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The Evening Wolf

The Odin

Book II

Olivia Barrington-Leigh

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014

All rights reserved by the Author

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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**Warning** : Adult Reading Material. This book contains strong language and sexual content.

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### Prologue

The six-by-eight cell had been home for so long it was almost all he could remember. There was a short time before the four stone walls and straw-covered floor that reeked of waste and was infested with too many things to name. There was a time before pain and starvation, sleepless nights . . . before Master. The pup did a good job at not remembering what could have been; instead he spent his time getting through each day. For one day he would be bigger, stronger. Too bad it was not this day.

The sound of footfalls made him cower in the corner. His whimpering was loud; the sound competed with the echoing of his heart in his ears, and his breathing coming too quick. He was powerless to stop the warm stream that ran down his hunches, soaking the already water- logged straw when he heard the jingling of keys. The sounds he made were almost human as he pressed his body tight into the corner. His cries fell on deaf ears. They always did. He dared not fight or bite. A boot-covered foot in the side could break ribs. He knew from experience. These were the times he fought extra hard to forget what it felt like to be held in a warm, loving embrace, or the sound of a voice that promised the world, and every touch—tenderness. Sitting in the cell alone, he won the battle to forget the too short time he'd spent with his parents. It was only when he was being taken from the cell did he think of them. Many moons had passed since their slaughter, thirty-six to be exact. He knew because he remembered every day of his life. It made the short time he'd been on earth that much worse.

The man who opened the door was one of the nicer ones, which meant he didn't fear for his life when the man stepped into the room. That didn't stop him from burying his muzzle in the corner, filling his nose with the stench of mold, mildew and waste, even still, his heightened sense of smell allowed him to pick up on the human's scent. It was one of the many things that set him apart. One of the reasons Master kept him.

The man crossed the room in a handful of strides. A large hand fisted his fur, grabbing him by his scruff. "Come on mutt."

He was three years old, bigger than the day they'd taken him but not big enough. He was too terrified to enjoy in the fact that the man strained to carry him.

Soon—but not soon enough.

Doors lined the walls along the hallway at regular intervals like sentinels. Some were cells and others were where the pup was sent for _conditioning_. But the man didn't stop at one of the doors, instead he headed for the end of the hall where he pushed opened a door. Night air cooled the pup's body. He breathed fast and hard, not from fright, but to fill his lungs with fresh air, his tiny eyes darting in every direction. He loved outdoors, even if he only saw it for a few precious moments, on fewer days. The last thing he looked at was the moon: a full one. He threw his head back and howled, the sound not at all matching his previous disposition, nor did it match his body. Cheers from the barn punctuated the sound. His handler chuckled, raised his arm until he and the pup were eye to eye.

"You're going to win me a lot of money, aren't you boy?"

No, there was no reason to fear this human tonight, something much worse awaited him on the other side of the double-wood doors. The noise was almost too much once inside. While he dared not fight his handler, he did bare his teeth and growl at the screaming men they passed. It was like throwing fuel on an already blazing fire. The barn smelled of sweat and blood, piss and shit. It demanded more. Fists were raised in the air, mouths were opened and yelling, excitement was the order of the night. The man chucked the pup in the ring; the hard packed dirt did nothing to cushion his fall. And he was the nice one. A second pup was tossed in on the opposite side. The shouts of the men surrounding the ring were endless thunder. The pup's opponent hackles were raised, its lips peeled back, saliva dripped in ropes from his mouth and a low menacing growl escaped its throat. None of it bothered the pup. He was afraid of the rooms inside the big house, afraid of most his handlers, but things were different in the barn. In the barn pain was a lover's caress and killing a kiss.

He walked towards his opponent: low to the ground, focused, as silent as the grave. He tuned out the yelling men. It was only the two of them. The other pup (also black) was bigger from being well fed. But sometimes size really doesn't matter. It isn't the dog in the fight—it's the fight in the dog. The opposing pup lunged; his flight across the space was impressive. The pup moved to the left, threw his head back and grabbed the landing pup's neck. His opponent's jaws clamped down on his back. The pain was bad, but not the worst. Not with what Master did to him on a regular basis. They rolled around on the blood-soaked dirt—a tangle of legs and paws. Claws slashing, teeth tearing, even their tails seemed to fight as they battled. Here in the ring, he had his revenge. What he couldn't do to the men who held him prisoner was taken out on those unlucky enough to be thrown in the circle with him. The surprised and pained yep of the challenger was the sweetest music. There was no mercy; he tore the wolf's throat out. And because he'd been denied food for so very long—he ate.

He was born a werewolf. He was made a monster.

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Present day

Body odor and the acrid smell of the campfire drifted on the night's breeze. It mingled with those of alcohol (which the man had drunk earlier) and marijuana (which he'd just finished smoking). The camper's clothes matched his collapsible shelter. A patch in the crotch of his pants kept him decent. The knees were worn out, a square of color, darker than the rest of the pants but still faded, showed where a pocket had been. Denim was not what made the material stiff. The jeans were as dirty as they were ragged. Every edge on the thin sweater was unraveling and the tee-shirt beneath had a rip that traveled entirely around it. Only an inch of fabric held it on the threadbare top. His shoes were more duct and electrical tape than rubber and leather. After dumping the contents of a can of string beans in a pot, he settled down on a pile of blankets that would pull double duty serving as his bed later in the evening. The man lifted his face, basked in the soft light of the full moon. The thing hiding in the shadows mirrored the action; closing its eyes, inhaling deep, flaring its nostrils, marveling in the surrounding smells both human and not. Its ears twitched as it listened to the symphony that only deep country offered: toads, cicadas and night singing birds. It loved when the moon stole the sky from the sun. Movement from the man drew the creature's attention back to the reason it was there. The man took a rag and pulled the pot from the fire. The beast allowed him to finish his meal. It would be his last.

Moving in silence that was a contradiction to its size, each step bunched thighs as thick as an average man's waist. Its arms, ending past its knees, sported claw tipped fingers as sharp as any blade. Thick black fur covered its chest and thinned into a line as it traveled down its abdomen but covered its powerful back and limbs. The massive head sitting atop a thickly veined neck sported a protruding snout, pointy-tipped ears and teeth too long to fit in the beast's mouth. His canines lengthened in anticipation of meeting flesh; his mouth watered as it readied itself for the taste of blood. But its eyes—its eyes were beautiful. It may worship the moon but it was the sun reflected when he was more animal than man—two burning, golden orbs that were bright as the star at noontime on a clear day. In calmer times its eyes were the color of molten metal. When its form broke and mended, melted like warm wax, reshaped itself and cooled; man, beast or animal, its eyes remained the same. When its body lied, its eyes told the truth. It was not human. It took a step forward like a nightmare emerging from dark waters.

Marijuana hadn't dulled the primal instinct of self-preservation, the man was up and running before his stoned mind registered exactly what his eyes widened at the sight of. There was no time to scream, he used everything in him to run for his life. The beast stopped only long enough to howl. The blood-curdling sound filled the night, silencing every creature within hearing distance. There were predators, and then there was . . . more. A thing so deadly that the respect paid was not earned, not taken or given, it just was. Like the sun rising in the east, or the moon controlling the tide.

A few steps were all the man made before he was taken down from behind. His mouth opened in a silent scream because sometimes pain is so great it steals the ability to make sound. Claws dug deep, one in his back, the other in his thigh and he was flipped over. Ropes of saliva dropped on his panicked face, ran in rivers into his matted hair. The beast buried its nose in the man's neck and inhaled. It was a lot like smelling good food before digging in. It was exactly that. Moving quick as a viper, it struck. Not at the neck but in the man's side, giving the muted scream sustenance. The bite exposed spine.

The earth drank his life's blood as greedily as the beast that fed off his flesh. Too weak from blood lost and shock to do more than whimper, the man prayed for unconsciousness. It was too much to watch himself being eaten alive. He'd never been a religious man but he thanked God as his vision blurred—then darkened.

Teeth closing around sinewy muscle, warm blood filling its mouth; the last of the man's life drained from his body. When the slow, steady squirts of blood ceased when the heart stopped beating the beast roared in frustration. The man had been homeless and half starved. There had been little meat and he'd died too quickly. The beast liked eating while its prey's heart beat strong within its body. He always saved it for last, relishing it like a piece of soft candy. Chewing the last of what was in his mouth he buried his snout in the opening in the man's stomach, burrowing upward, beneath the ribcage, until he reached the heart. Still so warm that it was easy to imagine it pumping.

# Chapter One

Josephine Baxter, Jo, to all she knew and loved, threw the last of what she needed for the weeklong trail-ride in the duffle bag. She was always surprised how her heart often spoke before her mind had a chance to process any and all requests spoken by her father. She'd been raised around horses but had never taken to them, and while she manned-up when needed, she thought her days of extended one on one time with them was over when she moved from the small quiet town her parents lived in, to the larger one she now called home. Jo zipped the red and black bag, closed the Velcro that held the straps together and threw the mammoth thing on the floor at the foot of her bed. Taking a deep breath, she replayed her morning routine in her head, going through each step in order to ensure she had all she needed. Sure, she was just traveling an hour down the road but she was going to be pissed if she got all the way there only to discover she'd left without her underwear, or her favorite lotion, or hairbrush or worse, a toothbrush. Checking off her mental list, she was satisfied all necessities rested within the confines of her duffle. Bed made, bathroom cleaned, dishes washed, dried and put away, she pulled on cowboy boots that were as old as your average junior high school student and looped a just as old belt through her jeans. The buckle was big, silver and gold. The boots she sometimes wore, they were cute. The belt and buckle hadn't seen daylight in four, no, five years. She slung the duffle over her shoulder, the weight pulling her to one side, and walked through her two bedroom townhouse making sure all the lights were off, the iron wasn't plugged in and the fridge door was closed. She didn't have OCD; she was just thorough that way. She didn't have much, but she loved her shit, wouldn't do for it all to go up in flames because she'd left an appliance on.

The Jeep was black with a faded top and had thick-treaded tires that said it was off-road ready. It was a façade. The only time the car saw anything other than smooth asphalt was when she visited her parents, and only then because their driveway was dirt. She threw the bag in the back and hopped in. She enabled the Bluetooth speaker on the visor and called her mother before starting the ignition.

"Hello love," her mother said a little breathless. The whinny of horses in the background brought back memories that never faded regardless of how much time she spent away. She could almost smell manure and hay.

"I'm pulling out now," Jo said, swinging her arm across the passenger seat, turning her body so she could see as she backed out. "I should be there in an hour."

"Drive safe. We'll be here. Randy and your father still have the wagon and feed to load."

Jo's heart skipped a beat. Randy was her father's stableman. Were they still called that? He was years younger than her, but legal, and hotter than Georgia asphalt in July. He was FINE, that's right, all capitals, and Jo had been attracted to the barely legal young man for the last four years, when he wasn't legal. He'd hooked up with the wrong crowd and was fast on his way to becoming a statistic. Her father was a pillar of the community. Not born and raised there, but an adoptive son of the people in a town that only had two traffic lights. Jo's father opened his door to anyone in need. The town was the poorest in the state so the number was many. Countless troubled boys' tides had been turned by the force of nature called Samuel Baxter, Randy just one more drop that made up an endless stream.

Jo was down for a weekend visit when she first saw the teenager with the body of a full grown man. Shirtless and handling a bale of hay like it weighed little more than a blade of grass, his sweat glistening skin showcased perfectly defined pecks and an abdomen that you could do your laundry on. His skin was as black as the ace of spades and flawless. She licked her lips at the memory.

"Josephine?"

"I'm here."

Her mother chuckled, letting Jo know her fantasy wasn't as secret as she thought. God, she hoped she wasn't as transparent to Randy. It would be too embarrassing. Seeing how he was twenty one and she was pushing damn near thirty. Not that that was old, but still.

"I'll see you soon," she said suddenly ready to get off the phone.

"Mm hmm," her mother said and was laughing out loud when Jo ended the call.

Jo pulled onto the freeway headed home. Seven years ago she'd left for college and two semesters in she'd left, not mentioning to her parents that she'd really flunked out. Not because she couldn't do the work (she'd been a straight A student in high school) but because her heart wasn't in it. She hadn't gone to her classes, partying away the days instead of spending them with the world closing in on her one lecture at a time. The problem with Jo was she couldn't decide what she wanted to spend the rest of her life doing. So she'd left after stealing her grades from the post office so her parents wouldn't be disappointed in her, or anymore disappointed, since dropping out was pretty damn disappointing in itself. They'd been so loving and understanding she still choked up thinking about it. She found a job and then her tiny townhouse thinking she'd take a year off, maybe two, until she decided how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Her two year plan hadn't worked out, and she'd moved on to a five year. She was happy, satisfied in a life where she earned enough money to pay bills, buy a library of books and go out once in awhile.

Jo's parent's home was small and built in a time when insulation was a thing of the future. If you pulled up the wood floors you'd see the ground. The same could be said for the walls. But it had charm, and more importantly it was home. Chicken's scattered as she pulled into the backyard and parked next to the RV. Jo cut the engine and got out; shielding her eyes she looked in the direction of the barn. The Adonis, aka Randy, had a fifty pound bag of feed slung over one shoulder and was carrying a second. Even from where she stood she could make out how his muscles bunched beneath his fitted shirt and jeans. His cream colored cowboy hat hid his face but Jo didn't need to see it. Her mind's eye saw his chiseled features, thick, long lashes, dimples, and a set of full kissable lips. She shook her head to clear it.

"Josephine!"

Jo turned and looked into the face of her beaming father. He was always so glad to see her, like she lived on the opposite side of the country and rarely called, instead of her two towns over and called at least once a week.

Her words were just as glee filled. "Daddy!"

Her mom came out of the RV right as her dad straightened his six-five frame with Jo's arms still around his neck. She was a small woman, only five-three. She'd gained little weight since her high school days and most of it was in her hips.

"How's work?" He asked lowering her back to solid ground.

"Fine, good," Jo answered leaving his strong arms and going to hug and kiss her mom.

"I'm glad you made it." He spoke from behind her. Jo's mom rolled her eyes when she leaned back from their hug.

Her dad had organized the trail-ride, but she was sure her mother had done most of the work organizing everything. Getting in touch with people, keeping track of how many riders were coming, buying food and any other supplies needed. It ended on Sunday after a weekend rodeo. Her mother had a fulltime job, a fulltime _paying_ job; her second job was working fulltime for her husband. His picture was next to the word: hard-worker, in the dictionary.

"Of course, wouldn't miss it for the world," Jo said. Her mother gave her the bullshit lip.

"Help your mother while I check on Randy."

Jo watched her dad walk away, glancing in the direction of the barn. Randy took his hat off and whipped his forearm across his face before throwing a hand up. She returned the wave smiling like a damn idiot. One of these days . . .

She took her bag out of the Jeep and put it in the camper. Fifty people had signed up for the trail ride. Jo tried not to think about the upcoming ride. She'd ride a horse because she knew it would please her father. But she would much rather be in the wagon with her parents. Her father had more than six. The one he'd take today was painted emerald green and had a tan canvas cover. It was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. A team of four draft horses would pull it. Jo's father didn't know how to do anything halfway. It was the biggest and best for him when it came to his toys. She stretched, preparing mentally and physically for the day. It was going to be hard work, but satisfying, and fun. With her father there was no other kind.

# Chapter Two

Jo loved her parents. She really did. The fact that she was setting up a tent after riding a horse long enough to make her bowlegged was testament of it. They'd started the ride at ten, taking breaks along the way and made it to camp about an hour ago. It was summer and the sun had about three more good hours in the sky. Most of the tents were already up. Okay, they were all up, every one of them but hers. But prideful person that she was, she refused the offered help of the other riders. Dammit, no tent was going to get the better of her. She was smart and able bodied. She should be able to get the thing standing.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?"

The voice behind her made her want to scream in frustration and smile at the same time. Her dad had that effect on her. She loved him fiercely but he was a man's man. He'd taken the new tent out the box and thrown the instructions away. Who did that?

"No," she said, stuffing the flexible pole she'd just assembled into what she hoped was the correct pocket. "But thanks for the offer," she added, because the word before was kind of crotchety and no matter how much the man frustrated her, she just couldn't be mad at him. She didn't even want him to _think_ she was mad at him.

Her dad nodded and she wanted to throw a rock at him when she saw the smile on his face as he turned. He wasn't even trying to hide it, just like it wasn't his fault that she was putting together fifty thousand pieces that could hold a family of four. What the hell had he been thinking? Of course she knew: only the best for his little girl. Too bad the best didn't include the instructions.

Fifty thousand assembled pieces later Jo stood up, brushed the dirt and grass from her hands and groaned as she placed them on her back and stretched. In a perfect world she'd take time to freshen up, but then again, in a perfect world she would have had instructions for her tent. She threw her bag in the tent, zipped the entrance flap closed and joined the rest of the riders.

"Josephine, glad you could join us."

The campfire was damn near a bonfire. Jo knew who'd been in charge of it. She walked around the fire, the heat making the already hot twilight almost unbearable, and sat on the ground next to her mom.

"Fire big enough?" Jo teased.

"Almost," her dad said. He laughed a little. He was a go-big-or-go-home type of man.

Samuel Baxter was a long, lean man. His frame was slim but there was muscle beneath his clothes. Working a farm will do that to a man . . . and woman. Her mom, Blair Baxter, could throw a bale of hay or a bag a feed with the best of them. Jo's parents met in a bar. Her mother had been a waitress, her dad in his last year of college. They married a month after meeting and the rest was history. Forty years later and they were still just as in love as the day they met. For them it had been love at first sight, or at least that's what her dad said. Her mom said she was on the fence about the tall, overly confident, yet charming, man that sat down at the bar that day. He'd introduced himself and spent the rest of the night wooing her with his mad mack skills.

The sound of a howl sent chills down Jo's arms.

Oh. Hell. No.

She was a horrible judge of distance, not that it mattered; the fact that there were wolves at all in the area was enough for her to give her parents a dirty look.

"It doesn't sound too close," her dad said handing her a beer from the cooler sitting next to his chair.

"That I can hear it at all means it's too close," she said.

"Do you want a gun?" her mother asked.

There were three things her dad loved: his family, his horses and his firearms. Jo was sure her parents were on that list the government kept of people who owned too many guns. There was one under every bed, behind every door and in ever car they owned. She wasn't surprised that her parents had brought guns with them on the ride.

"No, I'd end up shooting someone going to the damn bathroom," Jo said drinking half the contents of her beer.

"You did well today Jo. How's your butt holding up?" Samuel asked.

Jo shifted a little in the dirt. Wild horses wouldn't drag the truth out of her. "My butt's fine, thank you very much."

She smiled as her dad laughed. He knew. "Tomorrow will be better," he said handing Jo another beer.

That's how their night went, just add fifty people to the mix. Hard liquor was brought out and at some point music as well. Food was cooked and fun was had by all. Jo was drunk (they all were) by the time the party was over at three in the morning. She fell asleep before her head hit the pillow, or maybe she passed out.

Jo woke in pitch-black and needed to pee like a racehorse. She fumbled around in the dark until her hand came in contact with the battery-operated lantern next to her air mattress. She stretched and then groaned. She hated falling asleep in her clothes. Blue jeans and a long-sleeve button-down shirt was so not meant to be slept in. The night was filled with the sound of frogs, cicada, crickets and god knows what else. She thought about holding her bladder before remembering the pee dream. The embarrassment of wetting the bed overrode the fear of peeing in the woods. Her parents had an RV but she didn't want to wake them, nor did she want to walk that far in the dark. By the time she reached it she could have peed and been back in bed. She knew her father and if she had been asleep for longer than an hour it meant it wouldn't be long before he woke the group to get the new day started. It was one of those situations that called for her to man up.

She rolled off the mattress and grabbed the lantern. She almost fell twice as she pulled on the boots she'd yanked off and thrown in two different directions when she returned in her intoxicated state. She cursed her father for lacking the forethought that a chair would have been nice. Her head throbbed, her body ached and her mouth felt like foul cotton had been stuffed in it. Those Cosmo's her mom made had been dangerous. She swore them off for the rest of the ride as she stepped into black so complete it laughed at the meager light of her lantern. She had almost forgotten the sounds of the country. She didn't live in a big city, her state didn't have one, but the small one she'd moved to didn't sound like the Amazon at night. Sitting the lantern on a low hanging branch Jo unzipped her pants and squatted. Pressure that felt like a boulder the size of Mount Rushmore lifted off her bladder. She was zipping up her pants when she heard it.

# Chapter Three

The scent fired every neuron in his brain, jarring him from sleep. It traveled on the wind, a faint, exotic perfume. Every muscle was bow tight. His body was wet with sweat and his breathing labored; his heart, a hummingbird wing's beat in his chest. He'd changed form while he asleep. How long had it been since that happened? Years. . . . A decade? He didn't try for his human form, in truth, he liked his half one. He was his strongest when he became a monster scarier than any the Brothers Grimm could ever imagine. It made for a tight fit in the den though. His large shoulders scrapped the sides of it as he exited. He straightened to his full height (ten feet) when he cleared it. His head rose, his nostrils flared as he scented the air. He knew it wasn't male but he was an equal opportunity killer. He had no qualms about killing a woman. He went in search for the smell that had snatched sleep from him. The scent was like a siren's song, each step was auto-piloted as his nose led the way. His thoughts were grey, fuzzy static as he passed through the night, but even mindless he was silent.

As the scent became stronger he took to the trees, a graceful leap that was more feline than canine, and was just as quiet in the branches as he had been on the ground. The smell became potent with each inch forward until a low growl rumbled through his chest. His blood was lava in his veins, his vision sharpened, his breathing became easy and his heartbeat slowed. Killing was what he did and he loved it. The taste of flesh and blood was already in his mouth.

Man, beast and wolf stopped.

