in the gravel as she tried to keep an eye on Delauncey and his two friends at the same time. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. As the slab-faced werewolf circled her again, she started to back away, edging slowly towards the archway that led back to the main garden and the busy pavilion.

“Look, if you’re not interested in a picture, I really have to get back to work,” she said firmly.

“So soon?” Before she could blink, Delauncey was right in front of her, blocking her way out. He leaned close to her, sniffing long and slow. “You don’t smell like you’ve been working. Someone’s been enjoying you already tonight.”

Lucy’s skin crawled. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

She tried to side-step the werewolf, but he darted in front of her again.

“Please, I really have to go—”

Delauncey laughed as he heard the rising note of fear in her voice. “I don’t think so, little girl. I was willing to overlook you before, but if someone else has already had his fun with you, that means you’re fair game.”

He reached for her, leering. Lucy turned and ran—straight into the arms of Delauncey’s two friends. They grabbed her, one holding each of her arms, and led her back in front of their leader.

Lucy kicked and dragged her heels, but it was no use. Like Ciaran, these werewolves were much stronger than she was. She was helpless.

Delauncey ran his wet, red tongue over his lips as he looked her over. Lucy’s stomach recoiled.

“You’d better let me go,” she snapped. “If the Blackpaws hear of this—”

The werewolf laughed. “What do you expect them to do? You’re not the first employee to slack off on the job. Like I said,” he sneered, reaching out and ripping her dress open, “you’re fair game to us and any other werewolf who wants to take you.”

CHAPTER 7

Lucy bucked back against her captors, but it was no use. The ripped remains of her dress hung open, exposing her breasts and stomach to the cold night air.

Delauncey ran his hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully through her bra.

“Crothers, Gyre, get that off her,” he told the other two, waving at her underwear. “Then bring her over here.”

He walked over to the stone bench, undoing his fly. Lucy fought as hard as she could as the two werewolves stripped the remains of her dress off her, but there was nothing she could do. One of them—Gyre—grabbed her camera and twisted the strap around her neck.

Lucy scrabbled at her throat, fighting for air. The edges of the strap cut into her skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror of not being able to breath. The edges of her vision went black.

“Leave that!” barked the lead werewolf from over by the stone bench. “You think I want to fuck a corpse, you stupid shit?”

Gyre gave a guttural laugh, as though the idea excited him. Lucy gasped as the pressure on her neck released. A moment later, he threw her camera over the hedges. A distant tinkle of glass on stone made Lucy’s heart sink.

She was done for. Even if she survived whatever the wolves were about to do to her, she was done for. There was no way she was going to be paid for tonight’s job now, and without the money, and her camera…

Lucy bit back a sob as her future narrowed to a black hole in front of her.

Two months ago, she’d had the whole world in front of her. She’d had money, freedom. A career.

And now she had nothing. No savings. No friends who could bail her out.

No way out.

No hope.

Lucy sagged in her captors’ arms as they dragged her to the bench. This was it. The end.

The world around her seemed to fall away until it was nothing but a small, bright picture at the end of a dark tunnel. All her senses were numb. She couldn’t even feel the cold of the stone bench as the werewolves threw her onto it.

“Hold her down,” commanded the lead werewolf. The other two pushed her down, forcing her to lie lengthwise on the bench. They wrenched her arms down either side of the stone slab.

Lucy let her head fall back and she closed her eyes. Just let this be over, she begged silently.

Delauncey stood at the other end of the bench. She heard a metallic clink as he dropped his belt.

“Hold her head up,” he ordered. “I want to see her face.”

One of the other werewolves grabbed her head and forced it up so she was looking straight at Delauncey. He leered down at her as he grabbed her knees and forced them apart.

“Don’t—” she cried out, but the werewolf ignored her. He pushed her knees further apart and leaned forward, openly sniffing her.

A line formed between his eyebrows. “I thought you were a fever girl,” he growled, surprise and complaint mingled in his voice.

Lucy’s tunnel vision began to clear. She could have sobbed. Was her body going to force her to endure this fully conscious?

She tried to wriggle away from the werewolf’s gaze, but there was nothing she could do. She was spread-eagled on top of the bench, completely exposed, and there was no way she could pull her arms free and cover herself.

Her only weapon was her voice.

“What are you talking about?” she snarled. “Fever girl?”

“One of those sluts in white, begging for it from anyone with fangs,” Delauncey said absently, still staring at Lucy. “If you were, you’d be gagging for me and the boys right now, but instead…” He slid one finger along Lucy’s entrance, making her shudder. “Dry as a fucking desert.”

Lucy’s insides curled in revulsion at Delauncey’s touch, but his words sent a shiver of horror down her spine. Whatever she felt about what had happened with Ciaran, her body had welcomed him. Every time. She’d been wet from the moment she first looked into his eyes.

A flicker of hope sparked inside her. If I’m not a fever girl—maybe this is my way out. Maybe they’ll let me go.

“You’re right,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m not a, a fever girl. So you should just let me go, and—”

Her voice trailed off at the smug look in Delauncey’s eyes. “What do you say, boys?” he said, a vicious smile curving his lips. “Shall we let this poor lost lamb skip back to the safety of the party?”

The other werewolves laughed. The one not holding her head up grabbed her breast, crushing it in his hand until Lucy yelped with pain.

“No,” Delauncey continued, leering. “I’ve got a better idea. I think we’ll fuck you until you bleed.”

He pulled his cock out of his pants, jerking it as he knelt in front of her.

Please no. Please no.

She couldn’t turn her head away, but she didn’t have to watch. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Delauncey laughed. “Do you know how rare it is, some non-fevered girl coming to a pack-meet? This is like Christmas for me.” His finger moved lower. “Hell, you’re so dry up there anyway, I might as well—”

Lucy screamed as he jabbed his finger at her ass. “No! Please!”

“What’s the problem, staff girl? It’s going to hurt either way, you know.” He groped further. “Make that both ways, by the time we’re done with you.”

Lucy gagged on her horror. This was nothing like being with Ciaran. Even that first weekend, when he’d taken away her choice, some part of her had wanted what he did to her. But this—this was going to destroy her.

Tears poured from her eyes. “Please—please change your mind, please, I’ll do anything…”

Delauncey laughed. “I’m already getting everything I want, you stupid whore. Believe me, there’s nothing you can offer me that’s better than this.” She felt his foul breath on her cheeks again as he spread her legs further apart. “I’ll have to thank whoever fucked you and left you here, slut. I haven’t had such a treat in years.”

Lucy braced herself, but the next voice that filled the small courtyard wasn’t Delauncey’s, or either of his underlings. It was a low, cold growl that made her almost sob with relief.

“Get away from her, you bastards!”

CHAPTER 8

“Ciaran!” Lucy gasped. She opened her eyes, fighting against the werewolves’ grip, desperate to see him.

For a moment, she couldn’t see anything but shadows. Her heart sank. I couldn’t have imagined it—no—please—

Then Ciaran ran out of the shadows, his eyes blazing gold.

Delauncey turned, too late to get out of the way as Ciaran slammed into him. Lucy pulled her legs up to her torso, twisting out of the werewolves’ grip as the force of Ciaran’s tackle sent Delauncey flying.