The lantern hanging on a tree next to her was the only light. He didn't need it. Even in complete darkness he would have been able to see her. The beast's massive head cocked to one side as emotions warred within him. It was a first. He still wanted to feel her flesh between his teeth, wanted the warm saltiness of her blood sliding easy down his throat but there was something else. And that something else had to do with what protruded from his body, thick and hard as stone. His human form may have been built like every woman's fantasy but he'd never been with one. His work didn't call for fucking it called for killing and the opposite sex was no exception. He'd seen naked women, held them close to his own naked body as he ripped their throats out and not once had he become aroused. He was dumbfounded. The confusion led to the only emotion his current form allowed: anger.

He took a step, his human form trying to fight to the forefront as well as his wolf. All three wanted a closer look at the female standing below them. In his current state of befuddlement he took one step too many. The branch had thinned and could no longer support his weight. He stopped, looked at his feet then back at the woman. She was as still as a statue. She'd heard him. Taking a careful step backwards when his body screamed for him to go forward, he found sturdier footing. He'd never backed away from anything. Every fiber of his being demanded that he take the woman. He wanted her, he needed her. Dead...alive...her throat between his teeth or his cock between her thighs, his rattled mind couldn't settle. He wanted to howl in frustration. There had never been anything but the driving need to kill inside him. The thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the capture and anticipation of death were the only things that quickened the muscle that pumped blood through his body.

# Chapter Four

The sound of a cracking branch stopped her movement and her heart. With her imagination running wild and the howl she'd heard earlier ringing in her hears, Jo was halfway convinced she was about to be eaten alive. Her heart kicked back in and immediately went into overdrive, speeding to near cardiac levels. The feeling of being watched raised every fine hair on her body. The Amazonian sounds of country nights were suddenly silent. Only the sound of her heartbeat and shaky breathing filled her ears. She took a long breath trying to calm the fear that had pretty much rooted her in the spot she stood in. She tried to rationalize that it could be anything, including her overactive, alcohol fueled, imagination. She opened her mouth to quiet the sound of her breathing hoping she wasn't about to hyperventilate but the presence of whatever watched her made the air thick until it was hard to breathe and was a weight pressed against her skin. How long had she stood there . . . a minute . . . an hour? It was both too long and not long enough as the feeling of unease was slowly overwritten by one of need. The need to walk out into all that blackness and find what watched her. Her body might have be willing to lead her to certain death, her mind, thank heavens, remained in flight or fight mode. Too bad it wasn't enough to get her moving. She remained motionless, her hands still frozen in the middle of zipping up her pants. Her heart had not slowed but the reason for its hyper-drive was no longer fear but anticipation. She wanted whatever was watching her to come out of the woods; wanted it to come to her because . . . it belonged to her. Yes—that was crazy, and it got a whole lot crazier. She belonged to it too. She stood there another minute, or ten, possibly thirty, until her breathing became easy and her heart-rate became normal. She stared out into the darkness, waiting, still straining to hear even the slightest sound, struggling to catch a glimpse of any movement.

"Hello," she said in a low voice. Not sure if it was because it was all the breath she could muster or if because she didn't want to frighten what watched her away. Strange, since earlier she was sure it was something that meant to eat her. She took long, deep breaths and actually closed her eyes. She turned her head a little to one side and focused solely on picking up any sound. She didn't hear anything but the feeling of being watched was still there stronger than ever. She knew when it was moved closer. The strange feeling turned into a pull. An attraction not so unlike two magnets placed close together. She opened her eyes fully prepared to find...something, but there was nothing. Forgetting her pants, she reached for the lantern. Sliding it slowly from the branch and holding it out in front of her.

"Hello," she called out again, a little louder this time.

Slowly she lifted her foot and hesitated to take the first step. She actually had to fight to make it a step back and not forward. Never turning her back she made a slow retreat, waiting for whatever to make its presence known by stepping into the small circle of light created by the lantern. She knew it followed, that it stood just out of range and yet the paralyzing fear didn't return. When she made it to her tent she stood with her arm stretched out in front of her, holding out the lantern, giving her visitor a last chance to come out. For reasons unknown (other than she had obviously lost her mind) Jo pressed the button that put her in complete dark. The blackness surrounding her was complete; she was blind. She closed her eyes anyway and waited. The feeling of advancement was strong and she fought to hold still. She fought harder still to hold her lids closed. She knew, without doubt, something stood in front of her. It had been silent in its approach but the warmth radiating from the unseen visitor soaked through her clothes, heating her skin and its scent reminded her of why she'd been so afraid in the first place: it was wild. It smelt of rich black earth and fresh cut grass, smells she liked, even loved, and beneath that a warm masculine smell—sandalwood, maybe. If she reached out she'd touch it. Her breathing was still slow and easy, but her heart raced until the whisper of something that was not the wind blew gently across her face.

A breath.

It misted her heated skin and the heart that was already beating way too fast hammered against her chest in a frenzy that was more vibration then rhythmic. A small sound escaped her yet she reached out slowly. She opened her eyes when her hand touched nothing. There was no mistaking the whimper she made as she damned near collapsed; it could have been from relief but whatever force that tethered her to the unknown hidden in the darkness no longer surrounded her. Fighting and losing the battle of slow, easy breathing, she slowly bent to pick up the lantern. Her finger poised to press the button to turn the light on was stopped when a low growl filled the night. It was in front of her, just a few feet away. And there went the small bit of calm she'd managed to accomplish; her heart jack-hammered in her chest. She lowered her hands until they were at her sides and waited until she felt it retreat. She scrambled into her tent after God knows how long and zipped it with shaking fingers. The laugh that escaped her was short, a bark of sound, as she looked around at the flimsy material. Even now she was still too afraid to turn on the lantern. She made her way back to the air mattress in the dark and lay down. When dawn arrived her brow furrowed. She'd thought of an animal when she first heard the sound of the breaking branch but what watched and followed her breath had been on her face.

# Chapter Five

The rack of the large buck punctured flesh, tore through muscle, and hit bone. The beast welcomed the pain and the struggle of the majestic animal even as it grabbed the animal's head to hold it still in order to go in for the kill. Anything to dull the heat the woman had ignited in it that still burned like hot coals. Anything to take its mind off the sight of her that had burned itself to the lids of its eyes, maybe even its retinas since it didn't have to close its eyes to see her perfect form. And her scent—her scent—it was in the tiny, fine hairs of its nostrils. Every breath, deep or shallow, was heaven and hell. The beast howled as the stag freed its head driving a pointed tip deep into its arm. The beast wished for large game, a tiger or lion, maybe an elephant; a big bull with ten foot long tusk with an attitude to match its own. It could have broken the buck's neck but it wanted—it needed to feel the life force of the animal drain away while its jaws were locked on its throat. It held the bucks head firmly on the ground, snapping some of the tines from his antlers and threw a leg across the deer's body. The beast struck. A noise (half groan, half growl) vibrating its chest as its hips moved in time with each jump of its cock as the endless release soaked the buck's fur and wet its stomach. With a savage jerk it ripped out the deer's throat, arterial spray coating its face and chest. It went back again and again until its stomach was tight and the last bite lay just behind its tongue, stuck in its throat because there was no more room. It stood, its chest expanding and contacting in time with its heartbeat. Wounded, full, and covered in the blood of its prey, it was still hungry and would stay that way because no food would curb this new hunger or drink quench this new thirst.

They had been in beast's form too long. Man and Wolf knew a prolonged period spent in its most savage form was never a good thing. But reining in Beast was like trying to control a hurricane, fuck that, a tsunami. He was damn near rogue.

Their kind was ancient but they were no older than thirty and were without a doubt more an anomaly than even the French wolf that Master had sent them to track. The things they'd endured at Master's hand would never be forgotten, even if they hadn't had the ability to remember every second of their life; and not just their first breath, but before they exited the womb.

The strongest of their kind had been raised by the clinically insane. They'd known only fear, pain and obedience for the first twenty-five years of their life. After taking their freedom five years ago they'd learned little more. No matter, the one thing they did find out was that there were masters that were not always savage. They'd learned this before taking their freedom. The Frenchman was one such master. They'd seen how he treated the great black wolf who was his second and how he'd treated the woman. In watching they were given all the incentive they needed to leave the yoke of slavery behind.

Its gaze fell on its stomach covered in blood and its spilled seed then lower to the club size erection that jumped with each beat of its heart and was hard to the point of pain. Beast was not mindless, but close, it was ruled by its emotions. Too bad it only had one: anger. But it had taken that level of anger; deep-seated, marrow-deep hatred to survive their childhood. Still straddling the carcass of the buck, it grabbed the engorged cock in a tight fist and a low growl erupted from its chest as it started to stroke; the blood of its kill acting as a lubricant. It leaned forward, placing a fisted hand on the ground to support its upper body. Its body tensed as pleasure tightened every muscle. Each panted breath ended in a growl that sounded every bit as vicious as its form looked. The heated friction of its rough palm sliding over its flesh and the soft fur of the buck rubbing the underside of his erection was a contrast that caused a fast climax that shot out in thick ropes. It threw its head back and howled.

# Chapter Six

"How'd you sleep?"

Jo's mom handed her an Ingalls family worthy tin cup of blue and white speckle enamel. Ma and Pa would be proud.

"I slept in my clothes," she answered like it was all needed to let her mom know how comfortable her night had been. Blair Baxter was made of sturdier stuff. She'd been on many a trip that offered nothing more than a bush to squat behind and free-flowing water to bathe in. Just last year her parents went on a ride where they hadn't bathed for a week. It was after that trip that her mom put her foot down and insisted on two things: one, they purchase a recreational vehicle and two, they brought help. Help came walking over in the form of Randy.

Randy's job was to load and unload the horses, feed and water them and move the RV; driving it to the next meet point. He would take his horse and backtrack to the group just to ride back again. It was long and hard work but he enjoyed it. He loved horses as much as her dad but didn't have one. The chance to be around them was an even trade for the young man.

"All set?" her mom asked.

Smooth dark skin, thick thighs currently showcased in their full glory in jeans just this side of tight. Jo imagined what he would look like naked. She was half panting as he took a seat across from her.

"Yes, ma'am." He reached for the large thermos of coffee almost at Jo's feet and she tried not to drool on him. "Everyone's saddled and ready to ride. Dr. Baxter is over with Howard and his group."

Howard Wells and his group consisted of five assholes, Howard the biggest one of them all. A successful and very wealthy attorney from old money; his gang was made up of more of the same. Jo still hadn't figured out what her dad saw in the man but she only had to tolerate him on rides and since she'd moved out that was rare.

"Hot damn, give me some of that Jo."

Speak of the devil. Jo knew Howard wasn't talking about coffee even if everyone around her was clueless.

Blair grabbed a cup and filled it and turned to her daughter and asked, "Would you hand this to Howard?"

Howard had hit on Jo once when she was nineteen. He was old enough to be her dad _and_ a friend of the family but that hadn't stopped him. She brought her head and arm up and looked at the smiling face of a man that always looked a little like a pedophile—maybe a lot.

"Good morning darlin'," he drawled.

"Howard," Jo said resisting the urge to throw the hot coffee at his eye level crotch.

Even if she hadn't seen him as too old for her, whatever chance he might have had was loss the night he'd snuck into her tent. Yeah, he was good looking in a Billy Dee Williams circa Mahogany kind of way but what woman under fifty would think him hot? Jo was about to sit the damn cup on the ground when he took it from her. He made sure to stroke her hand with his finger when he took it. Bastard. She let go a second before he had a good grip, sending him scrambling to get a firmer grip. The burn on her wrist was so worth it to see that stupid smile wiped off his face; if only for a second.

"What's up girly?" Howard continued to tower over her instead of taking a seat. Not that she wanted him sitting next to her; she just had a nagging suspicion she wasn't the only one to that noticed his crotch was eye level. "How're things in the city Josephine."

"Good."Her back were to the people who mattered so she didn't have to fake a smile. She put all the emotion she felt for the man standing above her in her eyes: the tilt of her head, the set of her lips. Howard was either clueless or didn't give a shit. He was one of those that got his way. Period. And for whatever the reasons he had his mind set on getting Jo, or at least getting in her pants.

Jo was no great beauty, but she wasn't an eyesore either. She was pretty. The fifteen extra pounds she carried on her frame was muscle; first from working a farm and later from regular gym attendance. She was what Southern men men called thick. She was built up like a powerful short distance runner. Her bare arms showcased what lay beneath her jean-covered thighs: toned, defined, muscles.

"You'll have to give me your address so I can send you a house warming present."

As if. There was no way in hell she was going to give the jackass her home address. She smiled politely, turning her attention to her approaching dad.

"I think I'm going to skip the first ride today," she said standing, which should have been a fairly easy thing to do except Howard was in her personal space and refused to move an inch. They were damn near touching when she stood and close enough for Jo to know Howard didn't spend any of his fortune on cologne; it was of the cheap drugstore variety.

"Sore from riding?" Howard asked.

They were surrounded by no fewer than five people but someone he managed to make the words nefarious. By the grace of God she held back from kneeing Howard in his junk. Maybe it was her, no one else seemed to pick up on the sly innuendos. The slight curve of her lips was forced; it was hard to scowl and grin at the same time.

"But you'll come out for the next one after lunch?" her dad asked before she opened her mouth and said something appropriate but very un-ladylike to the asshole who still had not moved.

"Definitely."

Jo waved goodbye to the line of riders standing next to her parents RV before hiking across the campsite back to her tent. After stripping off her jeans and shucking her shirt she laid down for much needed additional sleep. She knew her dad was a little disappointed but if prolonged bouts of time with Howard were required, she needed better rest—or more booze. A little bit of either would only shorten her nerves and ability to stay her hand and tongue. She was either going to slap the shit out of him or cuss his ass out.

Freshly showered and feeling like a human being again, Jo stepped out her parents' RV just as the riders returned for lunch. Her mother and a few other women were manning a barbeque grill and Jo joined the womenfolk, organizing the table that held paper plates, plastic utensils and condiments, while the menfolk took care of the animals. With Howard nowhere in sight she was actually having a good time. A lot of the people she knew but a great many of them were strangers to her but southern hospitality made almost everyone damn near family. Jo didn't consider herself a loaner but she did like being alone. She had not kept in touch with any of the people she'd met in high school or the short stink she'd spent in college. She never felt like she was missing out on anything in the absence of a best friend, one that wasn't her mother. Even her short, failed, relationship in college had started to feel a little . . . restrictive.

Lunch was three hours, and after everything was back in order Jo walked to where her family horses were tied. Widow Maker stood next to the horses her parents and Randy were riding: Ace, Black Cloud and Miss Pearl Bailey. Jo didn't have a favorite color, song, book or even food, but she did have a favorite animal. She may not like riding but a horse was, hands down, the most beautiful animal in the world in her opinion. A well fed and cared for horse was a reason to believe in God. Widow Maker's muscles twitched and rolled under a shiny coat that she'd brushed for hours as a teenager. His tail brushed the ground and her father had trimmed his mane, something he rarely did after he retired the horse from showing. She petted him and even stole a kiss before untying his reins and backing him away from the others. She put her foot in the stirrup and prayed that Widow Maker wouldn't pick today to live up to his name. Once seated, she pulled back on the reins and turned the horse around.

"Well done," her father said with a smile that always made her feel like she'd accomplished something impossible. It was the reason she loved him so much. The pride he showed in the simplest of things was his testament that he was always on her side; always there for her if she should ever need him.

"Why thank you," she said, tipping her head at him.

"Let's ride," he shouted.

And headed for Ace.

Jo backed Widow Maker away from the beast. She watched her dad hop around on one foot, the other already in the stirrup, one hand holding the reins, the other onto the horn of the saddle. She would have let go and ran for cover long ago, but not her dad; he didn't comprehend words like quit or can't. In her eyes he was stronger than any superhero. He was her hero. Ace stopped moving long enough to give his rider a chance to push off the ground but was dancing again before her dad was seated. For a few heartbeats Jo held her breath while she watched her dad settle onto the creature's back and then start showing it who was boss. It took less than a minute. Jo felt like she'd aged ten years. Her mom joked that her dad would be found dead beneath the hooves of a horse. She was beginning to think maybe it wasn't a joke.

The day had gotten a lot hotter but her hat threw a lot of shade. She was the last rider, keeping Widow Maker at a nice slow trot, enjoying the outdoors despite the heat. They'd been riding about an hour, the soft sounds of singing birds, the shade from the trees and the gentle rocking of her horse almost lulled her to sleep.

"How're you doing back here?"

"About to fall asleep," she said and straightened up in her saddle. "If I fall off don't tell my dad."

Was it her or did he get cuter every time she saw him? She had more than one fantasy that ended with them ravishing each other. Jo was suddenly glad she'd taken that shower. She had half talked herself out of it when she laid down for her nap but when she woke she was pretty sure the odor permeating the interior of her tent had been coming from her.

Randy laughed. "Are you staying through the weekend?"

Jo had indeed taken time off to partake in the festivities in full. It was the first vacation she'd taken since she began working at the small boutique she worked at. She made enough to live comfortably but not quite enough to afford to go anywhere interesting and with the exception of Howard she was having a blast. She'd missed him the first night, maybe her luck would make a turn for the better and she'd miss his ass the rest of the trip.

"Yes. Are you skipping school this week?"

Randy's laugh answered the question. He was a junior at the local university studying veterinarian medicine. Randy was the son her dad never had. It made her lustful thoughts that much worse, or better, depending how you looked at it.

"How is school?"

"I'm actually getting credit in some of my classes for this week," he said.

Black Cloud reared up and Randy handled the horse like a pro. It was hard to believe he hadn't been raised around the animals. He was a way better rider than Jo, but was a sweetheart.

"What's up with you and Mr. Wells?"

Jo's head snapped around. If Randy picked up on the tension between the two then her parents were sure to have noticed. Randy had a sly smile that told her that he had some ideas of his own.

"He's an ass," she said and left it at that.

"Yep," Randy agreed. "I got your back."

"Thanks, but I think I can handle it."

# Chapter Seven

They roamed the forest for hours, traveled miles from the woman but they didn't get lost once as they made their way back. If their sense of direction had failed them her scent was enough to lead the way back. Man, Beast and Wolf were of the same mind. It was a first. As they neared the tent she ran to the night before they knew she wasn't in it. There wasn't a single person in the camp at all, but hey were still cautious as they stepped into the clearing. Her tent hid him from most of the campsite but the last thing he needed was to be seen, which wouldn't have been that hard; it was broad daylight. Beast shared only the barest of consciousness with Man and Wolf, so when he approached the tent with a raised claw it was halfway to the material before Man stopped him. Pinching the tiny plastic zipper between nails meant to gut proved problematic. Beast was growling when Man hooked the pointed tip of a claw into the zipper and pulled it open. They crawled into the small space.

The scent would have brought him to his knees if he wasn't already on them; so thick it fried their shared brain and again Beast warred between wanting to kill her and fuck her, but not in that order, or at the same time—it guessed. What did it know? Its life had been filled with firsts since last night.

The first compartment held a bag full of clothes. After a quick inspection and sniff Beast went to the second room in the tent where its gums bled as his teeth punched down further and his body vibrated as Man and Wolf fought it for control of their shared body. If Beast was any shorter his erection would be dragging the ground. The powerful physiological effect of the woman's scent on his mind and body was worse than any drug or drink Master had ever given them.

It moved on limbs that for the first time felt stiff to the foot of the mattress where it buried his nose in the pile of clothes that was the epicenter of the smell. It took a breath deep enough to double the size of its chest, riffling through them until it found an item particularly potent. The article of clothing looked almost comical in his clawed hands. Beast frowned as he flipped and turned, twisted and pulled until at last the scrap of material righted. The pale pink, diaphanous, stretchy material held a soft floral scent that was a little bit rose mixed with lavender and a dash of honeysuckle. All good, all nice, but then there was a darker scent; one that had an already granite hard erection throbbing with need and panted breathing turning into hyperventilation. Beast pulled the material tight against its nose and then took them from its snout and licked them. The distant sound of horses and conversation was almost missed by Beast who'd dropped to the floor and had his face buried in the crotch of the jeans on the floor. But even conscious of the presence of humans Man and Wolf still had to make Beast understand that it couldn't simply run out and snatch the woman up. It was a battle barely won. Beast exited moments before the first rider cleared the woods on the other side of camp. But it didn't go far, just to the shadows of the trees right next to the woman's tent. He'd made it by mere seconds before the first rider was in sight. It could have been spotted. It had been a mistake to come back, and it had never made a mistake before. Not after the torture it had endured to become the perfect killer. Beast crouched low, balling the scrap of fabric in its fist and resting them both on the ground, and watched as the line of riders went to their individual camp-site to tie their horses before gathering around a large mobile house in the center. Beast waited impatiently for the woman to appear, growling when it didn't see her as the last horse came into view. It was half a second away from stepping out of its hiding spot when she came out of the woods. Beast growled again. She didn't ride the horse to her tent but tied the animal with a group of horses behind the mobile house. She dismounted, stretched and joined a tall, slim man and shorter woman who looked like her. They spoke for a short amount of time before she turned and headed straight for her tent.

# Chapter Eight

Her tent wasn't zipped.

She was ninety nine percent sure she'd zipped it. Habits said she'd zipped it. And not a _little_ unzipped or even _half_ unzipped—but completely, all the way, one-hundred percent opened, unzipped. She stood in the shadow of her tent weighing the options. The longer she stood staring at the exposed interior through the opened flap the surer she became that—she had zipped her damn tent! As far as she knew everyone had gone on the ride but fifty people were hard to keep track of and it wasn't like roll-call was taken. She herself had just skipped the morning ride. She looked into the gaping front for something with opposable thumbs. When nothing came out she looked into the woods that surrounded her tent on almost three sides. So she had successfully _not_ thought about the strange occurrence from the night before, as she scanned the area she couldn't help but think about it. Taking little comfort that it was daytime and, it had obviously not wanted her to see it because it had stayed outside the circle of light and growled when she had almost turned on the lantern, she stepped into the tent when she didn't seen anything out of the ordinary in the immediate vicinity.

The first thing she noticed was the smell and knew without doubt last night mystery person was the one who'd opened and been in her tent. The second thing she noticed was the clothes in her duffle had been gone through. She stepped through to the sleeping compartment in a daze, eyebrows furrowed; her mouth pulled down in a frown, and saw the worn clothes at the foot of the bed were also moved around, no longer in the neat pile, but as if something, _someone_ had rolled around in them. A shiver ran down her spine. Walking to the end of the air-mattress was an out-of-body experience; every step seemed in slow motion. Her underwear were missing, not her bra, just her panties. Words escaped her, her mind completely shut down for about half a minute. She picked up her jeans and began to fold them because the moment called for normalcy or she risked having a mini-breakdown. She was surprise at her steady hands. The shirt was next, followed by her bra; she rolled them together and sat them back on the ground. Looking around one last time (fully expecting for her mystery guest to appear in the tent at any second), she grabbed a fresh pair of clothes and made sure she zipped the tent up tight Tonight she was going to take her mom up on that offer for a gun.

"Josephine." Howard's hands were stuffed in his pockets, a sly smile was plastered on his lips and his easy gait made Jo think of a predator as he made his way to her.

She'd joined the rest of the riders that evening but her mind was a million miles away as she thought of little else then what she'd found (or did not find) in her tent when she'd returned from the afternoon ride. She had smiled and nodded and even gave short answers when someone succeeded in dragging her back to the present. She drunk pretty much whatever was handed to her and when it was time to call it a night she was honestly surprised to find herself a little tipsy. She had remembered to ask her mother for a gun (it was the first thing she'd done, even before she showered), and it was tucked securely in the waistband of her jeans. To say that she didn't need Howard's shit was the understatement of the year.

"What do you want?" If he didn't know she didn't like him, those four words should have cleared up any confusion; she could have just as easily said: go fuck yourself, Howard.

"Just making sure you get to your tent alright." He stopped a step away from invading her personal space _again_.

She took a step back. "I don't need you to help me back to my tent or with anything else." Jo turned to leave but Howard's strong grip on her upper arm stopped her. He swung her around.

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

They were standing chest to chest; Jo looking into the face of the ass who dared touch her and him looking at the gun she had pressed into his stomach. Gun 101: never pull a gun unless you're prepared to use it. Was she going to shoot Howard?

Maybe.

"Get your fucking hands off me," she said.

Howard wasn't the kind of man that was use to being turned down. She could all but taste the anger rolling through his body even with the gun pressed firmly in his middle. She could actually see him weighing his options. She didn't have her parents' love of guns but she had been raised around them and knew how to handle one. She pulled back the hammer of the .32 and watched as Howard's eyes widened. Her finger wasn't on the trigger . . . yet.

"Get your hand off me," she said again, "Please," she added in case the magic word could help the situation.

Howard decided she wasn't fooling around and released his hold on her arm but didn't back off. That was fine with Jo; she took the step to separate them.

"I can't believe you pulled a gun on me." He wasn't looking at the gun still aimed at his stomach; he was giving Jo angry eyes, like she was the one who'd overstepped a boundary.

"Well that makes two of us Howard because I can't believe you just grabbed me. Now why don't you just mosey on along and rejoin your group."

Howard got that look in his eyes again; the one that told Jo he was considering the pros and cons of the situation. Did he chance it and make a move, or did he walk away to fight another day? She had to hand it to the man, he had balls.

Three things happened almost all at once: Howard raised his foot to take a step, Jo heard a growl and she fired a shot into the ground.

There was shouting and then running as people came to see what happened. Howard narrowed his eyes at Jo and she cocked her eyebrow at him and gave him the bullshit lip. What the fuck had he expected?

"What happened?" Jo had no idea who'd asked the question. She didn't take her eyes off Howard.

"Jo?"

The sound of her father's voice broke the stare off. She turned. "Showing Howard I know how to handle a firearm."

Howard was giving his jury winning smile. "I offered to walk Jo to her tent and she was showing me why she didn't really need my help."

"You scared the shit out of me," first responder said, his name was Jerome, maybe Jessie. He turned back in the direction of the mini-bonfire. Most of the people who ran over were doing the same. There was no threat, no danger, the music was still playing and beer and liquor was waiting just across the way. Free beer and liquor.

"Sorry," Jo yelled out addressing the whole group. Her dad didn't say anything but he had a face full of knowledge. Jo didn't think the great Howard Wells would be welcomed to any more rides.

Jo walked the rest of the way to her tent not so much as buzzed. She unzipped the tent and pulled it back down making sure she inserted the plastic hook through the end of the zipper to lock herself in nice and tight. Or at least as tight as a piece of plastic could offer. It was hot enough to fry eggs on a sidewalk even at night, so Jo didn't worry with pajamas, she took off her clothes and crawled onto the air mattress in her underwear. She laid the gun down, safety off, next to her pillow. If Howard was foolish enough to come back for seconds he was going to get himself a lead sandwich.

The feeling of being watched and the unexplainable urge to go out into the night to whatever it was that called her from the night before was back,. Jo lay on the air mattress holding her body in place; resisting the urge to get up and go back out.

She thought of the growl. The sound she'd heard had been low, menacing and if her crazy gut-feelings were right, seconds away from attacking. Had the shot scared it away? She listened for any movement outside her tent; strained her hearing to pick up the slightest sound—nothing—if you didn't count the symphony of night singing insects and nocturnal animals. Who was she fooling? Something would have to be damn loud to be heard over that racket.

Turning on her side she looked at the navy blue nylon that separated her from her secret admirer, the panty-thief. She'd been upset enough to ask for a gun earlier but laying in the dark, fighting the overwhelming urge to go out into the black of night to the unknown that called to her was way more unsettling. It wasn't the attraction, it wasn't the unknown; it was they why that didn't sit well with her. Why was this happening to her? Why did she feel this way about someone that hid in the shadows, growled, and stole underwear? Had she lost her mind? Did she have a chemical imbalance, tumor, swollen blood vessels about to erupt in her head? The whole Howard Wells incident was completely forgotten by the time she drifted off to sleep.

# Chapter Nine

Beast didn't wander far from camp after the woman left the tent and crossed the campsite headed back to the mobile home parked in the center. It found a downed tree and crawled beneath it in an attempt to rest (the panties lying on its nose, the ever present erection resting on its stomach, it'd become like a third limb), but sleep eluded him. The scent was to blame; it was both calming and disturbing. Giving up on resting and powerless to do anything else, he walked back to the group of trees he could hide in but still view the woman's tent. The thought of her flesh in his mouth was still a mouthwatering prospect; the need to bury himself to the hilt was a very close second. It was Man that kept him from running through the crowd of people, killing and maiming until he found her. Never before had he been so torn. Superior sight allowed him to see her even as the sun fell from the sky; superior hearing permitted him to distinguish her voice in the sea of so many others. He dared not move a muscle. With his heart rate elevated for the first time for reasons that had nothing to do with the thrill of the hunt he stood in the shadows for hours . . . looking . . . listening.

Finally he watched her cross the clearing, watched the man following her. Heard the conversation between them, saw her pull the gun even as the one who grabbed her hadn't noticed until it was pressed firmly in his gut. He saw the man make up his mind to try the woman and then watched her make the single warning shot in the ground.

It'd all taken under a minute but it was playing on a continuous loop in his head, driving him half out of his mind. Man, Beast and Wolf wanted to rip the man's throat out, but even half crazed they knew better than to leap out from the hiding place and slaughter the man. They watched the crowd disperse and the woman go to her tent.

As much as Beast wanted to kill the man— _right_ _then_ , he sat back on his haunches and took deep breaths that did nothing to slow his heartbeat or reined in rage that damn near blacked his vision. He watched the man leave and join the others that returned to the large fire at the center of the camp. The woman went to her tent. Silently he approached the side of the tent. He moved closer, so close that if she turned on the light from last night his silhouette would be plastered against the side of it. Still—he could not help himself. He sat just on the other side until her breathing became steady and was sure she was asleep before going to find the man who dared lay his hand on her. She was his...she was theirs. The thought stopped them in their tracks. All three growled in complete agreement.

He should have changed to full wolf form, it would have made it easier if spotted, but he wanted to keep the ability to speak. Beast could not form many words. There was only one he wished to convey.

The man was still up. The light in the tent was the first sign, the raised heartbeat and muttered words were the second. He was not happy. Good—neither was Beast. He waited in the shadows until the man finally turned out the light. It didn't take him long to go to sleep. Beast scented the air and listened to make sure no one was around. Its shadowy form stepped out of the clearing bent low, and ran on all fours the short distant to the side of it.

With razor sharp claws, it opened the side of the tent and crossed nylon covered ground. Beast pressed a large calloused hand over his mouth. Howard's eyes opened and then kept opening until Beast thought they would fall out of his head and roll around on his cheeks. The sweet scent of fear came off his skin in a wave that made beast's mouth water and teeth grow longer. It coated its tongue. Beast leaned closer—got right up in the fucker's bugged-eyed face. The man flinched when the first drop of drool fell on his face, right below his right eye. The single growled word could have been a warning, but it was an explanation.

One that offered little comfort in why Howard had met his end in such a way.

"Mine."

# Chapter Ten

Jo woke up to the sound of screaming, pulled on the jeans and tank-top she'd worn the day before. She grabbed the gun next to her pillow. She damn near fell out of her tent in her haste. The sun was up but it was still early. People scrambling out of their tents or already congregating had on pajamas or looked just as thrown together.

She skidded to a halt in front of Howard's tent and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what all the fuss was about. The side of his tent was ripped to shreds and the sound of vomiting from inside told whatever parts the shredded side entrance left unanswered. The woman who'd sounded the alarm was being comforted by a man that Jo didn't know. Her dad went inside and the vomiting man came out wiping his mouth and looking a little green around the gills.

"What happened," a woman close to the entrance asked.

"Howard's dead."

The two words echoed in Jo's head. She wasn't particularly saddened but a tremor ran down the length of her spine as she looked at the ruin side of his tent and what the great Howard Wells' remains must look like, that was one tough looking SOB that was vomiting. The most Jo had wanted to do was burn him with hot coffee...maybe knee him in the nuts. There were people who deserved just savagery in death: child molesters, sex slave traffickers, but Howard? Jo's hand covered her mouth as she thought about the low growl that sounded seconds before she made the shot earlier.

Surely not?

Had she not thought to herself before falling off to sleep that whatever had been hiding in the shadows was seconds away from attacking?

It was crazy.

The whole trip had been crazy. She looked out over the campground. Everyone was pretty much crowded around Howard's tent but she wasn't looking at the people, her gaze went further, to the tree-line. Morning's twilight had passed but the day was still new enough that it was dim. Deep shadows offered cover to anything standing just inside the thick bushes and close growing trees. Jo scanned the area waiting for the feeling...the pull. Nothing. It didn't make her breathe easier. What was the chances of anything else hurting Howard? Good? Better than good? Hell, she didn't even know what was in the woods or what had killed Howard and there she was freaking out over... Her mom, who was consoling a woman, saw her and passed the weeping woman over to another rider and began walking towards Jo.

"Are you alright?"

Jo nodded, words escaping her at the moment. She looked one last time at the surrounding trees before giving her mom her full attention but unease was settling in—about Howard, and about the thing in the shadows.

The story was: a wild animal had ripped out Howard's throat and then eaten most of the man's mid-section. Jo sat with her mom under the RV's awning as her dad spoke to the police. She was holding a cold cup of coffee, when what she really wanted was a beer. She didn't think the police would look too kindly at drinking at eight o'clock in the morning. The people closest to Howard's tent were asked if they heard anything; no one had. By the time the ambulance arrived most of the crowd had dispersed at her father's instruction. They were going to skip the second half of the ride and go straight to his farm. By the time the body was rolled out of the tent in a black vinyl bag most of the tents were packed up.

Randy loaded the horses, while her father walked around firming up the rest of the trip with the riders that were braving the rest of the ride and Joe and her mom packed up the RV. Having helped with her parents' campsite, Jo's tent was one of the last standing. Her dad came over and she didn't refuse his help. He'd strapped on a gun, a Colt .45 blue steel revolver; complete with leather holster that held extra bullets with a leather tie that went around his thigh. He looked straight out of a John Wayne movie. They worked in silence and he carried the tent while Jo carried her bag. It took an hour for the caravan to make it down the road. Of those left, the majority opted to check into the town's single motel about a mile away from the farm, the rest were going to brave camping in the large pasture of Jo' parents' farm.

Randy and Jo unloaded while her mom became the hostess-with-the-mostest and her dad got on the phone because they were two days ahead of scheduled. Jo was finally getting that craved beer when her dad joined her in the kitchen. He nodded his thanks when Jo handed him a beer of his own.

"What a mess." He popped the top and drank most of it on his first go round.

"What's the plan?"

Jo slid another beer his way and watched her dad look out the window at the half dozen tents being set up in the pasture. There hadn't been any reports of wolf or mountain lion attacks in ages but it only took one and it didn't make a whole lot of difference to the people outside, they were scared. Her dad had offered guns to a few of the men he trusted not to shoot anyone and he'd already organized shifts for guarding the campers. Jo and Randy had the two AM to five AM shift, which meant that she had to get a nap in somewhere.

"I have a local band coming in tomorrow night. Tonight we're on our own," he said.

"I guess drinking is off the table. The last thing we need is a bunch of drunks with guns, shooting at every sound made," she said.

"We'll take the beer out. I'll explain to anyone who plans on guarding that if I see them drunk they'll be pulled off rotation."

Jo nodded. It was a plan. If push came to shove she could pull a few extra hours. She didn't think there was a threat of a second attack, but hey, she wasn't planning on sleeping outside.

Her dad was a vet but his specialty was horses and cows. It didn't stop Jo from asking, "So, what was it?"

Her dad took a deep breath and another swig of his beer before answering. "Hard to say. There was a lot of damage."The sound of the back door opening made Jo turn around. Her mom and Randy came in and joined them at the table.

"Everything's put up and the horses are fed and watered. The wagon is still on the flatbed but it's backed up and ready to be unloaded," Randy said.

"Good job, son."

Jo saw then that Randy loved her dad a little. Loved him like a father and looked for his praise, just like she did. She might have been jealous if the day wasn't so fucked up. Maybe tomorrow.

"Well, if I'm going to stay up all night, I better take a nap," she announced. She was on her third beer and the bed was calling her full name. She heard her mother offer Randy the daybed on the sun porch as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom. Jo opened the door to her old room. It was exactly like she'd left it. Her dad was always talking about making it into an office. She sat down on the edge of the bed and toed off her cowboy boots before taking off her jeans and shirt. She climbed between cool sheets and the comforting weight of her bedspread. She was asleep before the sheets were warm.

# Chapter Eleven

So her dad suggested that they hand out drink tickets in order to ensure no one had too many beers and ended up drunk. Her mom shot the idea down before the last syllable died on his lips. No one got drunk; the mood was too morose for that. There was talk of the late great Howard Wells. Jo sat silently; she didn't have any stories to tell from days of old or from new. In the short time she'd known him he'd been first, another old guy her dad knew, then a straight-up asshole. But who spoke ill of the dead . . . the very recently dead? Give it a week.

By midnight most of the riders had called it a night and at two Jo met up with Randy and they walked together to the small fire in the center of camp. Two canvas chairs waited for them along with an old-timey percolator and a cooler full of water. Her mother really did out do herself when the need arose.

Two hours in Jo took a break from pleasant conversation with Randy for a bathroom break. She didn't give what happened to Howard or the sound she'd heard the night before that a second thought. She knew the woods she walked to, they were almost a home away from home. Besides, she wasn't going exploring, just a tree or two in, enough to make sure Randy couldn't see a flash of her backside as she squatted. And she had a gun.

Jo took the gun from the waistband of her pants and sat it on the ground directly in front of her. She really should have asked her mom for a holster and maybe she would when she finished. The trees around her were thick but didn't go far. Her childhood home only sat on about fifteen acres and her father had thinned out some of the woods with his new draft horses. The sounds weren't scary, but those she associated with home. Sounds she'd drifted off to sleep to thousands of times on the sun porch or with an open window in her bedroom. The dark was complete, so thick it could almost be touched. The campfire was a beacon in the near distance as she unzipped her pants and squatted, keeping her eyes on Randy who she could see clearly sitting in the same place, looking quite purposefully in the opposite direction. She smiled. He was a good kid. A hot, good kid, and after two hours of easy conversation, it became obvious her feelings may be shared.

With visions of what could be with Randy clouding her thoughts she didn't registered the snap of a small branch. A second one finally got her attention. She looked up and the scream of horror, of shock and disbelief, was stuck in her throat. The monster was straight out of a horror movie. She knew it for what it was the second her brain registered that—no—she wasn't hallucinating—there really was a giant wolfman standing in front of her. She reached for the gun and had it aimed pretty fucking quick but there was hardly time to pat herself on the back the beast was on the move. She squeezed the trigger. The werewolf moved like magic, he'd been standing ten, possibly twenty feet away and then he was right in front of her; snatching the gun from her hands and slamming her firmly, painfully against a tree. Holding her close to his fur covered body he stared into her face. A single word escaped his thin lips. The one growled word was: a command, a threat, a promise. Whatever it was, it stole her words and stifled her scream.

Kill.

Her heart was beating in her chest like a drum. She could hear it in her ears, feel it on her skin. He lowered his face into her neck and took a breath so big his chest doubled in size. The growl that built in his body vibrated through her to her bones. The erection that pressed against her was long, thick and hot. Whatever life she had left, long or short, she knew she had to fight. Had to at least try to get away or risk being taken by this monster in more ways than one. Randy and the campers were so close. She just needed to make enough noise to draw their attention, or keep the monster occupied long enough and Randy would come and check on what was taking so long. The monster's second word landed on her like a ton of bricks, or a boulder, possibly a mountain, definitely a mountain.

Mine.

He breathed the word into her skin, his breath a warm caress on her neck. It struck her stupid but only for a handful of seconds. She struggled in his arms not caring if the action brought death with it. She was pulled into a tighter embrace until her ribs felt ready to break. She struggled until the growl turned into a warning snarl and she stilled when his teeth pressed against her throat.

"Mine," the then repeated. Then he bit her.

Jo screamed into the palm that lay across the lower part of her face. She screamed until her throat was raw and she was pretty sure she had no voice left. When she was finish screaming she started crying. He picked her up, cradled her like a baby, and ran faster than any person could. The only thing that kept her from screaming again was the thought of the teeth that had been in her throat and protecting her parents from the same fate.

Tears flowed freely as he ran through the neighboring pasture, spreading cows like the Red Sea. He jumped the barbed wire fence without breaking stride or slowing down. They had to have been a mile from her house when some of the shock of what was happening wore off and she found her voice again. This time there was no big palm over her mouth and the sound ripped through the dark like a firework. He stopped and Jo found herself in a worse position. If anything could be worse than being kidnapped and bitten by a werewolf. She was on the ground, with him on top of her. Thank God he was too big to lay on top her, but having the massive body crouched over her really wasn't that much of an improvement, even if he didn't touch her.

"Quiet," he growled, but their position had already made her silent.

He raised a claw and when she saw that he meant to touch her she whimpered. He pulled his lips back and the low growl that vibrated up his chest and spilled from his mouth could be felt through her entire body. He was not the romanticized wolfman of movies, the head that hovered inches from hers was not a human face with a flattened nose, prominent cheekbones and extra facial hair; it was a wolf. Its canines were disproportionally large; the teeth hanging from his mouth looked nothing like any teeth she'd ever seen on an animal, but a shark came to mind. They were meant for tearing, ripping—devouring. His eyes glowed golden and Jo was certain her time on earth was coming to its end. There was no humanity in its gaze.

Jo could feel the heat of him as he crouched above her, so hot that she was sure it could scorch her skin. Already her body was overheated from the cage his created around her.

He lowered the claw that had stopped centimeters from her skin when she'd whimpered and he'd issued the warning growl and by the grace of God, Jo's cries were silent as he turned her head and licked the bleeding bite on her neck. Her tears fell into her hair as she lay perfectly still. With each swipe of his tongue the wound felt better but Jo could care less about physical pain. She lay beneath the heavy breathing beast with her eyes shut tight. She lost time, had no clue how long she lay there with him lapping at her neck. When she opened her eyes and looked at the sky above the sun was a promise on the horizon.

The beast stopped licking her and sniffed along her neck, down her breastbone. Jo felt like an over extended piece of elastic, each muscle ready to pop she was so tense. She didn't move as he crawled down her body, smelling as he went. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breathing was fast and shallow as he nudged her shirt with his nose and buried it in her belly. She would have laughed, she was that ticklish, but there was only dread in her stomach at the moment. It won out over laughter. Her breath stopped when he went lower.

Her pants were still down. While he ran with her in his arms they'd bunched around her ankles. She bit her lip to stop the scream for escaping her throat, although her cries were given sound when his clawed hands pressed on her thighs, pushing them open. He buried his nose in her crotch and took a deep breath, then another.

"Please," Jo begged.

He paused, giving her hope. They both were still for a handful of seconds. Jo waited. The first lick was a long, slow sweep of his tongue.

# Chapter Twelve

It was dark again by the time they reached the house, if that's what a condemned structure ready for a demolition crew and wrecking ball was still called. The five stairs leading to the porch creaked and groaned with every step. The screen door hung off its hinges and Jo was surprised the thing didn't fall apart in his hands when he opened it. He pushed the door, complete with peeling, weather-cracked paint, opened without turning the knob. When she crossed the threshold Jo bid farewell to her old life, possibly any life at all.