The two werewolves who had been holding Lucy down jumped to their feet and raced into the fight. Lucy immediately rolled sideways, falling to the ground behind the bench. Her shoulders screamed as she wrapped her arms around herself. She was still naked, but she covered herself as much as she could.

Lucy knelt behind the bench, knees pressed tightly together, barely daring to look over the top of the stone slab to see what was going on.

Ciaran was standing over Delauncey, his fist smashing into the other man’s face. He roared with anger as Crothers and Gyre tackled him. Lucy winced, expecting him to be thrown to the ground, but Ciaran kept his feet.

For a moment, all four men seemed to be still, white moonlight pouring down on them from the half-moon in the sky. Then Ciaran howled.

Lucy’s eyes widened. Ciaran had flung his head up to the moon, his howl an eerie, rage-filled threat that made Lucy’s skin prickle.

The howl seemed to awaken something inside him. Ciaran’s body grew larger, seams ripping as his suit was torn to pieces by his suddenly larger frame. Long claws flexed out from the ends of his fingers, and his eyes glowed an unearthly gold.

Lucy rubbed her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. Ciaran was transforming—but it wasn’t full moon.

This shouldn’t be possible, she thought, her heart in her throat.

But it was happening. As she watched, Ciaran’s face changed, becoming sharper, more predatory. His winged eyebrows grew thicker, shadowing his gold-blazing eyes. Below jutting cheekbones, razor-sharp fangs sprang out from his howling mouth.

In this form, Ciaran towered over the other werewolves. One of them—Crothers, Lucy thought—dodged back, swearing.

“What the fuck?” Crothers’ piggy eyes darted from Ciaran to where Delauncey lay on the ground. “Shit, Delauncey, you were right, he really is a freak!”

The wolf-man Ciaran swung his huge head around and laughed in Crothers’ face. “Freak? This freak is going to tear your guts out through your throat for touching my woman.”

He lashed out with one clawed hand and struck Crothers across the face. Crothers spun through the air, landing in a crumpled heap ten feet away.

“Oh, shit!” yelled the other werewolf, Gyre. He shifted his weight, lowering his center of gravity and spreading his arms wide. A look of intense concentration crossed his face. “You piece of shit, you just wait—”

“For what?” Ciaran grabbed the second werewolf by the neck and lifted him easily off the ground.

Lucy clenched her fists on top of the bench. This was the one who’d tried to throttle her with her camera strap—Gyre. The sight of his eyes bulging as Ciaran lifted him up by his neck filled her with a fierce, vengeful glee.

“Are you trying to transform, you little creep?” Ciaran hissed into the man’s face. “Not having much luck, are you?”

The man spluttered. “How are you—?”

“Think about it.” Ciaran bared his fangs. Moonlight glinted off them.

Lucy had no idea what he was talking about, and no time to think about it. On the ground, Delauncey groaned. He was lying on his back but now, he slowly began to push himself up onto his elbows, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Ciaran—!” Lucy called out in warning.

Ciaran’s golden eyes glinted across the courtyard at her. He snapped the neck of the werewolf he was holding up and dropped him to the ground, then stalked over to where Delauncey was scrambling to his feet. Ciaran casually kicked him to the ground and then trod heavily on his chest. Lucy paled at the noise of bones cracking under Ciaran’s foot.

Delauncey collapsed again. Lucy could hear him breathing, his lungs bubbling wetly.

She gulped. I don’t think he’s going to be a problem anymore.

Lucy looked back at Ciaran.

He’d saved her. How did he know where I was? she thought dully. And why did he come back for me?

She stood up slowly. She didn’t know whether the other werewolves were dead, or just unconscious. She only knew that she and Ciaran were the only people left standing in the courtyard.

“Ciaran…” she began uncertainly.

“Lucy Abbotsford,” the wolf-man growled. “I knew I should never have let you out of my sight.”

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She was familiar with Ciaran’s possessiveness, but she’d only ever seen it as a trap—not as something that could keep her safe.

But what would he expect now, for saving her?

The wolf-man was Ciaran, she knew. Stronger, more powerful—but still human. Ciaran was unable to fully transform into a wolf; even under the full moon, this wolf-man form was the closest he came to embodying the animal side of his nature.

The creature might look inhuman, but he was still the same man who wore perfectly tailored suits and who kept his passion burning behind hooded eyes. But with less self-control over his instincts.

What would those instincts lead him to do now?

Lucy shivered as the wolf-man stalked up to her. The tattered remains of Ciaran’s suit still hung from his body, thick black hair and bulging muscles pushing through the rips and tears.

He stopped a few feet away and stared at her through narrowed eyes. Lucy braced herself. Last time—

Last time, she’d run. But she didn’t think she could move a step without collapsing now.

“Th-thank you,” she whispered. “For—for saving my life.”

She had been standing with her arms still wrapped around herself, but now she tentatively dropped them, revealing her naked breasts. She licked her dry lips.

“I don’t know why you did it. Or what you want in return.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself. Surely there’s only one thing he can want? “If you want to…”

She couldn’t say it. She knew it was what the wolf-man wanted—it must be what he wanted, it was all he’d ever wanted before—but her body was still cold and sore, and shaking with shock.

The wolf-man stared hard at her for a second that seemed to never end, and then snorted and turned away. He strode around the courtyard, his eyes sweeping the ground. With a growl, he snatched up something and stalked back to Lucy’s side.

“Here,” he muttered, holding out her ripped dress. Lucy reached out and he slipped the torn garment over her arms, draping it over her shoulders and covering as much of her as was possible.

Lucy touched the soft fabric. “I don’t understand—”

Tears pricked her eyes. She felt dirty, used—was that what Ciaran saw, too? Did she disgust him so much that even his wolf-man self didn’t want to touch her?

Ciaran sighed. His golden eyes flickered black as he looked down at Lucy.

“Oh, Lucy.” His voice was still an animal growl, but there was a softness to it. He lifted one hand to her face and ran the smooth backs of his claws along her cheek. “You poor, foolish girl.”

He stepped closer and picked her up in one smooth movement. Lucy let her head fall against his shoulder. The wolf-man’s arms were strong around her, holding her securely to his chest.

“I don’t understand…” she said again, her voice fading. She suddenly felt exhausted, as though a heavy weight was pressing down on her.

“Of course you don’t,” growled Ciaran. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “You don’t understand anything. I should have seen that the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He began to walk, his long strides bringing them to the pavilion in a matter of minutes. Lucy hid her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t face any of the other guests. And if Sibby saw her…

God. Sibby. I hope she’s safe. Lucy blinked, surprised at herself.

Of course she’s safe. She knows what she’s doing. Everyone here does. You’re the only one who gets everything wrong.

Lucy felt as though a lead weight was hanging from her heart. Her limbs were as limp and heavy as they’d felt when the three rogue werewolves had pinned her down.

She bit back a sob as the memory of Delauncey’s foul breath on her rose up in her mind. His probing fingers. His rough hands.

Ciaran was right. She was a fool. She’d thought she would be safe at the pack-meet, as though simply not dressing like a packchaser was enough to keep the werewolves from trying to claim her body.