The house was what her grandmother had called a shotgun house. The rooms were in a straight line with the front and back entrances in perfect alignment. If you opened the doors you could shoot a gun through the front and the bullet wouldn't hit a thing before exiting the back. The front room's furniture, new when the Brady Bunch was primetime TV, was covered in dust and cobwebs hung thick from the ceiling. He lowered her feet to the ground but kept an ironclad grip on her forearm. Her heart was somewhere right behind her tongue beating hard enough to feel in the soles of her feet and loud enough to deafen her of everything else.

Moving too fast to track his movement, or maybe the shock of what was happening had turned her mind to mush, he swept his claws across the front of her blouse making confetti out of it. Her pants followed. Rape was a word that was front and center in her brain. Unshed tears brightened her eyes as she covered her breasts with one arm and her exposed sex with the hand of her other. She didn't have the courage to lower her gaze to see if he was aroused. She'd felt his erection earlier. He was huge.

"Shoes."

So far every instruction consisted of one word: stop, go, quiet, kill, mine. Jo stared into dead eyes—correction—not dead, just deathly calm, but didn't move.

"Shoes," he repeated, this time the word was more growl.

She toed her shoes off. They'd traveled the entire day to reach the rundown shanty. The entire time she spent in his arms, each breath he took soaking through the hair on the top of her head. Once the shock of _what_ kidnapped her settled, a sort of fright took root and left her numb and somewhere between four and six A.M. she could feel the invisible thread from the previous two nights. This . . . thing . . . this beast, was the thing that her body was attracted to. It was also the thing that killed Howard Wells. After that she spent a great majority of her time fighting off dizziness and blacking out from hyperventilation.

When she almost slipped and fell he caught her by the arm. The touch was gentle, soft, almost tender, the way he'd been touching her since he'd taken her (with the exception of the bite, of course). Her kidnapper beast was standing close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. Completely nude but there was no reason for modesty, not when death was so close, although she was no longer certain about the beast's intent. A small part of her warred with the idea of the _connection_ (for lack of a better word) was mutual. But was he attracted to her physically or did he see her as a particularly tasty meal. She tried hard not to think of the time he'd spent laying between her legs. It had been a violation, but after a while she had become powerless over how her body responded to the intimate act. Other than the lone word and the bite he'd given her no reason to think he meant her harm and the more she thought about it the more she was sure he hadn't been talking about killing her, but killing the others if she'd made a sound.

She searched her limited knowledge of werewolf folklore, which was little more than what she'd seen on television and at the movies. Already Hollywood had fucked up the one where werewolves turned only at night during a full moon. Not only was there no full moon, in the daylight hours he'd stayed the same. And movie werewolves didn't talk, well, Jack Nicolson did in _Wolf_ but he wasn't nearly as . . . wolf-y as the one standing behind her. So he meant to keep her. That's what he meant by "mine." And the bite? The thought brought on a whole new set of the vapors. She began to hyperventilate and tears stung her eyes but she was tired of crying. She wasn't strong enough to fight him, not fast enough to outrun him and right now he was pretty docile. Better keep it that way until she came up with a plan. His erection bothered her but he hadn't used it. It went on the long list of other things that fell under: nothing she could do a-damn thing about.

He turned her in the direction of the bed at her back. The mattress was uncovered and looked as old as the rest of the shabby furnishing. At least it didn't smell bad in the place. It smelled old and closed up; if dust had a smell it would be the house she now found herself in. Jo stood next to the bed, refusing to lie down or even sit on it. Already her feet were dirty from the few steps she'd taken since he'd made her take off her shoes. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the other side of the bed where she discovered a pile of pillows. The werewolf sat down and pulled her with him. Wrapping Jo up in arms covered in fur that was soft and wiry. He moved around until he found a comfortable position. She could feel his breath on her temple; feel every inch of his body curved to fit hers. The pesky erection made it impossible to relax, regardless of his non-threatening actions so far.

"Moon," he whispered.

Not a growl, but a word spoken full of reverence and awe.

Jo woke up with flu-like symptoms. She'd had a summer cold a time or two in her life, but seeing how she'd been bitten by a fucking werewolf forty-eight hours ago she didn't think alka-seltzer and orange juice was going to cure what ailed her. If the fever wasn't bad enough in the summer months of the South, the fur covered arm and leg that were thrown across her body was throwing off body heat like an electric blanket with the dial turned on charbroil.

Boy, her life had gone and gotten itself complicated quick, fast and in a hurry. Even with circumstances as they were, she was holding up well for someone in her position. The body behind her shifted. The erection that he'd sported last night when she'd finally succumb to exhaustion and more passed out than fell asleep was pressed firmly in the small of her back. She was as still as a statue, afraid any movement would lead down a slippery slope. It was still a shock it hadn't already progressed there with its aroused state. Maybe it could only have sex with one of its kind. Maybe it was waiting for Jo to turn into a werewolf. She crossed her fingers and prayed like a mother that Hollywood had gotten that part right and she was not going to turn until the next full moon, almost a month away. The thought of still being there in thirty days gave her heart palpitations.

The beast tightened his grip to the point of painful, much more and he was going to break her ribs. Her mind raced as fast as her heart as she continued to search for a way to escape. She refused to cry or think about if she succeeded, at what happened in less than thirty days when she turned into an obvious crazed beast. But her body continued to betray her and the hitch in her next breath brought movement from behind. The leg over her thighs moved and the arm across her stomach rose, but only left her body long enough for the massive, claw-tipped hand to rest on her shoulder and pull until she had no choice but to turn on her back.

The face that was all too close to hers was frightening enough that she should have been a screaming, flailing mess but she locked her muscles and didn't move. He lowered his head, one twice the size of Jo's, his warm wet nose touched her cheek, traveled behind her ear and down her neck. Her heartbeat skyrocketed and she wondered how much faster it could go before it simply exploded in her chest. She gasped as the beast's hand by her waist moved to her stomach. Jo squeezed her eyes closed. His touch was whisper soft, each exhaled breath landing on her skin like a hot humid wind. The hand traveled up and then back down. Was he petting her?

If he was anything, he was thorough and they were in the position for what seemed like hours; until her muscles relaxed and her heartbeat was normal. His massive chest rested on her shoulder, the fur that rubbed her as his chest rose and fell was softer than she would have guessed by just looking at it. His hand went lower . . . lower still, until it grazed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. Jo was outweighed, the thing hovering over her a monster straight out of the depths of hell but she couldn't just allow what was happening. She grabbed the hand and tried to pull. He gave her a warning growl. Fuck him. He growled louder and added a little something extra that covered her body in goose-bumps. He could crush her skull like popping a grape; still she refused to let it go.

He leaned over her, his mouth pulled back from his teeth. The snarling was scary, but his eyes were...captivating. Gold, not bright yellow, but the color of the metal, they were beautiful. Without thinking Jo raised a hand and placed it on the side of his face. Shocked, they both froze; their heavy breathing the only sound was in perfect sync.

"Mate."

The thick guttural word fell from his lips to the pit of Jo's stomach. "Please," Her voice was low as she begged.

He froze, his head cocked to one side then the other. Some of the fierceness left his golden eyes. Jo was about to sigh in relief when he was on her. Her struggle was futile, but that didn't stop her. With his full weigh on her she was soon out of breath but she struggled on, until he bit her. Like the first time it was quick. Like the first time it stole her scream, but this time only a second or two passed before the sound ripped from her throat. God, if she was lucky he'd kill her. Anything seemed better than the alternative. She was still screaming when she passed out.

# Chapter Thirteen

Four days in his half form. That hadn't happened since Beast first took over their body when Wolf had finally had enough. Beast first appearance was more an eruption than a change. Its form bursting from—through—Wolf's as he lay on the table panting out what he hoped was his last breaths on earth on a particularly bad day with Master's men. It was the only happy memory they had. Beast had killed two of Master's men and broken several more before they were able to subdue him. It was also the only time they'd almost escaped. But that was many moons ago; he controlled his transition, or so he thought. But now was not the time to think on such things.

Every second of the last ninety-six hours were vivid in his memory and the moment he took his first deep breath in his human form he knew exactly what Beast had been up to. Their moral compass had been broken before he'd ever taken his human form so there were no thoughts whether Beast's actions—their actions, had been right or wrong. First there had only been the will of the lunatic that raised him, and then that of their own freewill, neither of which pointed to anything remotely close to right . . . just . . . decent. No, that which warred within them was something different—something even Man did not understand.

The scent was an assault. It was all around him, in the blankets, on his skin, filling his nose and lung. He could taste it in his mouth and it tightened his body. The insatiable need that had taken possession of Beast had not spared Man or Wolf and they were once more held captive. It was not chains or the threat of immeasurable pain that imprisoned them but the tiny woman that was next to his now human form.

Man stared down at the woman in his arms; he scanned her body, taking in the perfect naked form of the mate Wolf had claimed when he'd fought and won his way to the forefront of their shared consciousness when Beast wanted to kill her, because what Beast did not understand became a threat and all threat was eliminated. Period. Wolf had chosen well. Man eased his arm from beneath her and lowered his head. His senses were best in his animal form, even his half form was better, but when he touched her. . . Skin softer than anything he'd ever touched before pressed against his lips as he kissed her collarbone; wanting more he ran his tongue in a long line tasting the sweet and saltiness of her skin. He'd never explored the female body in such a way. Raising his head he ran his finger over a puckered nipple then repeated the movement on the opposite. He lowered his head and drew it into his mouth, sucking it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He froze when a soft moan escaped her. He stared for long minutes waiting for her to wake. When she settled he laid his palm flat and caressed her body. Her shoulders, arms, her stomach; he ran his hand down one thigh and up the other. Nothing was left untouched as he memorized every inch of her. Going further he rubbed her calves and ankles; he lowered his head to kiss her feet, her knees, and her thighs. He spread them open and the soft curls between her legs brought a low growl from his human mouth.

She had been terrified of Beast in the beginning. The smell of fear had always been a savored thing for Beast but it had a different affect when coming from her, creating chaos in the mind of the monster that operated on the simple instinct to survive. There was no smell of fright on her now, only that of her arousal. He buried his nose between her thighs taking a breath that doubled his chest in size. He opened her legs wider, positioned his body between them and put her legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of each thigh. The skin was smooth, softer than that on her arms and legs and torso. Resting on his elbows he opened the lips of her sex with his thumbs and ran his fingers between them. Her breath came faster; he watched her chest rise and fall in short burst as he explored her core. The soft sounds turned into louder moans when he inserted his finger and her hips started rocking back and forth as arousal coated his finger and ran into his palm. He watched her, studied every panted breath, every roll of her hips. He pulled his finger from her body and put it in his mouth. How had he forgotten? Her scent had called to them, the taste of her skin was good, what coated his tongue was—more. He lowered his head and feasted. Pure pleasure shot through his body with each pass of his tongue. He knew when she woke but there was no stopping. He would kill anyone—anything that tried, including her. Her body began to jerk and convulse and she screamed out but not in pain.

He climbed her body, licking her skin as he went. His erection throbbed, ached to be inside her. When he reached her face, her mouth opened and he breathed in her exhaled breath, fisted a handful of her hair and threw a leg over his arm. He groaned as he entered her. So wet, so tight, so warm. He stopped when he reached the end of her even though he was not completely sheathed. He went still, stared down at her, breathing heavily in her face as he attempted to regain control. He pushed further and stopped when a tiny pained sound escaped her. He pulled out, just a little and pushed forward again, then out until just the tip of him remained inside before sliding back into the tight velvet that was his salvation.

She grabbed the sheets on each side of her body as he rode her, never breaking eye contact. Her body was hot, feverish, as it changed to become like his. When her body started to contract around him, squeezing him until he felt like he had to fight for every push and pull the last of his control snapped and he buried himself as deep as he could go in a powerful thrust. She cried out, her hands leaving her sides as she grabbed his forearms, drawing blood with her nails. He howled as his release filled her body.

She slept the day away in his arms. He dozed some but he couldn't get enough of her. He'd tried just watching her as she slept but he was powerless, mindless and he'd taken her countless times and still his dick was hard as stone sandwiched between his stomach and her hip as he watched her. He was a slave to her body and to his. The smell of her arousal hung in the air, still coated his erection. Her body was slick with sweat from their earlier joining and the fever of her change. His seed was still wet on her thighs from his last release and yet he rolled on top of her and settled between her glorious thighs. He knew what hurt her, knew her limits. She could take all his length and girth; her body stretching around him as it accepted what only he would ever give her. Buried deep in her body he couldn't think. Not with her wrapped around him so tight, stealing his words, all logical thought processes and control. He could only feel the thick length of him push against the walls of her snug sex, felt every contraction whether it was voluntary or not. When she opened her eyes he looked into them, searched behind them as he tried to see into her very soul. Did she know she was his? That he would die for her, kill for her—live for her.

Her mouth opened when he pushed passed a comfort zone for her. He liked the sounds, not the ones that were caused by real pain, but the little surprised gasps that he knew now were caused by pleasure. He wanted to feel her come undone beneath him; to lose herself in his touch. He felt the orgasm tightened his body, and he lost control of his strokes. He grabbed a handful of her hair and buried his face in it, took a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent. He moved his head and buried his nose in her neck and placed his hands beneath her ass, changing the angle so that she could take more of him. Forgetting everything but the feel of her wrapped around him, taking him in, owning him, he barely registered her panted breathing, or heard the small sounds escaping her. He bit down on her shoulder as his cock thickened further before he filled her again. When his hips stopped jerking and his cock stopped jumping from his latest release he sat up, pulling her with him. He was still buried in her body as he settled back on his knees with her on his lap, already hard again. How could he make her understand? Did it matter if he could? Did it matter if she didn't?

Lust in any form is a bad thing for a werewolf. The bloodlust that had been fine-tuned until he'd become the monster Master desired was nothing compared to the lust he felt for this woman. It consumed his every waking hour and invaded the snatches of sleep he allowed himself. The need to kill was still there, but dulled beneath the need to claim her in every way. On the third day the fever that ravaged her body worsened. He'd never seen anyone suffer from the bite of a wolf and he was physically ill from her suffering. She refused all food and drink; too weak to do much more than lay on the pile of pillows. He'd been pacing the small space since the sun rose, only stopping long enough to cover her body when she shivered, or uncover it when sweat poured off her, as he tried to figure out what to do. If she would not eat or drink human food, maybe it was a fresh kill she desired. He checked on her once more before he covered her burning yet shivering body with a fur blanket. He could feel her heart beat; each breath she took was his. Wolf wanted to lick her, Man wanted to hug her, Beast didn't think in terms of offering comfort (the concept was just too foreign); in the end he simply left.

He stepped onto the dilapidated back porch closing the door softly behind him. He was torn between leaving her alone and finding something to relieve her pain. Each day a plethora of new emotions hit him hard. None of them matter at present. Night had always been a welcomed thing for him and outdoors had been his first lover. The sounds and smells of open land was a soothing balm on his soul or had been until her. Now nothing would do until she found comfort. His transformation was quick; there was no pain, only the feeling of calm as he changed into the horse size black wolf. He moved like an apparition cutting through the trees, his inky black coat making him appear more shadow than flesh and blood. Any other time he'd enjoy the freedom only his animal form offered but tonight wasn't about him. With every step he scented the air searching for prey until he smelled something acceptable on the night's breeze.

He crouched low, his body becoming part of his surroundings even with his great size. The buck stood motionless as he scanned the area for a threat, his nostrils flared, his ears scanned for his slightest noise. The wolf stood still; waited for the deer to decide that it was safe and when the mighty creature dipped his head to eat, it pounced. There was not time to enjoy taking down the animal as his jaws clamp down on the buck's throat and hot salty blood filled his mouth. Turning into his half form he slung his kill over his shoulder. No lights greeted him on his return; there was no electricity in the place. He didn't need lights, he saw just fine in the dark and soon, so would she. He laid the deer on cracked, rolling linoleum and went through the bathroom to the bedroom and found her lying as he'd left her. He knelt beside her and pushed sweat dampened hair from her temple, tucking it behind her ear. She sighed heavily and turned into his touch, snuggled her cheek into his palm. The swell of emotion that tightened his chest he craved almost as much as her body when he wasn't half insane from her being ill. He gathered her in his arms and carried her through the narrow doorways to the kitchen and sat with her in his lap. With one swipe he opened the neck of the animal. She stirred, growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating her entire body. He leaned forward moving her head closer to the carcass. Her lips peeled back from her teeth revealing fangs. She opened her eyes and they were no longer brown but the color of the moon, so light blue the pupils almost disappeared into the whites of her eyes. They were beautiful. Weak from fever she struggled to get to her meal, but strong arms helped her. When she struggled to tear meat he pulled it from the bones for her and fed her until she had the strength to do it on her own. He stroked her hair as she fed.

# Chapter Fourteen

Jo woke with a jerk in the dark room with no idea how long she'd been out. Her last conscious memory was of her captor biting her again. She knew from the lack of heat that he was not on the pile of pillows with her. She'd dreamed of his human form; impossibly big, a body that was a work of art. He looked: dangerous, unmovable, unstoppable, different from the monster that had kidnapped her, yet the same. He'd done things to her in those dreams. Things that made her heart quicken and her breathing uneven. Every hair on her body stood at attention at the memory.

She swallowed or at least her mouth and throat made the movements; she needed about three gallons of water. She sat up on the pile of pillows, the blankets that covered her falling around her waist. Pushing completely free of them she stood and headed for the bathroom. With every step a new memory made itself known. She'd been sick. He'd held her while she vomited and . . . while she'd fed off a deer. Her stomach rolled and she ran the last few feet to the tiny bathroom. She crashed onto her knees and hung her head over the toilet, her fingers gripping the rim as she threw up. When her stomach was empty she collapsed against the wall opposite the toilet and screamed. The door she'd closed in her haste to get to the toilet was ripped from the hinges. It hadn't been a dream. The man standing in the doorway was the god she'd dreamed of, prefect from the top of his bald head to his massive feet. She screamed again. He didn't move towards her and eventually she closed her mouth. There were no tears, and her throat, raw from the vomiting, was now worse from the screaming.

"No, no, no, no, no," she chanted, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was naked, recognized the aches in her body. The man standing in the room wasn't the only thing that was not a dream. She'd had sex and lots of it. Behind her closed lids each act played out again and again, she felt her body flush as she remembered how he touched her, his hands, his lips, his tongue. She tried hard to control her breathing but it was a losing battle. How long had she been there? Was the time she remembered the only time they'd had sex? Why was she so attracted to him? Wait...was she a fucking werewolf? Her hand instantly went to the bite. It was tender and as she fingered the raised skin a wave of pure pleasure made her whimper.

"Get out!" she screamed. "Leave!"

When he didn't move anger she'd never known before took hold. She jumped up. "I said get the fuck out!"

So tall his head stopped mere inches from the water-marked ceiling, he was menace personified. He was completely bare, not a stitch to hide the valleys and plains of a body she knew intimately, knew felt like granite covered in flesh—and soft flesh at that. As a monster he was covered in hair, as a human his body was hairless. Behind her closed lids she could see the muscles in his abdomen flex with each thrust, so precise she could almost feel the hard ridges slick with sweat as he took her over and over. She could still feel each vice-like grip as he held her thighs, her arms, pulled her hair.

"No."

The single word was enough to set her teeth on edge.

A challenge.

It was a weird thing to think. She answered the call. Moving faster than she knew she was capable of, she was airborne before she realized her feet left the ground. There was no time to think on their similar state of undress all she could think about was killing the son of a bitch.

He caught her, wrapped strong arms around her waist, holding her easily. It fueled her anger and she tried to claw out his eyes. It was a struggle but he was able to keep her from blinding him. He slammed their joined bodies against a wall, the mirror in the bathroom fell and shattered as Jo's back made contact and her breath rushed from her lungs.

"No," he repeated.

She was so done with his one word commands. He had her hands pinned above her head, and her body against a wall, that left her head free. She head-butted him. The pain was bad but so worth it when she saw blood pouring from his broken nose. His eyes squinted and his body begin to quake. Jo had half a second to think, _oh shit_ , when he released her as fast has she'd attacked him and the real battle began.

Jo kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying out the bathroom and into the bedroom. He went down hard, shaking the house on its foundation. She grabbed a length of rope from the ground and was on him before he could get up. She held it across his throat, her hands planted on each side of his head, her knees on each side of his chest; she had great leverage. A lot of good it did her. He pushed her off with the effort of swatting a fly, sending her rolling across the dry-rotted mattress. She landed on the opposite side of the bed and they came together like a wave to shore.

"Mine!" he yelled in her face. His breath smelled like fresh-cut wood, green with sap. She'd always loved that smell. She vowed from here on out she'd gag if she ever smelled it again.

"Never!" she yelled right back at him.

They rolled around on the bed, neither getting the upper hand. He was only trying to restrain her, which didn't help with her anger. She freed her hand and clawed at his chest, the sight of the four jagged gashes egged her on to do more damage. She wanted him bloody and beaten. She balled her fist and threw a right Mohammad Ali would have been proud of, he caught the second blow and then her other hand when she tried with it. He rolled them both and now had the advantage of being on top but she wasn't out of the fight. He dodged her second attempt at a head-butt so she bit him; her teeth sinking into the hard flesh of his chest. And that's when the game changed.

He howled loud enough to shake the windows. His previously hairless body was instantly covered in fur. Jo had too much fight in her to be frightened. With her newfound strength she managed to get her feet between them and pushed his body from hers. She sprung up and was crouched on the mattress before he stood, leaving the wood paneling of the wall splintered were his body collided with it.

He had been a big human; he was a _fucking huge_ wolfman, bigger than she remembered. His lips were pulled back from teeth that also looked bigger. When he lunged she jumped to the side and threw herself on his back. She mimicked countless wrestlers as she put one arm around his throat and attempted to choke the life out of him. He slammed them into the wall when he couldn't remove her hold from around his neck and repeated it over and over until it finally cried uncle and they crashed through it, sending them flipping over the couch on the other side. She lost her grip during the fall and this time when he landed on top of her he secured her hands over her head.

"Mine!" he said. The single word thick...guttural.

"No!" she screamed.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled so hard she was sure he'd snatched her baldheaded.

"Mine."

The roar was deafening, should have been frightening, but Jo was pretty damn pissed herself. She'd never been a particularly violent person but right now she felt like she could rip the thing's heart out of his chest if she ever got her hands free again. Suddenly the temperature in the room spiked but she barely had time to register the change in Fahrenheit as he flipped her over and covered her body from shoulder blade to ankle, his breath a hot breeze on the nape of her neck.

"Mine."

Before she could answer the bastard bit her. With one knee he opened her legs and Jo struggled against what she knew was coming. The realization hit her that it was not because she didn't want him; only that she didn't want him to win! It was mindboggling. With his teeth in the back of her neck, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her ass in the air. She opened her mouth to scream in frustration, but it was lost as he pushed his hips forward, driving hilt deep and began a frenzied fucking that left her panting. He hammered into her swollen and tender sex, the force of it rocking her body forward while his teeth kept her right where he wanted her. Before long she found herself rocking back into the assault, the pleasure of his teeth in her skin and the soft fur rubbing her body erotic in a disturbing way. She was fucking a damn werewolf. How fucked up was that? She'd think about it later, when her body wasn't humming from an impending orgasm.

He switched tempo, going from fast, mindless pounding, to slow sensual strokes that almost pulled his long thick length from her body completely before easing back into her depths. She screamed and he howled when they came—together.

Heavy breathing joined the chorus of insects, frogs and birds that came through the busted window of the bedroom. How'd that happen? Jo was sweaty, sore, tired and sated. Her captor's strength seemed to have left him after what seemed like ten orgasms ripped through his body, each one triggering one for Jo and she winced when he pulled free of her body. Every inch of her body ached, her sex felt worse. She tried to ignore how empty she felt without him and not the place he'd just vacated, somewhere deeper.

"Mine," he said in a low voice. It was still a growl. Jo didn't disagree. With a surprisingly tender touch he stroked her back and arms and legs. When he nudged her to turn over, she obeyed. On his hands and knees he covered her body without touching it. He licked the new bite on her neck; with each lap it felt better and strength of will kept her from squirming beneath him. He licked his way down her body and Jo tried to close her legs s he neared her tender core; his warning growl was enough to end that fight. He pushed her legs open and she covered her face with one arm and left grooves in the floor with the nails of her other as he licked her repeatedly. The pain between her legs lessened and was replaced with pleasure. How could something so wrong feel so right?

"Please," she said. Even she didn't know if she meant please stop or please don't stop. He growled into her core, sending the vibration to her bones and her body jerked involuntarily. He gave her no quarter, his onslaught continued until Jo felt like she'd explode from pleasure. Her upper body shot up from the floor, but he didn't stop and she fell back down in a boneless heap. She lost track of time and orgasms but when at last he did stop licking her even her hair felt over-sensitized. He was still in his wolfman form. The sight that had stopped her heart in terror wasn't nearly as bad as she remembered. Of course that was before she'd gone ten rounds with him. The blood from his broken nose and the scratches on his chest had almost completely dried. How long had he been down there? A hand bigger than her head appeared and he stroked the side of her face from temple to chin with the tip of his claw. A tingling ran the length of her body.

"Mine."

Jo saw nothing but complete, unquestionable certainty in his golden eyes.

Fuck it.

"Yours," she said in a low voice.

The answer pleased him. Not that she would have known from any facial expression. When God was creating the wolfman's form, he'd not thought about it expressing happiness. She shuttered to think what a smile would look like on his beastly face. Not that it was so bad looking. No, the longer she looked at him, the more attractive he became. The bite—it had to be the bite. The way she knew he was pleased with her submission was that he changed forms. Right there, lying on top of her, the hair that covered his face and body receded, his facial features became human and his body changed, still heavily muscled but not the massive shape of his beast form. His eyes were the only thing that stayed the same.

# Chapter Fifteen

He reveled in the beat of her heart, each breath that she took, the weight of her in his arms, the feel of satin soft skin. As he held her close to his body the journey to her seemed worth it. Every tortuous second spent at Master's hands. Man had fought Beast as much as he'd fought the woman. Nothing got Beast's blood pumping like a good fight and she'd given them one, by the end, all three wanted a piece of the action. Wolf wanted to show dominance and mark his mate, Beast wanted to taste her blood and Man wanted to be sheathed inside her sweet heat once more. All three got what they wanted. Now it was time to take care of what was theirs. He carried her through the shadow-heavy woods headed for the stream not far from the house. She fit in his arms so perfectly, as if they had been made to carry her. She'd passed out—from exhaustion—from the change, he didn't know, but her body was bruised and bloodied from their fight and he wanted to give her some comfort. A soft growl came from her and he lowered his gaze. Her eyes were still closed but her tiny mouth was pulled back from sharp pointed canines. Man had never kissed a woman but he wanted to now. She was going to be a beautiful wolf. She was too beautiful a human to be anything but.

A familiar smell stopped him in his tracks. They were miles from the house but the smell threw him thousands of miles away. Man lift his nose, but the transition from man to beast was done in a blink of an eye and when his head finished his backwards tilt, it was Beast that inhaled deeply, its mighty chest expanding until it looked like a posturing bird. Beast placed their mate on the soft grass and fell down on all fours, because they had to be certain of the scent. Wolf took a deep breath of his own and confirmed. If their mate smelled of home, it was the one he'd always imagined when things had gotten really grim with Master. Home was the earth, open space, green meadows and flower choked fields. But the scent that hung in the air was one from the only home he'd known for too long.

Man, Beast and Wolf had been waiting for five long years. A week ago they would have tracked the owner of the smell and fought until their hunger was fed, until their belly was full of the enemy. Now they thought of one thing—one person. Wolf swallowed the howl a warning, refusing to give any advance warning to the people who'd found him. Beast pulled their mate into its arms with gentle hands. .The very ones that had: eviscerated, suffocated, beheaded, the list went on and on. He'd never had to look after anything, only the body he shared with Man and Wolf and even then, he'd stepped forward when they were young not because he cared about Man or Wolf but simply because he didn't want to die. Master had found him. Good. He'd take care of him, but not at the risk of his mate getting hurt or worst, captured. He didn't worry about finding her again. Even in his Beast form she was connected to them. Every breath and heartbeat echoed in his chest. He would kill Master and every man he'd brought to track them.

# Chapter Sixteen

The man approaching the information desk of the hospital garnered the attention of almost every female he passed. Six-five, dark hair that brushed the top of his shoulders, and muscles big enough to give the fabric of his tee shirt a run for its money, his summer tan was dark enough to make you wonder his ethnicity. Was he Native American...Middle Eastern....Indian? None of the above, he could count his lineage back five hundred years, his people came from Europe. There were even some that still lived in the ancestral estate but the branches of his family tree spread far and wide. On the occasions when they got together there was no mistaking they were related; every man looked like a brother or father and son. The women were a variation of the same: dark haired, statuesque and beautiful.

The girl at the counter stared at him with her mouth open a little. He was use to the attention and was sure to lay his hand with his wedding ring on the counter as he leaned over. "I'm looking for a patient, Josephine Baxter."

It took a few beats, a few blinks and a couple of deep breaths before she finally shook herself out of her stupor. The man smiled a little bigger, it never got old how he affected members of the opposite sex. His wife, God bless her soul, had the patience of Job. She usually rolled her eyes before threatening not to go anywhere with him in public. After ten years together she had nothing to worry about. He had eyes only for her. It was that way for most of the men in their family. A good woman was hard to find, and in their line of work damn near impossible. They vetted their women tougher than a royal family.

"Josephine Baxter," he said again when the young woman just kept staring at him.

"Oh...of course."

He winked at the older, just as smitten, woman sitting next to the now typing younger one.

"Room 413."

He tipped his head. "Thank you, darlin'." He headed to the bank of elevators next to the semicircular desk. He could almost feel the heat of the woman's gaze on his backside. He was glad the doors opened immediately after pressing the button and as he turned to press the button for the fourth floor he spied her looking at him. They both were. He didn't give them direct eye contact, no reason to give them false hope. Besides, he was on official police business.

He had to stop once for directions and the nurse at the station was kind enough to escort him to the door. She even knocked on the damn thing.

"Come in," a voice from the interior called out.

The room was private, the single bed in the middle of it was occupied by a pretty good-looking woman, even in the washed out, faded hospital gown and a major case of bed-head. The woman settling the blankets around her had to be her mother, although their own family's good genes made them looked more like sisters.

"Ms. Baxter I'm Lucas Wolfe."

"Are you with the police?" The older woman asked.

"No ma'am, but I work with the sheriff department. I'm here about your bite," Lucas said looking at the woman in the bed. He didn't miss the hard swallow. She knew something.

"What is it you do for the sheriff Mr. Wolfe?" The mother asked.

Lucas didn't take his eyes off the patient. He could see her heart beating a mile a minute as the vein in her neck jumped with each tick. He wondered what she'd say if he asked to speak to her alone, although the chances of that happening was about as likely as a mama grizzly letting something close to her newborn cub. The girl had been missing for almost a week and her mother was already blocking the girl's body with her own, standing next to the bed looking ready to take a bullet or kick Lucas's ass if he so much as said a word to upset the girl.

"I own a trapping company and I consult with the police department whenever an animal attack is involved. You may have heard of my company, Wolfe Trappings?" he answered, pulling a couple of cards from his pocket. He took a step, leaned forward and extended his arm. "Please, call me Lucas." He smiled at the older woman since she was the one he had to win over but quickly returned his gaze to the one in the bed. And she was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"About your bite..." he asked taking another step when the mother gave an award winning smile of her own. There were times when he wished he was average looking, then there were times likes these when his good-looks and down-home charm won people over.

"I don't remember anything," the young woman said.

He kept his game face on but knew it was a lie. "Not a thing?"

She shook her head instead of speaking.

"I've seen photos of the bite, but would you mind if I take a look at it in the flesh?" Lucas smiled at the younger Baxter woman hoping to calm her nerves, as if summoned a nurse came through the door. The patient looked away and was picking with imaginary lint on the thin blankets they give you in a hospital.

"Time to change those bandages."

The woman looked like she was going to be sick but didn't say anything as the nurse walked around the bed and unbuttoned the back of her gown, exposing a shoulder. Lucas didn't have to get any closer to the bed; he could see just fine where he was. Having all that height was good for something. He even noticed how the woman's breathing hitched while the bandage was being removed. He simultaneously felt better and worse. He knew exactly what she was experiencing. It wasn't firsthand knowledge but he had it on good authority that the bite from a mate often turned into a kind of erogenous zone.

It was a good thing because if what he'd been tracking was mated it was going to make finding it a whole lot easier. It was bad because the woman was now irrecoverably tied to a damn monster. A monster that he and his family had been hunting for five years—a monster he meant to see dead.

"May I?" He asked taking a step closer. He studied a bite too large to be a natural wolf's, hell, too big to be any land animal that could bite you on the neck and leave you alive.

"There's one on the back as well." The nurse said.

Lucas had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing. The nurse was busy looking at him so she missed the evil-eye the patient gave her at mentioning the second bite. He stepped closer to the nurse and saw the woman in bed shiver when her hair brushed across the spot.

He stepped back as the nurse redressed the wounds and faced the woman in bed. He took a deep breath, put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on the heels of his boots. All while looking at the young woman, looking right through her and her weak lie. When the nurse was done and she was all buttoned back up he asked her again. "And you don't remember anything at all?"

Now, he wished he really was a police officer. At least then he could ask the mother to step out of the room instead of hoping the young woman would ask, which wasn't likely to happen because what could anyone have to say to a trapper in private?

The woman didn't answer but did meet his gaze. She had spunk; he had to give her that. Of course, he knew that from the moment he crossed the threshold of her room and she'd told him she didn't remember anything about what happened to her. She'd been held up for almost a week with a damn werewolf but there she sat...just as calm as you please.

"There was an animal attack the day before you went missing."

"Yes," her mother answered. "Did you work on that case with the police as well?"

"I did. It was a wolf." He but emphasis on the last word and raised his eyebrow before ducking his head a little. When she didn't say anything he added. "Looks like a wolf been at your neck."

"Dear God," the mother said and sat down at the feet of her daughter. Her hand went to her own neck. Lucas and the woman in bed stared at each other. The gist of the unspoken conversation was him telling her that he knew she was lying and she telling him to prove it.

"You're lucky Ms. Baxter that you were only bit and not. . ." he left the sentence hanging.

"I know how lucky I am Mr. Wolfe, but like I said, I don't remember anything after going out to stand watch with Randy, my parents' farm help."

"I've spoken to him already. He said you went to use the bathroom and never came back. He also said he didn't hear anything."

They looked at each other long enough for it to become a staring contest. The longer she met his gaze the greater his respect grew. The trauma the woman had experienced would have broken the mind of a lot of people. He was itching to ask her detailed questions but she obviously hadn't spoken a word to her mother. Then there was the possibility that she really didn't remember—doubtful—but stranger thing had happened. In his line of work impossible wasn't a word he used often, if ever, anymore.

"Well, if you remember anything," he said extending his hand. She hesitated but took it. "You're feverish." Her palm was dry and hot. If he was unsure (which he wasn't) he knew for certain now. In less than two weeks she was going to turn. Her entire life was about to change—had changed the moment she was bitten. She needed to be around those like her now. A lot had changed in five hundred years, Wolfe Hunters no longer put down werewolves on site but they still took an oath to protect mankind from the mindless, blood-thirsty beast that turned rogue. He was definitely going to have to talk to her in private. Her first change shouldn't be alone and he highly doubted the monster he was tracking knew a thing about teaching her the—civilized—way of the wolf.

"But thank goodness it's not as high as when she was first found. The doctor said it was the highest he'd seen that didn't result in brain damage."

"Really?" Lucas said still holding the woman hand. "You're lucky indeed." He released her hand, and then shook the mother's before being escorted to the door.

"If you remember anything at all, don't hesitate to call me," he spoke from the door before exiting the room. He would call Sam, the local pack's alpha. A sponsor would have to be sent to the girl's home to speak to her before her first full moon. If they were lucky enough and she didn't still live at home. Lucas pulled his phone from his pocket, his mind racing with the new information. The monster had mated.

# Chapter Seventeen

"Are you there? Can you hear me alright?"

"I can hear you just fine, you can stop shouting now."

Thomas Wolfe sat back in the Victorian era chair with a prayer on his lips. It was not a reproduction, It was the real thing. He'd sat in similar pieces hundreds of times since he'd moved into the castle and he still didn't trust any of them to hold his weight. He was two hundred plus pounds. Spindled legs just didn't seem made for his kind of bulk, no matter how well made. Easing his grip before he did damage to the arms instead of the legs, he relaxed one muscle at a time.

Thomas was married to the love of his life but a person would have to be blind not to see the beauty in the man that entered the room. He was one of the smallest in the room, only Constantine was smaller, but he was the strongest. His shoulder length hair was just shy of curly and brushed to ebony perfection. His features were masculine and soft at the same time. Blue eyes, the color of brand new denim, swept over the room. His eyebrows were perfectly and naturally arched, his jaw smooth because he didn't grow facial hair. His clothes were tailored made and hugged his body like only expensive, custom-made clothes ever do. The dark grey, three piece suit, complete with pocket watch and chain certainly matched the décor. Of course it was his house; the very one he'd been born and raised in back when some of the furnishing was brand new. On his arm, equally as beautiful, was his mate, Diana. The long gown she wore belonged just as her mate's suit. The silk fabric hugged feminine curves and had a small train. She was born an American, in the twentieth century, but she rocked the Pride and Prejudice era look like nobody's business.

"Is everyone there?" Lucas asked.

Lucas had taken over for Thomas when he'd decided to stay with Jean Rene and Diana. All Wolfe men looked like defensive linemen: tall and thickly muscled. All had dark hair and dark eyes. All seemed menacing, even when they were happy. It went with the job. They were hunters, the Wolfe Hunters. For five hundred years Thomas's family had hunted and killed werewolves.

"Yes!"

Thomas smiled as his group answered. It consisted of Wallace, the red-headed giant that wore a kilt every day and most of the time not much else. Constantine, who could have been mistaken for a woman, and probably was, even in the immaculate suits he wore with his long blond hair and effete features. Rob, the silent killer, who barely said more than two words a month and dressed in black, to better blend in with the shadows was Thomas's guess. There was Virginia, Constantine's wife and Thomas's daughter, also a Wolfe Hunter. Alexis, Jean Rene's second, or beta; he was seven feet tall and black as the shadows Rob blended in. Literally, his skin was so black it seemed to have a touch of blue in it. And finally, Lillian, Thomas's wife, she was not a fighter but like the king, Thomas had his queen and he didn't make one decision without consulting her. She was a survivor of a werewolf attack. The thick scars that traveled down one side of her face, neck and onto her shoulder made her all the more beautiful to Thomas. They reminded him of how precious life is, and how strong a woman she was. This was his family. This was home.

"Your boy's left a survivor." Lucas said all trace of good nature gone from his voice.

"Are you sure it was him?" Thomas asked.

Lucas had emailed information on the latest attack by the mystery man Jean Rene and Diana left in the states five years ago when they decided to rule over the European wolves. The only thing they knew about the man was that he was a werewolf and rogue didn't cover what kind of wolf he was. The savagery was like nothing Thomas had ever seen in his life. So far they were a day late and a dollar short and it was getting pretty fucking frustrating. He knew Lucas and the hunters closest to the crime scenes were doing the best they could but Thomas was one more murder away from getting his ass on a plane.

"Not one hundred percent but I just left the survivor and something bit her."

"A woman," Thomas said.

"He's mated." Lucas agreed.

"Fuck!" Wallace single word was drawn out and there was amusement in the man's voice before he outright laughed. Only Wallace's laughter could boom through a castle. Only Wallace could find the humor in the situation. "Mated," he said shaking his head. "Mated."

"Saying it over and over is not going to make it any better," Virginia said.

"Oh, I disagree huntress, it could get no better." The red head turned and faced the woman. His smile was one of those that demanded one in return.

"Yes, we all know what this means," Thomas said waving off Wallace and his perpetual good spirit.

"Do ye," Wallace asked, somehow pulling off smiling and looking gravely serious at the same time, "You've only ever seen civilized wolves mated. Wolves that have humanity to rein in what their baser animal part wants, needs, desires above all else."

"Put that way, I am not sure why it is you are laughing," Constantine said.

"How can I not," Wallace answered and actually laughed.

"Because we all know the lengths mated wolves, civilized mated wolves will go to when it comes to protecting their mates," Alexis said.

Have you checked with the local pack?" Thomas asked.

"You think I'm a pup? Of course I did. The girl will need a sponsor for her first turn. She insists that she doesn't remember anything but she was with him for five days."

"Poor dear," Lillian spoke for the first time.

"Poor dear?" Lucas said from the speaker. "She's protecting one of the deadliest creatures walking the earth."

"She doesn't know that," Virginia said. "And she's mated to him."

"So that makes everything he's done alright? Tell that to the men who've crossed his path so far—oh, that's right—you can't, because their dead," Lucas said. "Don't tell me being married to a wolf has made you soft."

"Watch it, young Wolfe," Constantine said but there was no malice in his voice because Lucas didn't mean anything by the comment. He was on their side. A werewolf hunter that thought wolf and Wolfe could be more than partners but could be friends.

"Could be a rogue?" Constantine offered.

"Could be the Easter Bunny," Wallace said drawing a mock scowl from Virginia.

"He'll be back for her," Jean Rene said.

"Back? Hell, I find it hard to believe he left her in the first place." Wallace said, shaking his head.

"I've emailed everyone pictures of the latest body." Lucas cut in getting everyone back on track.

Everyone pulled out cell phones and started pressing buttons. Thomas leaned forward and tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of him. Photos popped up on the monitor in front of him.

"All victims were in forested areas or small back-woods locales but his range is large, covering over five hundred miles. Most were either vagrants or lone campers but this last attack happened during a trail ride. There were approximately fifty riders."

"Oh my God," Lillian said."

"I know Aunt Lil, I had the same thought," Lucas said. "I'm thankful he stopped at just the one and didn't spread through the camp like damn wildfire. I've been sending Gene and Ponce to crime scenes as quick as we can but he's had time on his side. Some of the bodies weren't found for days, or weeks. He's attacking in all forms, human, half and full wolf. In half form he's about four or five hundred pounds."

"That would put him at what...ten, eleven feet?" Virginia asked.

"If he's short and dumpy," Wallace said. He winked when she turned to look at him with squinted eyes, she eventually relented and smiled. No one could stay mad a Wallace.

"But this time he was in your backyard," Thomas said looking away from the gruesome photos on his screen.

"To answer Constantine's suggestion that he's a rogue, I'd say no, or at least not like any rogue I've ever come across. Rogue werewolves are insane humans and so far this one has been able to stay off the radar of local officials; switching from human to animal to kill. He leaves no evidence, covers his tracks. I know I've asked before, but are you sure you haven't seen anything like this before." They all knew who Lucas was addressing and everyone looked at Jean Rene.

"Non," he said.

"You'd think he'd stick out," Diana said.

"He is as good at hiding as I once was, Ma Lune."

"Mon Lupe," Diana said hugging Jean Rene, "You are nothing like this monster."

"I have to agree with Nonakris," Rob said drawing the attention of the room. "A creature like this could never have stayed hidden from all of us, and never in the States. This kind of savagery does not simply appear."

"What are you saying," Jean Rene asked.

"That the killer is not the only one who could give us answers. I think the murderer was," –Rob paused as if searching for the right word. He did this often, like English was not his first language, although he had no accent— "Freed."

"Why do you think so," Virginia asked.