She should have known better. Werewolves were dangerous.

Dangerous… she thought, wrapped in Ciaran’s strong arms. She could feel his heartbeat, and every muscle in his chest and arms as he held her. She didn’t feel as though she was in danger. She felt… safe.

Lucy was already half-asleep by the time Ciaran carried her out to the street and gently laid her in the back seat of a waiting car. The purr of the engine lulled her further into unconsciousness, and she let herself fall into sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

It was still dark when Lucy woke up. She stretched out, bracing herself for the shock of cold air as her feet shot over the edge of her too-short, too-narrow bed.

The shock she got wasn’t cold air. It was the sudden realization that she’d woken up in someone else’s bed.

She sat up quickly, blinking sleep out of her eyes. The room she was in had soft gray walls and pale wooden floorboards. A floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall looked out onto the Thames, where the slow-moving water glittered with city lights.

Somewhere out there was the moon, Lucy knew. And somewhere in here…

“Ciaran?”

“Lucy.”

Lucy turned around. Ciaran was crouching by the other side of the bed. He was still in his wolf-man form, and a shiver of trepidation clawed up Lucy’s spine as she looked at him.

“What am I doing here?” she asked cautiously.

She remembered him carrying her, and placing her gently in the back seat of a car… and nothing after that. She must have fallen asleep.

But how was that possible, after everything that had happened last night? How could she have felt safe enough in Ciaran’s presence to let herself be so vulnerable?

Lucy was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she jumped as Ciaran answered her question.

“This is my London flat,” Ciaran said, then added in a harsh voice: “Where you belong.”

Before Lucy could open her mouth, Ciaran jerked back and rubbed his face, growling low in his throat.

“No,” he muttered. “This isn’t right. This isn’t… ugh.”

He jumped to his feet and stalked around the bed. Lucy followed him with her eyes, ready for him to pounce.

But… there was something different about him. At the castle seven weeks ago, the wolf-man had been all uninhibited desire. There had been an arrogant looseness in his gait, as though nothing could stop him doing what he wanted, and he knew it. But now, as he walked around the bed, Lucy could see the muscles in his arms twitching, as though he was straining not to reach out and grab her.

Straining not to. He was stopping himself. Holding himself back.

“This is all wrong,” the wolf-man snarled, running clawed fingers through his thick black hair. “It isn’t even the full moon, and I—”

“You can’t change back?”

“Change back? I can barely control it.”

Control. Lucy gulped. “Delauncey and the other two—what happened…?”

“I should have killed them,” Ciaran growled, not facing her.

“You broke his neck—”

“You should know that isn’t enough to kill one of us. You should know—”

Ciaran was at the foot of the bed. He swung to face Lucy. There was a thick bedpost at each corner of the mattress and he gripped the two in front of him so tightly his claws bit into the polished wood.

“Do you have any idea how difficult this is?” His eyes burned with unconcealed desire. “The things I want to do to you… but that’s where this all began, isn’t it? That’s where everything went wrong. Where I went wrong.”

He tore his claws from the bedposts and stalked away again, tension in every curve of his body.

Lucy leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was still wearing the remains of her dress. She remembered him handing the rags back to her.

And now he was trying desperately not to touch her.

A shiver went through her body. The last time they had met, Ciaran had threatened to do terrible things to her while she slept. But now, he could barely look at her.

She should have been glad. Instead, something inside her twisted, as though it was about to break.

“Where everything went wrong?” she said slowly. “Do you mean… you believe me? That I didn’t turn up at your castle as some sort of, of pack-chaser?”

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Ciaran muttered to himself. He walked along the window, running his claws across the glass. “I thought you were a trick. A toy. Even when you told me you’d dreamed of the forest…” He glanced back at her. “Tell me. Tell me what happened. The truth. I’ll listen. As much as I can in this form.”

Lucy couldn’t bear the burning gold of his gaze. She dropped her eyes.

The truth? She was only just realizing what the truth was herself.

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she began. “After what happened in the castle… it was like you awoke something inside me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She dropped her head onto her knees. “I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I did. And it terrified me. All of it. You—and my own reaction to you. I didn’t understand, but I think I do now.” She looked up at him. “It’s—my housemate, Sibby, called it werewolf fever. Is that right? And I… I caught it, after that night with you.”

“Half right.” Ciaran’s voice was harsh, but the expression on his face was surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have werewolf fever, Lucy.”

He left the window and knelt down beside the bed, muscles twitching. Lucy could almost taste his need to touch her—but he held back, as though the bed was an inviolable sanctuary.

Lucy frowned. “Then what the hell do you call what I’ve been through the last few months? All the dreams, the—the way my body reacts around werewolves…”

Ciaran chuckled bitterly. “Werewolves, Lucy? If that was true, you would have been on your knees begging for Delauncey and his friends to claim you. Or any of the other guests.”

“What are you saying?” Lucy bit her lip. Ciaran’s words stung. She wasn’t that sort of girl. She would never—

But that was his point, wasn’t it? She hadn’t felt the slightest hint of arousal for any of the other werewolves. The whole evening, she’d just been focused on her work. Until…

“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes widening with understanding.

Ciaran didn’t meet her eyes. “The fever lasts until something inside you matches with a particular werewolf… and then burns only for him,” he explained, his voice hoarse.

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve only ever felt this way for you,” she whispered. Her voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. As though someone else was talking, while her mind was flung into the clouds. Could it be possible…?

“I’m… your mate?” she whispered.

She was so swept up in her thoughts, she almost missed Ciaran’s mouth twist with self-loathing.

Ciaran turned away. “Yes,” he said, his voice hollow. “You were an innocent, and I claimed you without a second thought. My mate.” His clawed fingers clutched at the edge of the mattress. “And I used you. Tormented you.”

“You…” Lucy shook her head. Visions of what he did to her at the castle raced through her mind. Torment? That was a good word for it. Terrifying, painful, incredible… torment.

Ciaran looked up at her, his face wracked with guilt. “I should never have done that to you.”

Lucy stared at him. She relaxed her grip on her knees, letting her legs stretch out. The ripped front of her dress slipped open, revealing a sliver of skin from her collarbone down to her navel.

“No,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “But you did. And you made me enjoy every moment of it.”

“Don’t say that!”

Ciaran’s voice was sharp, but Lucy had seen his eyes flare at her words. He stood up slowly. Lucy saw the tension in every muscle of his body as he towered above the bed, all seven feet of him trembling with barely-restrained power.

 “There are… protocols for when a werewolf encounters their mate. Protocols which I have already broken.” He clenched his fists. Lucy winced as she imagined his claws biting into his palms. “Your belongings—everything you left at the castle—you’ll find them in the chest over there.” He nodded stiffly at a chest of drawers in the corner. “Your clothes, as well. I will explain the situation to Lord Blackpaw and ensure my… my indiscretion does not reflect badly on your professional reputation. He will understand.”

He turned away and walked to the door. “I free you, Lucy Abbotsford. My claim on you was cruelly won, and I grant you your freedom.”

His shoulders slumped as he turned the door handle. Lucy rolled onto her hands and knees. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating so intensely she felt as though it would choke her.

“Wait!” she cried out as Ciaran stepped through the door. “That’s it? After everything you did to me?”