"In five hundred years we have become myth and folklore. We have learned how to live among the shadows, going so far as to police ourselves when the need arises and killing those that are rogue. The beast you track kills openly, leaves his bodies in the open, almost as if he can't help himself in the killing. This is not the work of a werewolf that has gone rogue. It is the work of one that has always been wild, one that knows no better. He has been locked away and recently released. Its owner has lost the reins."

"Alfred," Thomas said.

"The council should not have allowed him to live," Virginia said, "Exiled—they may as well have slapped him on the wrist." Constantine pulled Virginia into his lap. They were almost as bad as Jean Rene and Diana. Almost. No one teased or faulted the wolf for offering his mate the comfort of his arms. Not now, when she grieved her brother. She'd shot the man who'd killed him. Not a wolf, a Wolfe, a family member. Alfred had divided them.

"You really think Alfred held a creature he feels compelled to eradicate from the face of the planet, and then unleashed it on the very humans that he took an oath to protect?" Lucas whistled to show how crazy the idea was, or the enormity of the implications, if they were correct. "Damn."

"We've been tracking him for years and we know where to find him now," Wallace said. "He won't go far from his mate."

"I spoke to a few of the riders after the first attack, when the girl first went missing. The latest victim harassed the girl." Lucas said.

"What do you mean harassed?" Diana asked.

"I mean earlier in the evening she may have fired a gun at him. He was a hot-shot attorney, a long time friend of the girl's father, but at least one rider said he'd always shown a special interest in the girl."

"You think that's why the wolf killed him and no one else at the camp site?" Lillian asked.

"It makes sense." Lucas answered.

"But this was before he took her, before she was bitten," Alexis said.

"Biting her only completed the mating; he would have felt a strong attraction to her before." Jean Rene said.

"And she obviously feels a strong connection to him as well."Virginia added.

"Sam's not being much help when it comes to help, not that I blame him. He's alpha of the pack, and anyone close to the girl will pretty much be fodder if the wolf sees them as a threat," Lucas said.

"Well someone needs to explain that we need her help," Thomas said.

"The fight will mean death, to him or countless hunters and wolves; a fight that may bring unwanted attention," Lillian reminded them.

"What makes you think she'll help at all? She wasn't very forthcoming when I visited her at the hospital," Lucas asked and sounded both older than his years and tired.

"Explain that she is mated to a monster," Virginia said.

"You surprise me huntress," Wallace said. "She is mated to the ultimate protector, one who will put her above all others, he will die protecting her, kill to make sure no harm ever will come to her."

"A romantic, who would have thought," Alexis said.

"Aye, it is in our blood to love. Why else would we do it so hard?"

There was silence in the room, his words ringing true for the mated wolves and the married couples.

# Chapter Eighteen

Alfred's unsteady gait echoed through the empty house. In the last five years they'd set up shop in everything from abandoned warehouses to rented office space. The old country estate was more like what he was use to, what the organization he was no longer a part of and the new one he'd formed called for: large, old, majestic.

Alfred gripped the handrail of the grand staircase. Two landings and what seemed like three hundred stairs later, he took the last step. The hardwood was dark, the walls spotless, nothing marred them. One couldn't tell the old estate had been built hundreds of years ago and the same family resided within its walls for several generations. But the young Duke or Earl or Viscount had picked up some bad habits and learned the hard way that debt was not forgiven just because your last name was followed by a roman numeral. He looked out over the lower level, his grip firm on a banister worn smooth from decades of endless palms running over it. He took a long breath. The sound of arriving trucks made him smile. Yes. He was back in the game.

He went down with more pep in his step; there was no bounce, not after the injuries he'd sustained during the failed coup to take over the Wolfe Hunters. Like all Wolfe men, Alfred had been attractive. His bed had never gone cold from lack of a female form. He was tall (six-seven), and built like a warrior. It was fitting, seeing how that was exactly what he was. The scowl on his face didn't help the scar that ran from his hairline to just beneath his cheek. He woke up after more than a week in a coma and had almost ended his life numerous times in the months afterwards. It wasn't fear for his immortal soul that stayed his hand, nor was he afraid, it was revenge—the need to see Jean Rene Laurent and his bitch queen burn. Literally. It kept his heart beating. It was the very reason he breathed. He was going to go old school on their asses and if it was the last thing he did upon God's green earth, he meant to see them tied to a fucking stake and burned to death. He would smell their searing flesh and hear their screams. He was damn near hard at the thought.

The door opened and Bishop, a fierce fighter but Alfred's valet entered. The men of his family had been serving Wolfe men since the first. It was so nice having a bit of the old in a modern world. Of course, it was that kind of attitude that got Alfred in trouble in the first place.

"Milord," Bishop said dipping his head.

Alfred had been allowed to take personal items from the estate he'd called home. So he'd stolen the desk that his father's, father's, father had custom made. Fuck'em. They could have the land, the house, his title; they could not have the desk. For Alfred it represented more than a thing to be sat at to draw out the day's events, it was a symbol of every belief he had. He remembered his father sitting at the massive, dark wood, ornate desk surrounded by his faithful hunters. Some were included in the ones that now served him. His father had been old school too. Death came quick by his hand. His word was law.

"There," Bishop said pointing to the exact spot Alfred had already thought the perfect place to the four men struggling under the weight of the desk. Like a well choreographed dance two men entered and rolled out a rug almost as large as the room before vanishing. The men moved the desk in place under Bishop's watchful eye and the finishing touch was brought in, a large, solid oak chair. Bishop shooed the men off with a wave his hand and turned to his employer.

"Thank you Bishop. That will be all."

The man bowed at the neck again. Alfred crossed the room and ran his hand along the surface of the desk. If this wood could talk...

Alfred remembered the family that had visited from the States, his uncle, Robert, and his wife and child. Robert was the polar opposite of Alfred's father, William. They favored, but physical characteristics were where the similarities ended. They had very different ideas on how to move the Wolfe Hunters into a new era. Robert was more progressive, William—not so much. Robert thought of the Hunters as police, William, executioners. Robert argued that wolves, like mankind, had evolved. William countered that so had the saber-tooth tiger but a tiger was still a fucking tiger. It was the only visit from his American relatives. There were many heated phone conversations, ones where the roof seem to shake as Alfred's father yelled into the phone at whatever new ludicrous plan Robert had come up with to ensure that Wolfe and wolf became partners.

The thought made Alfred blood boil and sent a shiver down his spine. Partners. As if he'd ever trust the abomination called werewolf. He'd been born and bred to kill them. Raised and reared to see behind the human façade to the foul animals they really were. In the end his father had lost the war as the Council had sided with Robert. They were told that werewolves were no longer the blood-thirsty monsters from the days of old. That to continue the current course was a form of racism.

Unbelievable.

Alfred didn't give two shits about the color of a man's skin. Unless it had the ability to be covered in fur once a month, grew in size sometimes two to three feet, sprung teeth as long as his forefinger and could kill every man, woman, child and animal unlucky enough to be in its path the short time the moon hung heavy in the night's sky until its thirst for flesh and blood was sated.

No. Werewolves needed to be put down. Humanity, though ignorant to their existence, needed to be protected from their kind. Alfred's father had pretended to go along. The Council had left him no choice and how was he repaid for following their ridiculous new rules? He was slaughtered. Alfred's mother had never been the same and his need to avenge his father had turned him into something just as bad, just as feared, as the very thing he hunted. Worse, if you asked the right person.

Alfred, like his father, had ruled with an iron fist. Outwardly he followed the rules, toed the line as to not draw attention to his actions, but if so much as an allegation, a suspicion, a rumor, was heard of a werewolf breaking even the smallest infraction, Alfred was there quicker than lightning, doling out justice and eradicating the wolf before it became a real threat. Because that's what it all came down to. As a human, the werewolf dressed in clothes and went to work, maybe had a family, but when the moon called they had no control, or very limited control. They were too powerful to be allowed to live unchecked. He knew without doubt he'd done the right thing when he tried to kill Jean Rene and his pack. If he had to do over again he wouldn't change a thing. The council declared him mentally unfit to sit on the throne paid for in blood, sweat, tears and the dead body of his father and kicked him out. Fuck them. His mental tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Bishop pushed opened the door a crack but was pushed aside by Geoffrey, his second in command. He was one of the men who'd carried Alfred's father's body home. He'd held Alfred's wailing mother as she tried to make her way to her husband.

"There's news of his location," Geoffrey said, there was no mistaking the eagerness in his voice.

Momentarily forgetting his injuries and the injustices done to him and his father, Alfred swung around, and almost fell. Bishop took a hurried step forward. Geoffrey also came to his side. Alfred waved off both men. He hated to be seen as weak. He was angry at some of his fellow hunters, angrier still at the Council and their decision to give him the boot, but he was furious at another betrayal.

"Where," he growled. The thought of the treachery choked him with hatred.

While the Council was busy finding new ways to play nice with the enemy, Alfred had also come up with an idea. The war between Wolfe and wolf had been going on for hundreds of years. Thousands of his ancestors had died in the fight and thousand more would before the end was seen. It was right after his father's death that Alfred came up with the idea of fighting fire with fire. Some animals were trained to serve humans, even dangerous ones. And was a wolf not an animal?

On one of the raids where Alfred and his men swept through like the hand of God, he'd come across a couple that fought valiantly. Surprisingly so. The man and his wife were farmers, not fighters, but when Alfred stepped into the single room home, not much more than a hut; he soon saw why the husband had fought so hard. His wife stood in front of a small wooden crib. Fear on her face, but fight in her eyes as she stood ready, prepared to defend her child with her life. There were a lot of things to be said about the species, being cowardly wasn't one of them.

A butcher knife the size of his arm held in her right hand, but still she was no match for a Wolfe Hunter. He struck fast and sure. His blade sliding easy through muscle, but the bitch didn't go down. She turned and grabbed the infant from the crib as if she was going to make a run for it. He'd taken her head.

He took a step forward, prepared to kill the infant. It was not going to be hard; he took no mercy and felt no remorse when killing them. Young, old, female—they were all monsters. The sound coming from beneath the dead woman stopped him in his tracks. It had not been a full moon. He kicked the woman, flipping her body off the child she'd died to protect. With the tip of his blade he raised the blanket covering the infant. It was a wolf pup. Impossible.

Alfred grabbed the pup by his scruff and held it at eye-level. Impossible was a word that Hunters rarely used. They fought werewolves after all. The pup's cries were cut off as he started to growl and snarl; his head turning as he tried to bite.

He swore the handful of men with him to secrecy. He trusted them with his life, he knew they were loyal. Not everyone agreed with his tactics, but these men were of same mind. Alfred took the wolf pup back to his family estate, a large stone building passed down from father to son since the first Wolfe Hunter walked the earth. In the bowels of his estate he threw the pup, his plan solidifying with every passing minute.

His father had told him the story of a wolf. One that he was sure was the first. There had been a record of him since the beginning: Jean Rene Alphonse De Laurent. He had been hunted but never captured or killed. Stronger than any wolf Alfred had ever encountered. If the thing in the basement had an animal form in the absence of the full moon was it so hard to believe there was an immortal one. They were mutating, yet another reason to wipe them from existence.

Jean Rene Laurent was thought the most powerful werewolf in existence. Alfred knew this to be false, because up until five years ago he'd raised a creature of unimaginable strength and as far as Alfred could tell, could heal any injury and could not be killed.

Of the six men that had gone out that night with Alfred, only two remained. Alfred was tired of all the modern, new-age bullshit that said wolf and man could live side by side. The world was going to hell in a hand basket. Five years, that's how long it took for him to regroup. Once the dust had settled, lines drawn in the sand, and sides taken, the Wolfe Hunters were almost equally divided. Time wasted, but so worth the wait. Alfred had underestimated the Sun Wolf and his White Queen but never again. First he'd take care of what he should have thirty years ago, and then he'd take care of the rest, including Thomas and his traitorous family.

# Chapter Nineteen

The boards groaned beneath his weight as he paced the entire length of the small abandon house that was little more than a shack. Four rooms built in the twenties with no structural upgrades. The furniture had been new when wood paneled station wagons were the family car and a phone call cost a nickel. None of that mattered, the place was an upgrade, hell, a cave was better than where he'd called home the first twenty-five years of his life. He was a large man, seven feet, three hundred pounds of muscle; hills and valleys of sculptured perfection. He was a work of art. If he were human his skin would have been spoiled from the scars of the things he'd suffered at the hands of the man who raised him, but he wasn't human and his skin was as smooth, as flawless as the day he was born. He ran his hand over the smooth surface of his head before dropping it to the side of his neck, down his chest and over his abdomen. Like his feet, his hand traveled the path in reverse. Even in his human form Beast was always just below the surface; a presence that stroked the inside of his skin, waiting to be released and beneath that, Wolf. His upbringing had blackened his soul. His heart was a stone in the center of his chest. He killed without remorse. He killed without thinking about it at all. At least he had before Master sent him from home on assignment. An assignment that he failed because the taste of freedom dangled in front of him like a carrot on a stick was too great a treat to pass up, especially when Master had all but torn it from the string and handed it to him. So he'd walked away from the only life he'd ever known. But leaving his home, his master, hadn't washed him clean. Freedom didn't magically make him a better person.

In the time he'd been in the States unsolved murders had increased in every city and town he passed through. In the beginning it was an attempt to frame his mark, in the end, it was all him. Not killing was akin to not eating, not breathing, not living. He'd tried to stop, made the switch from humans to animals, but it was like methadone given to a heroin addict. It worked for a while. He always fell off the wagon. Always.

Warmth that had nothing to do with the heat and humidity of the day caused a light sheen of sweat to cover his body. Beast wanted out, so did Wolf. They shared a body but never before had all three been so in tune with the other. The first five years of their life Wolf had possession the body, too frightened to take their human form. The next ten had been spent in their most savage form. Beast. Even then he was a force to be reckoned with. He'd endured when Wolf had not—could not—because what Master called conditioning was nothing but torture. Agony, suffering, pain that was breaking Wolf's spirit and mind, something Beast had no reason to fear since he nothing more than a senseless, demented, killing machine the second he burst onto the scene.

That's when the fun really began.

With the exception of decapitation there was not a single thing not done to Beast. Skin flayed, organs harvested, limbs removed—beaten, shot, stabbed—the list was endless. Beast's form did not resemble a human and there was no humanity in him. He craved only one thing—death. Beast had taken ownership of their body like an exploding star; Man had simply woken up one day in the filthy room they'd been kept in since Master had killed his parents. His conditioning continued, mostly repeats of what had been done to Wolf and Beast. His human form was just as . . . resilient. He'd screamed until he ruptured his vocal cords, bled a river, had his heart taken, his lungs, his arms and legs removed, nothing escaped the sadistic mind of Master.

Man opened the front door when he reached it. Sunlight was an assault, and the heat a beating, as he stepped straight from the porch to the hard-packed dirt of the front yard. He scanned the tree line hoping to see the men who had found him. It'd been eons since he'd been in a real fight, the struggles of the human men he'd killed since he claimed his freedom notwithstanding, even the biggest had been an easy takedown. There wasn't a human alive that could match his strength. The people who looked for him were human but they were also trained soldiers, created for one purpose—to kill werewolves, and they'd finally found him.

He'd searched the area several times over; there had been three men close to the dilapidated house he'd brought his mate to. None had wandered close to the house but one man had climbed a tree, and humans had special glasses that allowed them to see long distances. They could have seen him enter and exit the house, could have seen her from the window since the house had nothing over the windows to obstruct their view.

The thought sent them in a fit of rage.

Beast's form punched through the human body and with one swipe, a great, clawed hand downed a small sapling tree. Beast's chest rose and fell doubling in size with each inhale. Anger rode them hard with each passing day. Why hadn't Master's men attack? What was the plan? Being without he was driving them mad. Master had gone through a lot of trouble to create the perfect weapon. What Master had failed at, the absence of their other half succeeded. She controlled them in a way that Master had never been able to, drove them to a point of no return.

Beast roared in anger and frustration, the need to kill those who hunted it a taste already in its mouth. Wolf had tracked them as far as a service road deep in the woods but the scent had been days old. It made no sense for the hunters to leave. They would return and when they did, every last one would be slaughtered. Not for the things that had been done, but because of the threat the men and Master posed to the woman.

There had been no comfort for them. The too short time spent with their parents was a thing wiped from their memory. And yet as Beast stood in the silent woods it could smell lavender, it could hear the whisper of a song; feel the press of lips on its cheek. It heard the sound of laughter, and that of a voice, deeper than even Man's. Memories of their parents. Memories buried because those few snatches of time that played in their mind was torture worse than what Master inflicted on their body. But she was real. Not a memory, her touch was a permanent brand on their skin, her taste eternally in their mouth, her scent imbedded in their nose. She was their salvation.

# Chapter Twenty

Jo pushed open her apartment door three weeks from the day she left for the trail ride, two weeks and four days from moment her life had been altered in a way there was no coming back from, one week and six days since the kidnapper beast released her, one week and one day since she'd been discharged from the hospital.

She'd known where she was before she opened her eyes. The smell of fake citrus, the soft hum of an air conditioner, the weight of the paper-thin blanket that covered her body all screamed hospital. The room had been lit by a long florescent strip above her head. She'd had an IV in her arm, a feeding tube in her nose, sticky pads on her chest, a finger monitor and a catheter. She'd sat in the hospital bed and waited for panic to set in, waited for a scream to build in her chest and spill from her mouth in an endless stream until she emptied her lungs and passed out. She waited for heavy breathing, maybe some crying, hell, even anger but no, she'd been still water. No emotion what so ever. Her mother had been sleeping in a chair pulled right up next to her bed. The sight of her balled up in the uncomfortable looking thing had made her smile even with her heart hurting at the thought of how scared her parents must have been. The weight that settled in her chest was not for her parents or happiness at being free but for the man that had taken her. She had been worried about him. Weird how her return to safety hadn't gotten a reaction but the thought of the creature that had taken her got all kinds of bells and whistles, including: fluttering heart, panted breathing and a tingling that started in her stomach and radiated out into her limbs until it reached her fingertips—and what do you know, turned into an ache when it reached the apex of her thighs. All took a back seat when she thought of the bite and what it meant. Then struggled to remember how long had she been out. Visions of white masked workers poking and prodding her had almost blinded her. Then the panic set in. She took a deep breath and swallowed a few times and tried to relax, Area 51 not sounding so crazy now that she had a secret. And a secret it would be.

Her mother woke up smiling with silent tears flowing freely down her face. Jo had been glad it was not outright sobbing because it would have made her cry and she didn't know how long the crying would have lasted, nor was she ready to face the reason for her tears. Then her mother had given her the smile that told her everything would be alright, that she'd make it so, the smile that Jo had never doubted in any of her thirty years.

She'd sat in stunned silence as her mother filled her in. She'd been unconscious in the hospital for three days with a fever high enough to boil her brain after being found in the back of an ambulance left empty in the emergency bay. She'd been missing for five days. Her mother spared no detail about the events that unfolded after her disappearance was reported by a panicked Randy when she hadn't returned from the woods. The police regular song and dance about having to wait twenty-four hours before filling a missing person report, how the riders that had camped on their land had started a search party immediately while Jo's parents had pulled every string and called in every favor from every government employee they knew. Her dad had more than a few lawyers, judges and deputies as clients. Before the sun rose on the first day she went missing the state troopers' office had joined the remaining riders in their hunt. Her mother, the strongest woman Jo knew, finally broke down and hugged her tight enough to hurt but Jo didn't complain. After composing herself she continued. The search didn't turn anything up but everyday Randy and her father went out looking for her. It was enough to make the back of Jo's throat salty with tears.

The man from the trapping company was going to be a problem. Six and half feet of what her grandmother would have called a big bury bastard, two more inches added to his shoulder width and the man would have had to turn sideways to enter the room. She knew he wasn't with the police even before he told them his job—and he knew. She didn't know how he knew or why he knew but he did. She'd spent the last week at her parents' house with her heart in her mouth every time the sound of a passing car sounded outside their home. She was still waiting for him to pay her a visit now that she was alone. But that was neither here nor there; she had other things to worry about—bigger things.

Both her parents were a phone call away from moving in with her or insisting she move back in with them. The idea was utterly insane. Jo threw her overnight bag on the couch next to the door. She stood with her back to the door and breathed a huge sigh into the empty and blessedly quiet space that she considered home, and the word made her think of Him. Like so many things she saw and thought throughout the day. Her mind was filled with him—his smell, his touch, the texture of his fur. Pushing off the door she walked to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. She buried her face in her pillow and yelled as loud as she could. On one of the few occasions she was able to escape her parents she'd tried to find his house. Driving the stretches of old county highways and looking for the dilapidated house with no idea what she would have done if she found it. But it was impossible for her not to go in search of the werewolf that had turned her life upside down.

Stockholm anyone?

She was afraid to turn out the lights at night, furious with the man who'd turned her into a monster, and at herself for forgiving him. Yeap, that's right. It had taken days for her to accept that little tidbit of information. She knew she should feel victimized or terrified or traumatized or any number of other _ieds_ but she didn't.

Her mind's eye filled with the beast and the man. The way he looked when he took her over and over and over...and over again. It was almost too much for her tired mind to handle. She turned over on her side and curled into a ball, hugging a pillow to her chest and trying very hard not to think about how he'd made her body feel, but too late—she could feel his touch on her skin. She ached for him.

She still hadn't processed everything, hadn't wrapped her brain around the craziness that had become her life. She was tired and it had nothing to do with lack of sleep but a nap sounded absolutely, positively divine, but first she'd take a nice, long, hot bath. Dragging her body from her bed, she went to the bathroom and stripped. She leaned over the tub reaching for the hot water handle and pulled the damn thing right off the wall. For long seconds she stood too stunned to do anything, her mouth slightly opened and her hand held out in front of her as she stared bugged-eyed at the round piece of metal. She laughed. She laughed until she cried, then she sat down on the closed toilet and put her head between her legs, dizzy from lack of breath and from delayed shock.