CHAPTER TEN

Ciaran hesitated. His shoulders stiffened, and his claws bit into the edge of the door.

“Leave while you can, Lucy Abbotsford,” he growled, still staring straight ahead. “It may be your last chance to escape. When I’m in this form… I can only control myself so long. You remember what happened last time.”

“How could I forget?” Lucy replied, half-choking. “What you did to me—I’ll never forget it. I can’t. I thought I could run away, but it’s not working. And it’s not going to work, is it? You’ll always be there. In my dreams. Chasing me.”

Suddenly she was on her feet, closing the distance between her and Ciaran.

“You used me, and now all I want is more.”

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. There it was. The truth.

She gulped, waiting for Ciaran’s response. He stood with one clawed hand on the doorframe. She saw him let out a deep breath.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured, veiled violence in his words.

“Of course I do. I’ve already lived it. Only for twenty-four hours, but still… I was helpless to resist you. I was terrified. You were so domineering… I didn’t know whether you wanted to sleep with me, or kill me.”

“Not kill you,” Ciaran interjected. “Even before I knew—not kill you.”

“But you would have kept me, wouldn’t you? Kept me as your captive. Never listening to me. Never believing that I hadn’t come to you on purpose.”

On purpose? Is that what you’re doing now? Lucy’s legs shook. Do you even know what you’re doing?

“No. I would have… I would have been cruel,” Ciaran admitted. His jaw tensed. “I thought you meant to use me, and I would have used you in revenge. Without compassion or mercy.”

“What about now?”

Ciaran turned around, so slowly Lucy almost moaned with anticipation. When he looked at her, his golden eyes gleamed

“Now?” he said, his voice husky. “Now…” He shook his head, his mouth twisting. “A werewolf is meant to cherish his mate. Protect her. Worship her. And I want that, Lucy, but even more than that I want to make you scream.”

The gold in his eyes flared, narrowing to a thin band around his suddenly huge pupils. He let go of the door, leaving deep gouges in the wood, and stepped towards Lucy.

She trembled.

“But what do you want, Lucy? Tell me. Tell me. I used to think I was an honorable man, but we both know that isn’t true. Tell me the truth, though, and I will try to be one again.”

Lucy remembered the castle. The bruises that had marked her skin for weeks afterwards. The ache the wolf-man’s giant cock had left inside her, after Ciaran mercilessly used her.

He had taken her innocence that night. She knew she was never going to get it back.

But maybe she could get something else in its place.

“Please,” she breathed, barely able to form the word.

She’d expected Ciaran to leap onto her. Instead he moved slowly, a careful, controlled stalk.

She forced herself to stay still. Half of her wanted to melt back onto the bedsheets and wait for Ciaran to take her—and part of her wanted to push him, taunt him, drive him as wild as she had been behind the mansion at the pack-meet.

That had been the fully human Ciaran. This was the wolf-man. Stronger. More powerful. She’d already seen what he would do when she ran from him—what would happen if she played with him?

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Lucy.” Ciaran’s eyes blazed. His pupils were black holes, his irises only a thin golden ring around dark circles of lust. “There’s no going back from this, you know. No changing your mine. You will be mine. Forever.”

He was six feet away. Four. Two—

Lucy reached out and grabbed one torn lapel, pulling him to her as she collapsed back onto the edge of the bed. Ciaran fell to his knees in front of her with a groan and she stroked his face, running her fingers over his sharp cheekbones and thick, dark stubble.

For a moment, he was still. Then, fast as lightning, he grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Mine.”

He pushed her back onto the bed. Lucy’s breath was ragged. Ciaran stroked her body, his hands sliding along her ribs to her waist. The tips of his claws bit into her skin, tantalizingly gentle.

He kissed her and the touch of his lips was like electricity dancing just above her skin, waiting for the scrape of his teeth to strike. Lucy shivered with anticipation and he growled into her mouth.

She was still waiting for him to unleash his lust on her—but he moved slowly, gently, controlling every movement and driving her mad.

She pushed back, both hands on his shoulders. For a moment, he let her. They knelt together on the bed, her breasts pressing against his muscular chest, his tongue diving between her lips, her hands tangled in his hair.

Lucy moaned deep in her throat as Ciaran’s tongue flicked over her lower lip. She tightened her grip on him, trying to push him backwards. She wanted him, all of him, now.

Ciaran chuckled. Pushing him was like trying to push a tree over. Slowly, gently, he pulled her hands off his shoulders and, grasping her wrists, forced her back onto the mattress.

He pinned her hands above her head. He was as gentle—but unyielding. Unstoppable. His careful treatment of her only reminded Lucy of how much brute strength was in his body as he lowered himself onto her.

Lucy could feel his erection pressing against her stomach. Her mouth dropped open.

“Say it,” Ciaran urged her, his voice a purr that sent shivers up her spine. “Say it.”

“Please,” Lucy whimpered. “Take me. Make me yours.”

Ciaran forced her legs apart, pressing his cock against Lucy’s entrance. Lucy trembled. She’d taken Ciaran’s cock inside her twice the night before, in her mouth and pussy—but that was in his human form.

The last time the wolf-man had forced himself on her, he’d almost split her in two.

Her breath caught in her throat as Ciaran thrust slowly into her. The bulbous head of his cock was like a fist pushing forcing itself between her legs.

Lucy moaned as Ciaran eased himself inch by inch inside her. Every moment, she expected him to drop the gentle act and pound her mercilessly into the mattress—but it didn’t happen.

Lucy looked up into Ciaran’s face. His gaze was fixed on her, his golden eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. She could barely keep her own eyes from rolling up in her head, but she forced herself to look at him.

“You—oh God—” she gasped.

A wolfish smile spread across Ciaran’s face, making him look even more inhuman.

“What was that?” he asked innocently. “More?”

He jerked his hips, forcing another inch inside of her. Lucy whimpered. She couldn’t see him entering her—not like the first time—but her nerves were screaming as she felt every movement he made.

She knew from past experience that the wolf-man’s cock was as thick around as her fore-arm. And she knew she could take it.

But none of that stopped her body from trembling with trepidation as Ciaran pushed himself further—and further—and further inside her.

Her nether lips were stretched so tight around his shaft it was almost painful. She let out a small cry—and then her eyes shot open as he hit something deep inside her. Her legs spasmed. She was so filled, so overwhelmed, she didn’t know what the feeling was—pleasure? Pain?

She suddenly longed to close her legs, to stop and examine the sensation, but she was spread-eagled under Ciaran’s powerful body. He moaned and thrust in again.

“Please,” Lucy gasped, trying helplessly to pull herself away from his constant, slow assault, “Please, you can’t go any further—it—I—you’re too big!”

“You know that isn’t true,” Ciaran grunted. He shifted his weight, pressing down more firmly on her wrists. He thrust again, a sudden jerk, and stars burst in Lucy’s vision.

“Ohh…” Lucy moaned. “Yes…”

Through the haze she could just see Ciaran watching her. Another jerk of his hips and Lucy’s eyes rolled back in her head.