She'd been tight with anticipation for the last two weeks waiting for something to happen and it always hit her unexpected. She rubbed across the bite on her neck and like always a wave of pleasure swept through her as soon as her fingertips brushed across the perfect imprints cast in her skin. She opened her mouth and let out a shuddering breath. The moan that s fell from her mouth so needed to be a scream.

He hadn't done anything that hadn't been done before but—Lord, have mercy—how he did it. -Looking into her eyes, staring into the depth of her soul, seeing every part of her. She'd never had that. Never had someone taken the time to learn her body and he'd worked it in a way that caught her breath just at the thought of it. He'd worshiped it with his. She missed that. She missed him.

****

Jo unlocked the front door of the boutique, propped it open and pulled the a-frame sign out on the sidewalk. She walked around turning on the numerous lamps that provided all the light in the shop.

"Good morning Jo." Lawrence, the stores regular delivery guy called out. He had a dolley full of boxes in front of him.

"Can you sit them here today?" Jo asked pointing to the spot next to the counter, "I'm going to multitask today." She took out the folding board and pulled out a large bin full of clear hangers from beneath the counter. She waved goodbye to Lawrence and started her days work. It was her favorite kind of day. No customers. Bad for business but the little boutique made most of its money catering to some very wealthy women; one or two could spend over ten grand in it. She took out a utility knife from the drawer beneath the cash register and was bent over a box when she heard the sound of the soft bell signaling someone had entered.

"I'll be right with you," she yelled pulling the blade through the taped top. She stood up and looked into the face of nothing but trouble.

The man was not a customer. It wasn't that she didn't get the occasional man looking for something for a girlfriend, wife, hell, even sister. It wasn't how he was dressed or the color of his skin. Yes, ninety percent of the customers were white but Jo's own mother could and did shop in the store and she had long since stop thinking the rich walked around looking runway ready. Her parents were well off, and while they cleaned up well, most of the time they walked around in well-loved but worn cowboy boots and jeans dusty from working at the barn. He wasn't much taller than Jo but he was boxy. From fat or muscle Jo couldn't make out, his build hidden in baggy pants and a sweatshirt about three sizes too big. His head was covered with a ball cap pulled low hiding most of his face, even his hands were hidden from view, stuffed into the front pockets of his pants.

"May I help you?"

Jo's heart was beating a mile a minute in her chest and she swallowed hard, afraid her panic would set whatever was happening in motion a lot faster.

"Just looking," he said in a low voice—as in deep, his volume was just fine. He turned and started to walk around the small shop.

Jo was standing behind the counter knowing that it was going to end one of two ways: she was overreacting from recent events and he was going to pick out a lovely top for his mother, whip out a credit card (his, not stolen) and wish her a nice day when she handed him the legally obtained merchandise, or he was going to rob the damn place.

She didn't want to be offensive by watching him but she couldn't take her eyes off him. She didn't want to talk to him but she couldn't ignore him. A conundrum.

She watched as he inspected a large round table that had a rainbow of folded raw silk, cap sleeves shirts. He wandered to the back wall and fingered a few of the evening gowns on a rolling rack. Jo smiled at him when he turned and looked at her. She moved closer to the cash register waiting for him to ask for the money. She loved her job, loved her boss like a second mother, but she wasn't going to die for a couple of hundred dollars. Of course, the thought that this could be happening on the heels of what had just happened was un-fucking-believable. That's when the anger kicked in.

She picked up the box cutter that she'd sat on the counter. She lowered her arm and turned her palm back holding it out of sight next to her thigh. The man walked along the wall until he reached the corner Jo stood in. He bent down to look in the glass front counter directly in front of her and then straightened.

"Give me the money out of the register."

The tone was pleasant, the words sounded so much like a request that Jo was shocked he hadn't added please. The anger that heated her skin was confusing but welcome; it was a damn sight better than fear. She shook her head and would have laughed at the man when his eyes widened, but the new found anger didn't completely wipe away the reality of what was happening.

Jo was five three, a hundred and thirty pounds. She was wearing her favorite black, Ralph Lauren, pencil skirt and sleeveless, white ruffled front, Ann Taylor top. Her shoes were her big expense, open toed, candy apple red, ankle strapped Louboutin's. She'd saved three months for the beauties. She wasn't exactly dressed for battle.

"Give me the money," he said again.

He raised his hand. Jo had no idea what the plan was, if he meant to hit her or grab her but she brought her own hand up and pushed the man in his chest sending him flying back and into the round table with the silk shirts, breaking it as he caught himself on the rim. He straightened and ran right for her. Jo had never been in a fight, didn't even know if she knew how to fight, neither matter, it seldom does when the shit hits the fan. He jumped across the counter as Jo backed up. She wasn't afraid and wasn't running, just giving herself room. He grabbed the front of her shirt at the same time she grabbed a handful of his sweatshirt; she turned her body, slamming him against the wall. It was a miracle he wasn't impaled on some of the hooks inserted in the slate-wall. She pressed her thumb on the button on the side of the knife exposing a few inches of blade and pressed it firmly into the skin directly beneath his right eye. The sound that erupted from her throat caught her off guard and scared the shit out of the would-be-robber—no, not shit—piss. Jo growled in the man face and wrinkled her nose as her sense of smell was assaulted with the smell of urine. She could also smell unwashed skin and rancid breath. She could smell fear outweighing all the rest.

The tip of the blade pierced his skin. She watched the small bead of bright red blood form and she licked her lips. She released him so suddenly he collapsed at her feet, but he wasn't down for long, he popped up like a jack-in-the-box and sprinted out the door breaking world records for speed.

Jo was still looking at the blade in her hand, her chest rising and falling quickly when the bell sounded again. She swung around and saw two wide eyed women, mother and daughter, standing in the doorway looking at the mess made when the guy fell into the display table.

"Someone just tried to rob me." Jo wasn't shaking in her shoes and her hands were steady as she picked up the phone to dial 911. Anger was still an electric charge riding the surface of her skin, raising the fine hairs on her body. She licked her lips and waited for the ringing line to be answered while she ignored the all too familiar feeling of hunger twisting her stomach.

# Chapter Twenty-One

He didn't like cities, no matter its size, because of the smells. Exhaust from cars—

and if in need of repair—the thick, chocking, black shit that made him want to kill the owner. Hundreds if not thousands of artificial scents that people sprayed on that made no difference to him, cheap drug store stuff or high end shit that sold for hundreds of dollars, it all stank. He'd take the nice natural stench of a bum over some of the shit people called cologne and perfume. The food smells weren't always bad but he knew he didn't like fast food burgers without ever having put one in his mouth. He wasn't even sure if it was real meat they were made out of. Then there were the smells of emotions. He was in sensory overload whenever he left the woods.

The scent he picked up on the early evening wind was unmistakable. He closed his eyes and turned his head lifting his nose. It was such an odd thing to do and he knew he must look ridiculous but beneath the regular olfactory offenses was the smell of something wild—natural, of meadows and forest. He knew this smell. It was home. It was her. He took a deep breath, letting the smell coat his tongue and the back of his throat. It was faint, a whispered promise on the wind. He opened his eyes and scanned the street in front of him. He turned left, trying not to run but feeling like he was going to lose the battle if he didn't find her fast. Beast was barely holding his shit together enough to allow Man to search the area, and for once it seemed that Wolf was right there with Beast. His sense of smell was better, and they certainly would have a better bead on her if Wolf was allowed to track her. But a small town street was hardly the place to allow a horse size wolf to track. He walked briskly through the few people that were out. Office building gave way to a strip of restaurants and bars. The scent had been joined by a draw that he knew would lead him to her. He'd given up walking and was running, remembering to keep his speed human fast. Barely. He came to a skidding halt, struck still by the sight of her.

They'd never seen her this way. She'd worn jeans and button down shirts the two days Beast watched her camping, and shorts and a tank top on the day Wolf had made her their mate. The only thing that hadn't changed was her hair. She was beautiful.

She was pacing in front of a building, on the fourth turn since he'd spotted her, she saw him. He saw her eyes squint, to make sure who she was seeing was really _who_ she was seeing and then her gaze became angry. He raised his eyebrow at that one. She'd stopped in her tracks when she laid eyes on him but she was moving again. He'd killed men twice her size—hell—three times her size, had ripped the throats out of countless werewolves, but as she made her slow approach he wouldn't have been able to fight off a fly. She stopped long enough to check to make sure the street was clear crossed on a green light. The street was only two lanes, it didn't take her long and by the time she was in the middle of it Man, Beast and Wolf knew there were a flurry of emotions flooding her body but fear wasn't one of them. She stopped right in front of him and slapped him hard enough to rock his head to the side.

She was breathing hard and heavy and looked every bit as wild as she smelled. There were a few people looking in their direction but there could have been a damn congregation around for all he cared. Right now, in this moment, there was only the two of them. Nothing else matter, no one else mattered.

She raised her hand and swung again but he caught her wrist before she was able to strike him. He yanked her towards him, slamming her body into his. Neither said a word but there was a conversation taking place, an understanding, a claiming. They looked like they were about to rip each other's throats out right on the street.

His grip was tight on her wrist; he could feel the fragile bones just beneath the skin. If it hurt her she didn't show it and that didn't help with the problem in his pants at all. His hold around her waist tightened until they were fused from chest to thigh. He twisted her arm behind her back. Her mouth opened a little even though she was still staring daggers at him. His sex-fogged mind ran through his options. He released her wrist but grabbed her upper arm, his fingers buried in her flesh as he led her away from the eyes of the people on the street. She didn't pull away and kept up with his hurried stride without saying a word. They made it as far as the closest ally. She followed without protest, which was a good thing, because he didn't know what he would have done if her step had faltered. He came to a stop behind a dumpster, all the privacy he could give her. They hadn't spoken to each other, his human body towered above hers, yet he felt she was the one with the upper hand. He looked into eyes that showed no fear, only a heated gaze. She was his undoing. When nothing had broken him this tiny woman brought him to his knees.

Even kneeling he was tall enough to almost look her in the eye. He pressed his body close to her, buried his nose in the crook of her neck and took a deep breath before lowering his head to do the same between her covered breasts, and lower still until he reached her crotch. The smell of her arousal shot through him like a bullet. She raked her nails over his head, down the back of his neck. He could smell the blood she'd freed scoring his skin. He growled and looked up into eyes no longer brown but the light blue that reminded him of the moon. Her lips were pulled back from teeth that had grown long and pointed. Her hair had streaks of the purest white. She was magnificent in her beauty. He reached down, freeing an erection that threatened to pop the zipper of his pants and stood, grabbing her around the waist on his way up. The soft satin of her underwear was wet against his stomach as she wrapped her legs around him. She made small sounds deep in her throat, and grabbed his shoulders with a bruising force as he licked her lips, her chin; he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. She hissed, the sound halted his movements, stopped his heart. Never. He would never cause her pain, would never hurt her. He looked at her, searched her lovely face and took a breath to scent the air. There was nothing but the thick, heady smell of her arousal, the smokiness of lust, and peppery scent of anger. She slapped him again, snapping his head to the side—again—and him out of his state of unnecessary concern. He growled, she growled right back and grabbed his head and kissed him. The taste of her blood filled his mouth, his tongue flicked again and again on the cut he'd made, she returned the favor and bit him, while she hooked the heel of a shoe into the back of his pants and pushed his opened jeans down his legs until they were mid-thigh. The hand under her ass ripped her underwear away and gripped his engorged cock to place at her sweet opening. He was half crazed with lust and need that consumed him completely and yet he took a second to look at her. She answered not with words but by driving her hips down, impaling herself on him. He bit her to stop himself from howling. He widened his stance, dipped his knees and his hands went to her ass. He held her steady as his hips begin to move. She was tight, he was big, the fit was perfect. Never had he felt anything so close to perfection. He was lost in a bliss he'd never known when she bit him on the shoulder. She moved against him, helping each push and pull as he fought to bury every inch of himself inside her. He locked his teeth low on her neck. They were joined in every way. And he knew he belonged to her.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

It was as if she was possessed, having an out of body experience and lost her mind, all at once. The feeling...the draw...the attraction that she'd felt at the campsite was nothing compared to what she felt when she saw him standing across the street. Jo hadn't recovered from the attempted robbery; her blood still flowed hot with a frustration and anger she didn't understand. When she saw him all she could think of was, _You...you did this to me_ , and she went to the root of her problem with every intention of giving him a taste of the new found strength she possessed, and maybe unleashing some of the hunger that rode her every second since she'd smelled fresh blood. She'd slapped him, he'd grabbed her. They're conversation was through squinted eyes, hard holds, heavy breathing, until he'd damn near crushed her arm when he grabbed and dragged her to the alley. She'd never considered herself the kind of person to have sex in public, she'd never thought about sex anywhere other than behind the closed doors of a bedroom, but her body burned for him, she felt powerless and if she was completely honest, she wasn't sure how much further she'd been able to go without her become the aggressor. She wanted him that bad. When she'd bitten him and the wash of blood coated her mouth the pain of his bite barely register as he fought for every inch as he entered her. Their joining had been savage...wild...like nothing she'd ever known, and the pain of being taken was lost in pleasure her mind still fought to understand. The minutes could have been centuries she was so lost in him.

Everything about him was big. The massive shoulders she held on to, the expand of his chest, things lower. They were still joined and she felt deliciously stretched and full. The building was hard against her back; the bare skin of her ass protected because the lower half of her body was pulled away from the grating material of brick. Her skirt was around her waist as were the ruin remains of her panties. Her legs were still wrapped around him. Their breathing was heavy but slowing and was damn near deafening in the now too quiet moment.

He straightened and released her legs and the only reason she remained standing was because she was holding on to biceps the size of her thighs. She righted her clothes as much as she could, but her body wanted more; nowhere near sated. The silence should have been awkward; hell, she should have started screaming bloody murder when she first laid eyes on him, but all she felt was relief. They walked the short distance to her Jeep without saying a word.

The tint on her truck was old, faded a dingy purple, it had bubbled in spots and peeling in others but would have to do. The desire riding her currently made the hunger unleashed earlier at the sight of blood seem goddamn tamed in comparison. He opened the passenger door and pulled her in after him as if reading her mind. Jo straddled his lap, inches away from his hard, handsome face. He was just as she remembered; every line of his face down to the laser-like focus held in his eyes as he watched her. She'd never felt so...open, naked, raw, as when he looked at her, as if his golden gaze could see her heart's desire.

He pushed her gently back until she was half leaning half propped on the dashboard and Jo arched her back as he tore open her shirt and pulled the cups of her bra aside. His hands cupped her breast. They were large and calloused, rough on her skin, but they felt right. The pads of his thumbs ran across her collarbone, her body responded to the slight touch and goose-bumps dotted her skin. Her gaze followed the line of a strong forearm, a muscular bicep that even relaxed, was corded and ripped. His shoulders and neck were equally impressive. She looked at his chest, and washboard abs, rock solid and defined even as he breathed easy. She wasn't the only one who hadn't had their fill and Jo cried out when he flicked his tongue across the stiffened peak of her nipple before the hard pull and bite that drew a gasp from her. She shifted, brought her knees up and spread her legs wide. She was no prude but she'd never been so—brazen—when it came to sex. Her past encounters had pretty much been missionary in a dark room. His eyes dropped to her exposed core and he growled even as he pushed her knees further apart. The smell of her arousal filled the tiny enclosed space mixing with the scent of him. He smelled of dark, rich, freshly-turned earth, sapling trees and something much, much more dark, something wild and dangerous. It made her pulse race, it quickened her breath, and she felt as wild as he looked and smelled.

She lowered her hand, covered her fingers with her slickness and pushed them into his mouth. Jo was spellbound as she watched him lick and suck her finger greedily, the sound of his low growl pushing her towards an orgasm. The warm suction too much for control that was already damn near nonexistent. She lifted her bottom from his spread thighs, while he freed his erection. They were like rutting animals. Heavy breathing fogged the windows and the soft sounds grew loud. She threw herself forward, burying her teeth in bare skin. His head was thrown back as his own orgasm was ripped from his body.

"Who are you?" Jo asked, her lips pressed against the jumping vein on his neck. She kissed the bite she'd given him, felt him shudder beneath her. She raised her face to look at him and was trapped. His golden gaze held her captive. Was she hypnotized?

"Maximus."

"Maximus," she repeated. Her voice rough and deep and a raspy from a lot of open-mouth breathing and endless sounds made while they'd taken each other. She cupped his face in her hand and he closed his eyes, dipped his face and rolled his head in her palm. The tenderness was something she would have thought impossible.

"Maximus," she whispered again. She pulled him close, until they were almost nose to nose. His golden eyes were glowing, the molten color filling with pinpricks of light. She only _thought_ she saw trouble in the punk that tried to rob her earlier; she was certain what the man in front of her was. To cross him meant death. That should have mattered to her.

It didn't.

It was a miracle they hadn't been caught by the police or people. They were parked two blocks away from the police station. What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn't had sex in a car since she was eighteen. Rutting animals hadn't been a bad analogy. She'd lost all semblance of self-control. She'd been staring at his profile since they pulled out of the parking lot. She was surprised that he could drive but when they'd finally separated their bodies (he'd growled, she'd groaned) he'd taken the keys and climbed behind the wheel. He focused on the road which was fine with her. She needed the time to try to figure out what the fuck was going on. It was like she was hardwired to his ass. The only words spoken were the directions she gave.

He pulled into the empty space she usually parked in, turned off the truck, opened the door and grabbed her arm with the same steely grip as earlier. She fumbled with her keys until by some miracle her shaking hand got the key into the lock and he pushed the door opened ushering her in so fast she would have tripped if not for his hand holding on to her arm. She was pressed against the back of the door before it was fully closed. He dropped to his knees pulling her lower forward and he buried his face in her stomach. He felt on fire, his touch scorching her even through the fabric of her blouse. When his head rose, her breaths stopped. Would he always look so fierce; as if he was a thought away from devouring her? His pupils swirled with light bright enough to throw shadows in the dark room. She leaned forward when his grip tightened around her waist. She expected a kiss but was surprised when he licked her; starting at the bottom of her chin and ending at her bottom lip. He repeated it several times before whispering a single word.

"Goddess."

****

Jo woke up but didn't open her eyes; unable to make up her mind if she was afraid of the waking world or if she wanted to stay in the dream of what was happening to her. For surely it had been a dream. Almost every second of her life since he arrived felt like a dream. The beginning had been scary—more nightmare than dream—but there was no fear in her now. Her kidnapper beast was in human form but she hadn't forgotten. No amount of earth-shattering, mind-blowing, exhilarating and exhausting sex could make her forget it, just right now—it didn't matter. His arm tightened around her and he threw a leg over both hers. She welcomed the cage of his body. She felt safe in it. The clock on the nightstand said it was seven in the morning and she was pretty sure it had read five-thirty the last time she looked at it, right before she fallen asleep. Turning her head she looked into the face of the man that had tethered her ass to him. Maximus eyes were closed but she knew he wasn't asleep.

"Are you hungry?" she asked because she had to do something normal. He allowed her to turn so their bodies faced. His lids slower opened and golden eyes made her heart skip a beat and then kick into overdrive. The way he looked at her threatened to burn her skin.

"Yes."

Okay, the one word, monotone replies had to stop, no matter how sexy they sounded. If he was going to be a part of her life he was going to have to be more...human. He ran his hand down the length of her body, freeing it from the cover he'd thrown over them and rolled her onto her back, covering her with his body. Fierceness wasn't just for his gaze and some of what was done the night before left her sore and achy. She wasn't complaining, but she wasn't sure she was up for round number—what—ten, fifteen. Before she saw, she felt his body changing. The weight of it becoming heavier, his muscles getting bigger, then the prickling of fur growing in, his nose stretched, his lips thinned. His pupils glowed like the sun as he stared into her eyes. Teeth the size of her fingers grew in and the canines that had changed her life forever were inches from her face. The transformation was slow and...beautiful. The form he'd taken on wasn't as harsh as the other wolfman's form, his features retaining some human characteristics so he still looked like a man instead of a wolf with human-like arms and legs.

She'd been too terrified to scream the first time she'd seen him. Now he was on top of her, nothing but menace dressed up in a wolfman's form. She reached up and stroked the side of his face, reveling in the feel of his skin, his fur. She ran a finger down the length of his fang, too large for him to close his mouth. She stroked soft, wiry fur and the growl was a sound of contentment. He licked her in the same manner as he had the night before: ducking his head and licking her from chin to bottom lip. There was nothing sexual in the act, neither did it feel like something meant to comfort. It left Jo confused.

Whatever it was, it was short-lived. He fisted a handful of Jo's hair. With his free hand he lifted her leg catching her knee in the crook of his arm. She gasped, pain and pleasure stealing her breath. He hadn't killed her with his bites; she was starting to wonder if he was planning on killing her with pleasure.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Alfred sat in the back seat of an SUV with windows so darkly tinted it could have been twilight instead of eight in the morning. He and Geoffrey had been picked up from an airport that was an hour and forty-five minutes away from their destination. The town too small to support an airport, more than three traffic lights, and from the looks of it—inside plumbing for some of its fair citizens.

Alfred was use to trees; the estate he'd been raised in was in the middle of a forest. The dense, thick foliage that lined both sides of the road looked—sad. As sad as the run down trailers and wood houses they passed, with their packed dirt lawns and abandon car, lawn art. Yes, his wolf had picked him the perfect place to hide. No one looked neighborly.

The truck turned onto a small dirt road that was more a path. The trees scrapped the sides of the vehicle and grew so thick overhead they blocked out the sun, darkening the interior enough that Alfred was force to take off his sunglasses. As they bumped along like popcorn kernels he wondered what look the slave would have on his face when they first saw each other. His betrayal hit deep, right down to Alfred's marrow. There was the suggestion that he be brought in and reconditioned. But freedom could be like a disease. One that had no treatment, one that destruction was the only safe alternative. Fear had kept him obedient but Alfred's lost of control meant death was the only option. And Alfred would take great enjoyment in killing him.