He’s playing with me, she realized. Testing—but he can’t go any deeper, there’s nowhere left—

“Oh, God!” she screamed as he gave one final thrust. Her core, already white-hot and soaking with terrified desire, seemed to melt and collapse before the crushing force of Ciaran’s cock. Lucy mewled hopelessly, pinned to the mattress.

“You strange creature,” Ciaran panted. He pressed his cheek against hers, whispering into her ear. “I thought being gentle with you would be kinder—but this is even harder on you than when I forced you, isn’t it?”

He held himself deep inside her. Lucy’s eyes fluttered open. The weight of Ciaran’s body on top of hers was nothing—all she could feel was the pressure of his cock inside her. And her own deep, throbbing need responding to its intrusion.

She met Ciaran’s eyes, her mouth dropping open—but no words came out.

“If it’s violence you need, sweetheart…” Ciaran’s voice was low and hot with menace. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut—and nodded.

His speed caught her by surprise. He pulled out of her so fast she gasped, as though she’d been winded. Before she could catch her breath he spun her around.

Lucy fell forward onto the mattress. Ciaran grasped her hips, his claws digging into her soft flesh, and his cock found her entrance before she even managed to push herself up on hands and knees. Lucy braced herself, but it made no difference.

Her whole body shuddered with pleasure as Ciaran buried his full length inside her in one fast, hard thrust. This time there was no warning when he pounded against her cervix. Lucy’s arms gave out and she lay helpless on the mattress as Ciaran held onto her hips, positioning her for his cock.

Lucy’s world narrowed down until nothing in the world existed except the sensations flooding her body. She moaned as Ciaran pounded into her, again and again. Her abused pussy walls complained at the relentless attack, but Ciaran’s force only made her wetter. He slid easily into her, his whole length, as her body welcomed his assault.

He struck her cervix again, and again, until dark spots appeared in Lucy’s vision. She timed her breaths for when he pulled out, knowing that each violent thrust would empty her lungs.

It was too much. Too much. Too big, too fast, too violent—

White light burst behind Lucy’s eyes and she screamed, her legs bucking helplessly around Ciaran’s muscular waist as she came. Her pussy squeezed even tighter around Ciaran’s monster cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure into her core.

Lucy was lying with one cheek pressed against the bed. Her eyes had rolled back as she orgasmed, but now her eyelashes fluttered. She wanted to look at Ciaran.

She forced her gaze sideways, back up her trembling body to where Ciaran loomed over her. The muscles in his chest and arms flexed as he pounded into her. Now that the waves of Lucy’s orgasm were receding she started to notice other sensations. The sharp pain of his claws cutting into her skin. The wetness trickling down her thighs. The sheer strength of her lover, as he pulled her back and forth like a ragdoll.

She wanted him so much she could hardly breathe. Even now, in the wake of an orgasm so powerful it left her limp and weak as a kitten, she wanted him to use her. The fierce, lust-filled expression in his eyes made her heart glow.

Ciaran met her gaze. She locked eyes with him, letting herself be drawn into that golden blaze. She knew her own eyes were hooded with sated pleasure, her lips still open, her breath coming as panting gasps with every thrust.

Suddenly Ciaran’s hands tightened around her waist, his claws cutting deep. Lucy cried out, arching her back as the wolf-man’s cock twitched violently inside her.

He came with a roar of triumph, filling her with what felt like gallons of hot seed. Lucy moaned shamelessly, clutching weakly at the sheets as Ciaran emptied himself into her body.

The muscular lines of Ciaran’s shoulders relaxed as he stared down at her. He grabbed her legs and twisted her around, still impaled on his cock, until she was lying on her back below him. His eyes roamed up her body, from the wet stains on her thighs and belly, to the marks around her waist, up to her heaving chest.

He lowered himself over her, his weight crushing her into the mattress. Lucy whimpered.

“Feeling any regrets, sweetheart?” he murmured. His voice was low, an animal growl.

“No,” she said without thinking, and was surprised to realize it was the truth.

“No?” Ciaran nuzzled her breast, his teeth barely grazing her skin. Lucy gasped as he moved up to her neck. Her pulse quickened, beating against the razor-sharp fang that hovered over it. Ciaran closed his mouth, gently, letting his teeth slide over her delicate skin but not biting hard enough to draw blood. “You’ve given me more than I ever believed possible, Lucy, dearest Lucy…”

He hesitated.

“Will you give me more?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“More?” Lucy was still panting from the rush of her orgasm, and the electric sparks that arced from Ciaran’s teeth on her neck. “What—what else is there?”

“Everything.”

Ciaran’s fangs grazed her neck again, pressing harder against her skin.

Everything? Lucy didn’t pull away, but she licked her suddenly dry lips. “I—haven’t I already given you everything? My body? My… my life?”

Ciaran chuckled. The vibrations made his teeth prick her skin. “You’ve been very generous, sweetheart.”

The touch of his breath on her neck gave her goosebumps.

“Then what—”

“One last gift. One final surrender.”

“Wait,” Lucy gasped. She tried to sit up, to pull away, but Ciaran was too strong.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I already told you I wouldn’t kill you.”

“You told me you wanted to hear me scream,” Lucy retorted.

Ciaran raised his head so she could see his toothy smile. “I do, precious one. And I will. Your scream in my ears, your blood in my mouth… I can’t think of anything better.” His expression grew dark. “Your pain will not be for nothing, sweetheart. With my mark on you, no other werewolf will be able to touch you. You will be safe. Protected. What happened last night—it would never happen again. Whether I was by your side or not.”

He bore down on her again, his breath hot on her neck, the needle-sharp points of his fangs barely touching her. Teasing her.

There was a strange warmth in his voice as he continued: “The bite marks you as part of my pack. It conveys a protection so strong, any werewolf who tried to harm you would be torn to pieces by the moon’s power.”

Lucy’s skin prickled. So this is what it comes down to. Your choice. Pledge yourself to the werewolf who claimed you, who tore your life away from you… or leave yourself vulnerable to any other wolf whose path you stumble into.

Lucy thought back to Delauncey and the other two werewolves who had attacked her. “Do it.”

Ciaran’s eyes glittered. “You sound very sure.”

“I am sure.” Lucy gritted her teeth. Ciaran’s proximity, his body pressing against hers… it was having an effect. Her blood was heating up again, her skin tingling. The frustration almost made her snarl. “Better you than those monsters from last night.”

Ciaran snorted, biting off the noise before it could become a laugh. “How romantic.”

“Is anything romantic about this? For anyone?” Lucy couldn’t keep a burr of anger out of her voice. Ciaran lifted his head, staring at her with his golden eyes narrowed. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“For some people,” he said at last. “But not, perhaps, for us.”

Lucy’s heart clenched at his words, even though she knew they were true. Nothing about this was romantic. Everything she had done, everything she was doing, was driven by need, fierce and sharp. There was no warmth. No gentleness. Only the hungry need of her body.

And the terrified need of her mind, for anything that could keep her safe from people like Delauncey. Something close to panic gripped her.

“Do it now,” she urged Ciaran. “Please.”

Ciaran lowered his head to her throat. Lucy’s whole body tensed as the waited for the pain. She felt his breath again, the scrape of his teeth—

And nothing else.

Ciaran groaned, dropping his head on the pillow beside hers. Lucy twisted, and got a glimpse of his face, twisted with agony.

“No,” Ciaran whispered. His voice trembled, and beside Lucy, his hands twitched spasmodically in the sheets. “No. I can’t do it. Even this one thing…”

His weight lifted from Lucy’s body. She thought at first he was getting up, but then she realized he wasn’t pulling away from her. His body was changing. His overwhelming, over-sized wolf-man form stretched and cracked as his bones re-set themselves.

Lucy watched, amazed. Ciaran’s neck-muscles stood out as he transformed, and his jaw set, as though it hurt but he didn’t want her to see how it affected him. The wiry black hair that covered his body disappeared, revealing smooth, tanned skin over knotted muscles.

Watching him transform, only inches away from her own bare skin, was strangely intimate.

Some part of her knew that objectively, the process was horrific, a painful-looking rearrangement of bone and sinew. But Lucy wasn’t horrified or disgusted. Her heart twisted at the sight of Ciaran gritting his teeth, brow furrowed, as his human form took over.

“Even this,” he growled, his human voice as gravelly as his wolf-man form’s. “After everything, I cannot even offer you…”

He stopped and raised his eyes to meet her wondering gaze.

There was no sharp, predatory glint of superiority in his eyes. He looked subdued. Wary. Almost… defeated.

“Ciaran,” Lucy began, her voice uncertain. “What’s wrong?”

The predatory Ciaran had frustrated her, terrified her—but seeing him like this put a cold knot in her stomach.

“I can’t do it.” Ciaran’s voice was a harsh whisper. His eyes were wide, and deep, endless black. “I can’t protect you.”

Lucy felt her neck. Her skin was tender where Ciaran’s fangs had scraped it—but he hadn’t drawn blood. He hadn’t even broken through the top layer of skin.

Her pulse throbbed under her fingertips. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

Ciaran’s mouth twisted bitterly. “I am.”

He turned away. “I’m sorry, Lucy. You deserve better. Better than a cursed half-wolf. With my mark on you, you would be safe. Without it…”

He didn’t need to say more. They both remembered Delauncey’s casual entitlement to her body the night before.

“Without the mark to protect you… Humans, werewolves—our worlds are both dangerous, and most lethal where they overlap. And I will not be able to protect you.”

Ciaran went entirely still. When he looked back into Lucy’s eyes, he was still human, but there was something entirely animal in his eyes.

“A pity you already made your choice.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The door clicked shut behind Ciaran, taking Lucy’s breath with it.

For a moment, there was the noise of his footsteps in the corridor beyond, and then a silence that seemed to wrap around Lucy like chains.

She fell back like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

A pity you already made your choice.

But it hadn’t been a choice. Not really. The only choice she had made was to seek shelter from a storm in that silver-walled castle, all those years ago—and then, she hadn’t known what her choice would lead to. She had been innocent. Naïve.

Foolish.

And what are you now? Still that stupid, naïve girl, running headlong into trouble wherever you go?

Lucy wrapped her arms around her knees. No. Those thoughts—they stung, but not because they were accurate.

Maybe they had been once. But not anymore.

Lucy’s stomach churned. She was sick of lying to herself. It wasn’t going to help, not now.

She’d only made once choice? What a joke. Every action she had taken since the castle had been a choice. Right down to taking the job at the Blackpaw Pack event.

Lucy groaned and closed her eyes. Who had she been trying to fool? The fire that filled her veins… it made her reckless, but not stupid. Some part of her had wanted to lose control again.

To have control taken away from her.

Not like Delauncey had done. Never like that. But Ciaran, with his burning, gleeful delight in her body—in her…

She could admit it now. That was what she had wanted. Him.

And now she was his.

Tears pricked at Lucy’s eyes. She still wanted Ciaran. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, and by now she wasn’t sure whether it was her heart or her body talking. The longer they were apart, the more she ached for him.

But she was frightened. The way he looked at her made her heart quail at the same time it made her most private parts thrill with anticipation. He wanted to hurt her. And Lucy… Lucy didn’t know whether she wanted to be hurt, or not.

She just knew it didn’t matter.

She was a werewolf’s mate, and her life was no longer her own.

Lucy waited for the tears to come. She had cried enough, these last few months. Tears of frustration, tears of fear and terror, tears of confusion. But now, even though her eyes stung, she didn’t cry.

Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, Lucy felt every ache in her body. The needle-point punctures at her waist where Ciaran’s claws had dug in. The scrapes on her neck, where the skin was hot and her pulse beat so dangerously close to the surface. And the deep, satisfied ache inside her.

She was sick of lying to herself. Maybe she was sick of running, too.

Lucy stood up before her nerve failed her. She found her clothes where Ciaran told her they would be, neatly folded in the chest. Pulling them on felt strange. Like she was putting on someone else’s clothing. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

Heart thudding in her chest, she poked her head out the door into the corridor. It was decorated in the same luxuriously simple style as the bedroom. There was no sign of Ciaran.

It was hard not to compare what she was doing now to her exploration of the castle all those weeks ago. The castle had been dark and forbidding, but this apartment was nearly as mysterious.

Like most people, Lucy had grown up thinking of werewolves as creatures of the night and the wilderness. The castle had fitted perfectly into those preconceptions.

But the more she found out about werewolves, the more she realized how little she had known of their reality, especially in this part of the world. The stronger packs all owned lots of land in the countryside, but of course werewolves would own property in cities, as well. She’d never thought about it before, but it made sense—why would people stay inside at full moon in the cities, if werewolves only lived in the wilderness?

They were human, and animal. Country and city. And Ciaran’s apartment was a strangely intimate insight into his human side.

It was unexpectedly light and airy, wide windows letting in the morning sun. Lucy froze once as a pedestrian outside looked straight up at the window she was staring out of, but the businessman’s eyes passed straight over Lucy as though she wasn’t there.

That made her pay more attention. She looked closer at the windows. The glass was tough, at least an inch thick. Reinforced? she thought. And one-way, maybe, if that guy outside couldn’t see me in here. Mr. Mallory values his privacy.

She thought again about how thick the glass was. This place looks open, but it feels like a fortress.

The apartment was the penthouse suite, with views on all sides. At last she found Ciaran, in the dining room.

A frisson of déjà vu shivered down her spine. She’d found Ciaran like this before, at the castle. And what had happened over that meal had changed her life forever.

This morning, though, there was no carefully prepared meal laid out on the table. He was sitting with his head in his hands.

Ciaran had dressed while Lucy explored, in a dark suit that fitted him like a glove. His wild curls were smoothed back. Lucy could almost feel the sense of control he was trying to exert with his appearance—but what was he trying to control? The way the world saw him—or the way he saw himself?

He stilled under her gaze, and she knew he sensed her presence. But she kept quiet.

Lucy could see tension build in his shoulders as the silence drew out longer. Finally, he raised his head from his hands and met her eyes.

Lucy clenched her fists. She’d made up her mind—but she still had questions.

“What were you doing at the Blackpaw pack-meet, last night?” she said eventually.

Ciaran lowered his eyes. She could feel his gaze burning on her collarbone.

“Trying to get you out of my head,” he said huskily. “I thought…” He stopped.

“Tell me,” Lucy urged him.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Ciaran turned doubting eyes on Lucy, and indignation rose hot in her heart.

“Talk to me, Ciaran Mallory. We’ve done far too little talking, and far too much of… of everything else, in comparison. So tell me. Why were you at the pack-meet?”

He gave in. Lucy waited while he sat up straighter, eyebrows furrowed. She watched his expression darken—and then saw the change in his features as he gave in.

Ciaran groaned. “I was trying to get you out of my head,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I thought… No. I should explain from the beginning.”

He took a deep breath. Lucy leaned against the doorframe. Ciaran was staring straight ahead, his black eyes boring into thin air. His face was stern; or was it stiff with anxiety?

“You know already that I am unable to fully transform. To the werewolf community, this makes me… dangerous. An unknown. My full-moon form is stronger than a human, and larger—all the power of the wolf, but none of the simplicity.” He paused. “In some ways, this has been a blessing. My un-mated brethren are a danger to humans and others of our kind during the full moon. If I am a danger, it is of my own will, not that of the beast. But, never being able to take wolf form, I have never felt… whole.”

Lucy longed to reach out and take his hand, offer some support; but she didn’t want to interrupt him. This was what she had wanted for so long: answers. Some way to make sense of the madness she’d lived through.

The muscles in Ciaran’s neck tightened. “Not being able to satiate my animal side in wolf form, I feared that it would break through during my partial transformation, or even during the waning or waxing moon. I did not wish for harm to come to an innocent as a result of my—of my disability. Or so I thought, until I met you.”

His dark eyes flashed, and Lucy trembled despite herself.

“I know you must want your freedom, Lucy Abbotsford. Even with the fire of the mate bond running through you, you must fear the cage door closing.” He tipped his head back, regarding her through narrowed eyes. Waiting.

“You’re right,” Lucy said softly. “It is terrifying. But there’s nothing I can do except give in to it.”

Disappointment shadowed Ciaran’s eyes. He hid it well, drowning it in a sneer, but not fast enough for it to escape Lucy’s notice. Her heart fluttered.

“I learnt my lesson at the castle, after all,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want you to treat me like that again. Now that I know I belong to you, I’ll be sure to behave myself.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ciaran replied, his voice flat. He stared past her, at the wall. “The world you are entering will require quick thinking, if you are to survive it.”

“I know.” Lucy watched him for another moment, and then:

“Goodbye,” she whispered. She could hardly hear her own words over the deafening thud of her heartbeat.

Ciaran’s eyes whipped up to meet hers. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Lucy stuck out her chin, hands on her hips. “I’m leaving.”

Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “You will do no such thing.”

“Then stop me,” Lucy shot back, and ran.

She hadn’t been able to find any shoes, and her bare feet slapped against the floorboards as she sprinted back down the corridor. There was a crash behind her as Ciaran flung his chair back.

Lucy hadn’t wasted the minutes she spent exploring the apartment. She knew the layout of the rooms. The corridor made a dog-leg turn before the front door.

She barely made it to the first corner before Ciaran caught up with her.

He grabbed her by the arms and flung her against the wall. Lucy gasped, winded, her eyes wide with panic as Ciaran pinned her by the shoulders. Fire raced through her veins.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ciaran snarled.

Lucy grinned back fiercely. “What you told me to do. Run.”

Understanding sparked in Ciaran’s eyes. “That was a long time ago, Lucy.”

“Have you really changed that much since then?” Lucy demanded.

“You are my mate,” he growled. “You are meant to submit to me, and I am meant to cherish you. That is the way things are meant to be, for werewolves.

“And what about for us?” Lucy challenged him. “You told me today that you wanted to hurt me. You told me back then that it’s no fun if I don’t fight back. What is the truth?”

She waited until he opened his mouth and then hooked her leg around his and kicked the back of his knee. He stumbled, and she thrust herself sideways.

With inhuman speed Ciaran recovered and slammed her back into the wall. His eyes flared gold. “This isn’t right.”

“Says who?”

Ciaran lifted one hand, stroking her collarbone, the smooth skin of her neck. His fingers paused over her pulse.

“So says every rule of werewolf protocol. The fever is so hard on the women we choose, we must treat them well afterwards. A lifetime of care in exchange for the endless weeks of hardship.”

“So treat me well,” Lucy hissed. “Make me happy. Make me scream. If you can’t give me your mark, then at least give me that.”

Ciaran’s fingers closed around her throat. “Think about what you are saying, Lucy.”

“I am. I have.” Lucy stretched her neck out. “And this is what I want. I can’t deny it anymore.”

She whimpered as his grip on her throat tightened. He was pressed up against her, pinning her to the wall, and she felt him harden, his cock growing thick and hard against her stomach. Ciaran groaned deep in his throat.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ciaran lifted his hand, forcing Lucy onto her tip-toes. She gasped and swallowed, her throat moving against his firm grip.

His other hand moved quickly. Lucy heard him undoing his belt and pants, and then he moved onto her clothes. She was wearing tight jeans, the better to show off her ass as she ran. Ciaran yanked them down along with her panties. They stuck partway down her thighs and he grunted with frustration.

“Very well,” he muttered, and knelt briefly to grab her behind the knees.

Lucy yelped as he lifted her legs. For a moment, held up only by Ciaran’s hand at her throat, she couldn’t breathe. Then he slung her legs over his shoulder and pressed in close.

Her legs were practically bound together by her jeans. The only things keeping her from falling to the ground were her feet over Ciaran’s shoulder, his hand cupping her bare ass—and his grip on her throat.

He tightened his fingers, scraping one fingernail over the reddened skin where he had tried to bite her. “Fight me,” he commanded.

“And throttle myself?” Lucy spat back, raising one eyebrow.

He smacked her ass, hard, making her flinch. The pain sent shockwaves of anticipation between her legs.

“Fine,” Lucy snarled. She kicked sideways at his head and thrust out with her hands at the same time, trying to push him away. He laughed, ignoring her assault.

He waited until her whole body was tensed, half from her attempt to fight him and half from her fear at choking herself, and then thrust forward. Lucy gasped as he flattened her legs against her chest, crushing the air from her lungs at the same time as he forced his cock inside her.

Lucy kissed as he buried himself inside her. She was still bruised and sensitized from the last time, but this time all his restraint was gone.

Ciaran’s eyes blazed as he thrust into her again, mercilessly slamming her into the wall. Lucy tried to catch her breath when he pulled out, in the brief moment when her legs weren’t crushing her lungs, but it was never long enough. The muscles in her hips and thighs screamed for release, but there was nothing she could do. She was powerless against Ciaran’s inhuman strength.

Lucy keened as Ciaran’s nails scraped against her raw skin again. She flung her head back, eyes closed, focusing on the sensations overwhelming her body. Pain. Pleasure. The knowledge that she had all but given Ciaran permission to do anything he wanted to her, to unleash his animal side…

He grunted, changing his angle as he pounded into her again and his cock slammed against Lucy’s g-spot. Her whole body shuddered. The muscles in her legs twitched, echoing the early spasms inside her.

“Please,” she gasped. “Again—do it again, just like that—”

“Look at me,” Ciaran commanded.

Lucy’s eyes flew open. She fell into Ciaran’s gold-fire gaze, the burn of his lust blazing across her skin. Tightening her legs over his shoulder to pull him closer to her, she barely noticed him shifting his grip on her.

When he thrust again it wasn’t only his cock she felt. Ciaran moved his hand further around her ass, forcing one finger into her unprepared back entrance. Lucy bucked away instinctively. She would have gasped except Ciaran’s fingers tightened brutally around her neck, cutting off her air.

Ciaran pinned her in place by her throat, pistoning his cock and finger mercilessly into her body. Lucy keened and moaned, unable to do anything to stop him. His total invasion of her body, her utter helplessness, made her body quiver and shake with shameful desire.

“This is what happens when you disobey me, sweetheart.” Ciaran’s voice was rough in her ear. “A lesson for you…”

Black mist appeared at the edges of Lucy’s vision. Suddenly Ciaran’s lips were on hers, his teeth biting possessively. He gave one final thrust, and white lights burst inside Lucy’s head.

She screamed until her voice was hoarse.

As her body convulsed Ciaran came too, digging his fingertips into her skin. His cock flexed, emptying inside her for the second time in as many hours.

At last he leant against her, relaxed. She was still bent in half against the wall, weak as a kitten after the force of her orgasm.

Ciaran released his fingers from her throat, one by one. She took a shuddering breath and felt life return to her body.

“Mine,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“Yours,” Lucy agreed, hoping she hadn’t just made the worst mistake of her life.

***

A note from Juno Blake

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Read on for a sample chapter from the third and final book in Lucy and Ciaran’s story: Marked by the Wolf.

***

Marked by the Wolf

Special Sneak Preview

Teasing fingers traced patterns on Lucy’s thighs. She moaned sleepily and stretched her legs, encouraging the fingers to venture further.

Lucy had slept naked, as always, entwined in her lover’s arms and wrapped in cloudy layers of luxurious bedding. Now she felt the slightest breeze over her body. All the bedding had been stripped back, leaving her body on display.

She could feel lustful eyes on her, leaving a burning trail on her skin. He was still only lightly brushing her thighs with his fingertips, but the force of his gaze was transforming her warm sleepiness into fiery need.

Lucy opened her eyes. Ciaran Mallory stared down at her, all dark, tousled hair, coal-black eyes and burning passion. His body covered hers—almost. Lucy could feel the heat pouring from his bare skin, but he wasn’t touching her. Ciaran held himself over her, a teasing light in his eyes.

She trembled with anticipation.

“One day,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust, “you’re not going to wake up in time.”

Before Lucy could react he thrust into her, burying his cock deep inside her in one smooth motion. Lucy cried out as her body adjusted to his girth. The sensation was just the right side of painful—or the wrong side. She wrapped her legs around his waist, greedy for more.

Ciaran’s eyes narrowed to slits, gold sparking in their depths. Lucy caught her breath. How close is it to full moon?

A few days away, still, but close enough. Lucy gasped as Ciaran slid his full length out of her and thrust in again, slowly, teasing.

Close enough? Close enough for the werewolf’s animal side to become stronger. Close enough for Ciaran, who prized his control over his urges, to begin to lose that control in the most thrilling ways…

Ciaran grasped Lucy by the shoulders. His eyes burned into hers. “Even asleep, you are mine,” he growled as he thrust into her. Harder. Faster.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “Yes—always—”

Forever. The word seared across her mind and she didn’t know if it came from her, or…

Gold flared in Ciaran’s eyes. He moved his hands to her hips and flipped her over, throwing her onto her stomach. Lucy pushed herself up. She grabbed hold of the headboard less than a heartbeat before Ciaran thrust into her again.

Lucy’s hands juddered on the headboard as his cock filled her again and again. Ciaran kept one hand on her waist, holding her where he wanted her, but he reached forward with the other and placed it on her hand. His fingers tightened over hers as he pounded into her, silently enforcing his ownership.

Lucy arched her back, offering herself to Ciaran. Her body was his. She’d made that decision months ago, and nothing would make her change it.

Mine. Forever.

Electricity shot through her body, growing stronger with every thrust. Ciaran’s hand on her waist held her firm, his fingernails digging into her skin. She moaned, imagining what would happen when the full moon arrived. He would be stronger, bigger. More violent. Claws would stretch out of each fingertip, and when he dug them into her flesh—

Lucy screamed as her orgasm struck, pleasure coursing like fire through every nerve in her body. Ciaran growled deep in his throat and increased his pace until he was forcing himself into her in a frenzy, driving more and more sensation from her convulsing body.

Stars burst in Lucy’s vision. The muscles in her legs gave out and she sagged under Ciaran’s assault. If he hadn’t been holding her up she would have collapsed onto the bed.

But Ciaran wasn’t done with her yet. He grabbed her waist with both hands. Lucy lost her grip on the headboard and slipped down until the only part of her off the bed was her ass. Ciaran yanked her back and forth, pulling her to meet each of his thrusts until he came with a roar that made Lucy’s bones shake. She felt his cock flex inside her as he filled her with his seed.

Ciaran bore down on her, his weight flattening Lucy against the mattress. He slid one hand under her cheek, twisting her head around until he could see her face.

His body was hot and slick with sweat, and he was still buried deep inside her, pinning her to the bed. Lucy was still panting with exhaustion from the force of her orgasm. Her chest rose and fell, but he was too heavy for her to take the deep breaths she needed.

Ciaran bared his teeth. “Mine,” he growled. “Never forget it.”

Lucy’s mind flicked back to the voice that had blazed through her mind during their lovemaking. Had it been her imagination—or was it Ciaran’s voice?

She stared into his black eyes. “Yours,” she agreed.

He lowered his head, scraping his teeth along her jaw. A dark thrill raced through Lucy. Yes, her deepest heart cried. Yes, please, do it—make me yours, truly yours—

But Ciaran drew back. His chest and arm muscles flexed against Lucy and then he was gone, leaving nothing but cool air behind him.

Lucy sat up, staring after him. The words What’s wrong? were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back.

She didn’t need to ask. She knew what was wrong.

Ciaran Mallory was a werewolf—but he was unable to take wolf form. The full moon made him more passionate, possessive, and fearsome, but that was all. For other werewolves the full moon was a time of freedom, their wolf forms of pure and simple power a cathartic release from human concerns.

Not Ciaran. The monstrous wolf-man shape he took at full moon was anything but simple. As were the consequences of his inability to take full wolf form.

Lucy was Ciaran’s mate. Her body burned for him, and over the last few months, that carnal desire had been joined by a growing emotional bond with the handsome werewolf. As mates, their lives were inextricably bound together.

But there was one problem. Usually, a werewolf would claim his mate by marking her. Biting her. The scar left by the bite cemented the mate bond, and marked the werewolf’s mate as untouchable to other werewolves.

Ciaran could hurt her. He’d proved that, again and again, until her body was covered with bruises and scratches that left her quivering with desire. But nothing more.

It was always the wolf who performed the bite. Without a wolf form, Ciaran couldn’t mark Lucy. And without his mark, Lucy had no magical protection from rival werewolves.

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