The clearing they entered looked like every other seen so far. The shack was worst than a damn shanty. Alfred waited on the young man in front of him to open his door, Gregory—maybe Grayson. He hated so many of his men had died the day he tried to take over. Not only had they been friends, they had experience that one could only learn in the field. He'd split the Wolfe Hunters, had half of their numbers, but too many of his men were green, too green to know what they were truly up against. Some had put down a werewolf, but none of them had come across one of the monstrosities in wolfman form. Only the strongest of wolves had two forms. As the wolf began to mate with humans the bloodline became diluted. There were still alphas born but they were not the alphas of old, not like the ones his and Thomas's father had hunted. Not like Jean Rene, and certainly nothing like Maximus.

Alfred was careful of the bottom step as he climbed onto the ragged porch. The door was open and a second low-level, new recruit hunter came from the back of the house.

"What happened here," Alfred asked taking in the ruined front room. All the furniture had been destroyed. Stuffing from the chairs, sponge-like material from the couch, and the splintered remains of the coffee and end tables littered the room. "Geoffrey didn't report any confrontation."

"It was like this when we opened the door. There are no locks on the front or back entrances," the boy said as Alfred walked to the second room, the bedroom.

It looked better than the front room but that wasn't really saying much. The mattress was old, dry rotted and stained. Third room, the bathroom, looked a lot like the front room and so did the kitchen. Cabinet doors hung open, most off their hinges. A shiver ran the length of Alfred's spine, excitement was something he'd not felt in a long time.

He limped over cracked, peeling linoleum, careful of each step. The back door opened to a screened porch. The three rickety steps ended on hard-packed dirt bordered by a wooded area.

He scanned the area, lifted his nose and took in a lungful of fresh air. He could almost see the beast he hunted. Soon he wouldn't have to conjure up his image in his mind's eye. Soon they'd be face to face. Soon the beast would be dead. When Alfred turned he had a smile on his face.

"Take me to him."

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Jo climbed from bed under the watchful eyes of a beast straight from a horror movie feeling like he was her own version of prince charming. She grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head. It hung to her knees but was enough to grab the paper at the front door before she made breakfast. She practically floated down the stairs. She'd never felt so—right—so complete in her life. It was like he was a missing part found that she hadn't even known was absent. She knew nothing about him, other than he was a werewolf, favored single word replies, and made her feel alive in a way that had escaped her before meeting him. Every faction of her life from this moment was unknown but the smile on her face felt permanent.

She opened the door and a small yelp escaped her when the man standing on the other side scared the shit out of her. A laugh was building in her chest while the hairs on her body stood up in warning. Before she could figure out why her body was going on high alert he raised his arm. He had a gun. Adrenaline quickened her pulse, fight or flight warred inside her for all of a nanosecond when the sound of a roar came from upstairs. Jo prided herself for being level headed in emergency situations but that was before. Before she'd been bitten by a werewolf, before the changes making her a mythical creature started altering her. At the thought of Maximus being hurt, flight was beaten into submission and she was ready to kill everything and anything that harmed so much as one hair on him. In the seconds it took to process the thought Maximus came down stairs.

The man at the door mouth dropped open and Jo was pretty sure the he'd pissed himself, maybe even shit himself. A massive, fur covered arm grabbed her around the waist, picking her up and slamming her against a chest that felt like stone. In the short time they'd been together she'd memorized every square inch of him and without looking, she knew he was bigger. An arm that went on forever shot passed her and she was covered in the would-be threat's blood as Maximus's claws went through skin like a knife would warm butter. In one smooth stroke the man was destroyed. He still had the shocked look on his face as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Maximus kicked his body, sending it flying through the air to land at the front of a large SUV parked in front of her apartment. She could see a second and several men before Maximus slammed the door. He released her and she turned, burying her face in his stomach and wrapping her arms around him. God, he was so big. His body was vibrating from anger and it traveled the length of her body to the soles of her feet. The ringing of her cell phone in her purse broke through the fear that kept her clinging to the beast in front of her.

"Answer the phone," a calm voice spoke from right on the other side of the door. A low growl filled the room. Jo reached for the purse.

"The police are on their way."

The words were barely out of mystery man's mouth when Jo heard the sound of sirens in the distant.

"There is a RPG7 rocket launcher aimed at your home. Come out now and we will not use it—don't, and we will fire. It will destroy the entire building."

Visions of her neighbors, Cathy and her two children, Cody and Candice, charred bodies filled her head. She couldn't allow it.

"Hurry, you have seconds." The caller hung up.

Dropping the phone she turned to Maximus. He was more animal than man and she didn't know if he would even understand her. But she had to try because she was not going to be responsible for the death of innocence children.

"We have to go," she said.

"Kill." The harsh guttural sound came from deep in his throat.

"Please," she said, she rose to her toes and cupped his cheek. He stared down at her, his eyes a golden storm, his animal head twice the size of hers, his body incredible big. His one word hadn't been a threat, or promise, it was a fucking avowal, a given, he was going to kill everyone outside the door. Too many seconds passed. They were running out of time. Finally he nodded.

"We're coming out," she yelled immediately, afraid their time was up. Before the last syllable died Maximus changed into his human form, the transition so quick, so smooth it left her head spinning. He hugged her in a crushing embrace and ran upstairs.

"Hurry, we are on a bit of a time restraint," the calm voice called through the door.

Maximus returned in his jeans. He grabbed her hand and opened the door.

The men were all holding guns big enough to bring down large game. The one standing on her small covered doorstep was weaponless. One side of his face had been destroyed and he wore an eye-patch. Her skin crawled as his remaining eye ogled her. He looked familiar.

"Now, now, we hardly have time for that, Cherie."

She hadn't realized it but she was growling. A far more menacing sound overrode hers. It made the hairs on her body stand up and traveled like electricity along her skin. It was Maximus. Jo walked on numb legs to the waiting SUV. She was grabbed by a man the size of a damn lineman and snatched from Maximus and thrown into the back and pushed to the center of the bench seat, sandwiched between men whose shoulders stopped at the top of her head.

****

Maximus didn't know what happened to Master, only that he was sorry the job hadn't been finished. The sounds of the sirens were close, almost on them, but he could care less. Unless they brought heavy artillery, like Master, they wouldn't be able to take him—or kill him.

Master was tall for a human and could almost look Maximus in the eye. The scent of anger burnt his nose, so thick he could almost taste it. His betrayal had cost Master and he knew the man who raised him meant for Maximus to pay for it. The thought of his woman at Master's mercy, or lack of mercy, was a rabid animal gnawing at him. The things he could do—would do. Maximus was shocked he was able to hold his human form.

"Get in the car. You know I have no problem ordering her execution."

While Maximus arms itched to rip Masters' head from his neck, he followed instructions. His mate was too important. He'd figure out a way to save her, even if it meant his death.

He walked around the truck housing her in long strides, and climbed into the back of the second vehicle while Master took the seat next to him. The engines roared to life and they pulled out in a synchronized dance of metal. They were on the main street when they were passed by two cars, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

He could kill Master before he spoke any command, but no doubt, he'd already instructed his men to kill his mate if anything should happen. His life meant nothing, her death was unacceptable. He held on to thread-bare control, keeping his human form on a wish and a prayer. Master had taken the only comfort he'd known since his parents. He'd been lying in bed listening to her walk through the house when fear filled the calm, before he'd taken a full breath he'd turned into the monster Master had been so proud of. No, he'd turned into more. His shoulders couldn't fit through the doorframe; it had splintered as he ran from the room, plaster and wood raining down as he ran for the stairs. He'd pulled the banister from the floorboards. He'd been like a tornado inside the small apartment, destroying everything in his path until he reached her.

As much as he hated it (enough that his skin crawled from the very idea) he knew had to escape. It would be a new kind of torture for him to watch her hurt. Years spent with Master told him that his punishment would be great. It didn't make sense for him to take her when he could have killed her so easily. Master would take them back, put them in separate cages and then... Maximus could already see her tied and him helpless; held hostage not by chains and rope, but by the knowledge that if he moved a muscle they'd kill her. But would they hurt her if he wasn't there to witness the act? Would Master torture her, every strike and blow that broke her body meant to break him, his spirit, his soul, if he was not there? Maybe—but maybe not.

They'd left the crowded streets of the city and were on the freeway. He grabbed the handle, pushed the door open and rolled from the car. Bullets pierced his back and thighs as he landed, healing immediately as Wolf burst from his body, even before it stopped rolling. He didn't chase the cars, he ran into the wooded area; legs as long as a thoroughbred and twice as strong carrying him away from her. He fought the instinct to go back with every galloping stride. He turned in the direction the trucks were traveling, already at least a mile into the woods. Even still, he knew on the other side of the trees he kept pace with the truck she was in. He threw his head up and howled, the force of it stopping him in his tracks. He howled again, his vow that he'd find her.

God help every man, woman and child within striking distance when he did. He wasn't to kill them all.

# Chapter Twenty Five

"Dammit man you're going to lose them!"

Ponce already had the gas pedal on the floor, much harder and he was going to punch his foot through the floorboard. He understood the urgency, but hell, there was only so fast the car could go. Who knew SUV's could move that fast? He was hoping the speeding gods stayed on their side. He hated to think about the unlucky bastard that pulled over either of the two cars they were following. For that matter, what would they do if they were pulled over? He sent up a prayer and actually pressed harder on the gas, willing the car to go faster. It was broad daylight and while he and Gene were both strong alphas there was no way they could compete with what they'd just witnessed. The forearm that shot out of the woman's door had been as thick around as his fucking thigh, covered in fur and sported a set of claws that could be seen clear across the apartment complex's parking lot. What the hell were they suppose to do with that? There was only one wolf they knew that could turn with the sun in the sky and he was on a different goddamn continent.

"Do you have Lucas on the phone yet?" Gene yelled to one of the wolves sitting in the back seat. The other had already gotten Sam on the phone. His conversation with the local pack alpha was rushed as he relayed what they'd just witnessed.

"Damn," Gene said—again. He'd uttered the word several times since they took the freeway on ramp.

The man speaking to Sam, Willie, ended his call and leaned forward. "Sam's instructed us to stand down?"

Gene was glad he didn't have the ability to turn into a wolf. He was almost certain he'd be rogue. Sam was an asshole on a level that should be impossible. Just when he thought the man couldn't get more unreasonable he proved Gene wrong.

"We won't leave you hanging," Willie said.

"Lucas isn't answering his phone," Patrick said, his voice full of frustration and fear. "My, God," he whispered. "Did you see that?"

Did they see that? Of course they'd seen it. Gene was just glad that none of the full humans that stayed in the apartment complex had wondered out to see it. Thank God it was still early.

"I mean, how big must his beast be?" Patrick said, more to himself than the men that were in the car.

"Big," Ponce said swerving into the passing lane.

They'd been following the woman since she was discharged from the hospital, which was pretty fucking hard when she went to a house that didn't have a neighbor for a mile. Their saving grace was the woods that surrounded the house and. There were three shifts watching her, a team of four men covering all sides of the small farm house.

"I'm just glad I had that tarp in the trunk. This is a brand new car," Ponce added.

"I hate when the intestines are opened," Willie yelled over the sound of the wind rushing pass the opened windows.

The big motherfucker had gutted the man. Fuck that, he'd almost cut the man in two, opening him from forehead to stomach. The people they pursued had left the body. Gene and his crew had stopped long enough to grab it. They were animals but the sight of the corpse had made even Gene's stomach roll—and he was a goddamn farmer. He'd slaughtered countless animals. Of course, a human was not a pig or a deer. Still, there were the crime scene photos he and Ponce had been looking at for the last five years. You'd think it would have built up some kind of immunity, but seeing such savagery fresh...

"What the fuck!" Ponce yelled.

"Dear God," Patrick said.

Gene actually looked back to make sure the man wasn't going to be sick. The stench of bowel was bad enough; he really didn't want to add vomit to the mix. But dear God was right. The man had thrown himself from a car up ahead, a car traveling over a hundred and twenty miles per hour. It was a rolling ball of fur before his feet were planted firmly on the ground. And it was fast. One seconded the wolf was rolling the next running. He was the size of a fucking elephant.

"We're going to lose them," Ponce said.

They'd been losing ground since they got on the freeway. Gene looked into the woods the wolf had disappeared into, seconds later the sound of a howl raised every fine hair on his body.

### Part Two

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Diana pulled on opera length, satin gloves, as she gave her reflection one last look. Six years ago she had been about as low-maintenance as a woman could get. Now she had a damn lady's maid.

"Will you need anything else?" Bellamy asked entering the room like the thought had summoned her. She headed for the vanity, straightening the litter of combs, make-up and perfume bottles.

"No, Bellamy, thank you. Is Jean Rene already downstairs?"

"Milord is in the sitting room with the rest of the men."

Six years and she was still not use to the formality and grandeur of the castle they called home. Six years and every day still felt like some wonderful fairy-tale. Six years of ruling an entire hidden race of people. A lifetime ago she'd been Diana Ward. Had a job that she loved, the respect of the people she worked for and who worked for her. All that changed when she'd gone out on a call to soothe an unhappy customer. Of course, soothing Alexis was about as possible as stroking a pit viper. She smiled at the memory. Seven feet of pure black menace; his unreasonable attitude had pissed her off. He'd gotten right up in her face, she hadn't backed down. She sometimes wondered what would have happened if Jean Rene had not intervene.

Just the thought of his name sent her heart into hyper-drive; she loved him so much it took her breath away. The only thing—things—she loved more were their three beautiful children, and speaking of the devils, they too appeared as if the thought had conjured them.

Her sons Thomas and Alexis were named after their father's beta and his best friend. Their daughter, Geri, was named after one of Odin's loyal wolves. A mated pair that Diana was a descendant of. Thomas and Alexis were the spitting image of their father from their silky black hair with soft curls that Diana was envious of, to their blue eyes that were the color of twilight. Geri was a carbon-copy of Diana. She had hoped that their daughter would have Jean Rene's hair genes, but no luck, it was an unruly afro by the time she was three months old. She'd given birth during the full moon and her sons had been born in their wolf form, Geri had been born human. She was like her mother, a wolf queen, a daughter of Geri and Freki. The story was as unbelievable—strike that—was as magical, as the existence of werewolves.

"My darling pups," she said ignoring Bellamy's disapproving look. In their world children had nannies and then governesses to look after them, but Bellamy had lost the war on that old school line of thought. Diana's children had the run of the house. They were as wild as the side of them that took over their bodies once a month. Well her sons, anyway. Geri had not turned into a wolf, and would not until her mate claimed her.

Alexis howled, and even in human form it was eerily accurate. Neither boy had inherited their father's ability to turn whenever he wanted but Alexis was close. Thomas jumped on his brother's back and the two crashed around Diana in a tangle of arms and legs. Geri watched the two, her tiny hands on her hips.

"Mummy why can't we eat with you and Papa," Geri asked after giving her brother's an exasperated sigh while shaking her head. She was ages older than her brothers; five going on fifty-five.

"Because, my love, it's grownup time." Diana answered, picking her up. Geri pursed her bow shaped lips in disapproval.

"May I go to the servant's quarters to play with Anna?"

The word servant never sat well with Diana, but her children were being raised so very differently then she had been. Her children would have riches most people would never dream of. Diana worked hard to keep them grounded but some things were a losing battle. Like the staff calling her by her first name, they refused; it was a small victory when they at last stopped calling her Queen.

"Of course you can." Diana kissed the tip of Geri's nose and swung her to her hip as she exited the room, the boys on her heels.

The sound of ripping fabric stopped them all in their tracks. Someone had stepped on the train of her dress. Bellamy face was stone. Her hand was at her neck and fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. The boys looked ready to bolt. Bellamy could be as fierce as any werewolf, an alpha even, when it came to her mistress. The woman took a deep breath, reining in all that, I told you so. Diana didn't think the tick in the corner of her mouth was the beginnings of a smile.

"I'll ring for a maid to take the children to the servant's nursery while you take off that gown. You can wear the red, it's been pressed."

"Thank you Bellamy," Diana said in a low voice, fighting the urge to duck her head and hunch her shoulders. To think, she was afraid of the woman when she could kill any human man with her bare hands. She hated being scolded as much as the children.

Dressed in ruby red satin she entered the keeping room and every man stood or turned when the door opened. Her heart filled, as it did each time she saw her family.

"Ma Lune."

The sound of his voice had the same effect as it had the first day she met him. It ran along her body like cool velvet before turning into heat that rivaled the sun.

Her Frenchman was almost the same height. Standing toe to toe she barely had to lift her head to meet his gaze, but strength and dominance oozed from his pores. She was his white wolf to call. He owned her completely and she was happy for it. His movements were that of a cat even if his animal was canine. When his arm wrapped around her waist she could feel the heat of him, even with layers of clothes separating their bare skin. He'd called her Ma Lune, my moon, since the very beginning, telling her that he was no slave to the moon, that only she had that much control over him. That much power.

"Mon Lupe," she said breathlessly. When was the last time she'd seen him? An hour. It felt like eons, any amount of time was too long when they were not together. He was Mon Lupe, my wolf, since the first time he'd changed for her.

"Are we going to eat anytime soon or do I need to ring for a snack," Thomas asked. The rest of the room burst into laughter.

Diana didn't laugh; her heart was in her throat beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. The attraction she felt for her mate sometimes got the better of her. Thomas's words were more suggestion than joke.

Jean Rene buried his nose in her hair and took a long, deep breath. Throwing gas on the fire called her libido. One hand gripped his forearm, the other his bicep, holding him hard enough that it would have shattered the bones of a human. He growled, sending a current of pleasure that weakened her knees, but like always, strong arms kept her standing, kept her safe. God, she loved him, and she loved how much he loved her.

"I'll repeat the question," Wallace's great voice boomed, a hint of laughter riding the words.

"Stop teasing," Virginia said from her husband's embrace.

"But I'm starving," Wallace said.

"You're always starving," Lillian said.

"One day you'll find your mate and you'll understand," Constantine added.

"Never," the giant bellowed. "There's not a woman alive with the strength to tame me.

The door opened and Watson, the head butler entered. "Dinner is served."

Crystal and china hundreds of years old set the table. Etiquette said spouses were not seated next to each other but that rule had been thrown to the wayside. Each mated male sat protectively next to his woman. It wasn't that they didn't trust the other men to keep their most prized possession safe; simply, they could not bring themselves to be separated from them when so close.

John, one of the many butlers in the castle and who Diana had come to think of as a son, entered the room and whispered in Watson's ear. The hard expression from having dinner interrupted on the older gentleman's face hardened after each whispered word.

"Milord, Mistress, there is a man in the library insisting on speaking with you." Watson announced.

Wallace's extra loud sigh made Diana smiled. "Who is it," she asked putting her napkin on her plate.

"He does not give a name," John answered. "Perhaps the men should answer the call."

At that Diana could feel every man in the room still. For John to say such a thing meant he thought something dangerous had come to call on them. John was as protective of her as the rest of the men around the table.

"John," Watson said, not happy that the younger man had spoken out of turn.

"It's alright Watson, don't be hard on John," Diana said standing. "Thank you for your concern John. I'm sure we'll be fine, but if you would please inform the guard that there is a guest in the house."

John nodded and ran off, Watson looking ready to bust a gut at the break in protocol.

"Watson, alert the rest of the staff as well," Jean Rene said. "Just as a precaution."

"Of course Milord."

"Shall we?" Jean Rene held his arm out to Diana.

Thomas and Alexis led the way. Wallace was next to Jean Rene, Rob next to her. Constantine and Virginia brought up the rear. She was in a circle of protection. It didn't matter that she was stronger or that she would never leave them if things got...rough. She'd be right there in the thick of things, covered in blood and gore, ripping the throats and hearts out of anyone who dare threaten her family.

The man standing in the library was the biggest she'd ever seen. Diana knew he was a werewolf. She also knew he was the one Lucas and the American wolves had been hunting for the last six years. Ponce and Gene reported what transpired at the woman's house. They'd also confirmed that Alfred had shown up personally. The woman was missing; her mate had gotten away and shown up the last place they ever would have guessed. He stood in the middle of the room next to an unlit fireplace. His hands were open and at his sides. He was trying to be non-threatening. Until he saw Thomas, and then all hell broke loose.

The transformation from man to beast was the quickest any in the room had ever seen. And the size of him... He was bigger than the fireplace he was standing in front of and Wallace could stand in the damn thing. He moved with speed that would have meant certain death for most people, but Jean Rene and Diana weren't like other werewolves and they moved as a single unit to block the beast's path to Thomas. It was like getting hit by a tank, the force of it sending Diana flying across the room. The thing was three feet taller than her mate and outweighed him by god knows how many pounds, but if mated males did one thing well, it was protect their mate and children. With strength she'd never seen, Jean Rene grabbed the beast by his shoulders, stopping his forward momentum, and jumped on the mighty things back. His clawed feet dug into the beast's thighs as his claws slashed, ripping flesh, sending blood flying.

Constantine had his sword, still no one could figure out where he hid it, his suit was tailored and fit his body like a glove, the sword was thin but still... Virginia pulled two guns, Bodyguard 380's, from her back and held them on her target. Wallace had his big ass highlander sword to the ready and Thomas was equally prepared with his large Wolfe Hunter broadsword. Rob...well Rob appeared next to Diana like the ghost of future murders. Outwardly he appeared calm but the power of his beast brewing inside him made Diana's hair stand up and sucked the air out of the room.

The beast's massive arm went over his head and he grabbed Jean Rene. The Sun Wolf had two handfuls of flesh, yet the beast pulled and threw Jean Rene the length of the room, barely missing Wallace. Constantine and Virginia were like the Sun Wolf and his White Queen. They moved like only mates could; Virginia firing from both guns and Constantine going in low, bullets missing him by a hair, swiping the sword across the middle of the beast. While on his knees, he brought the sword up, creating an upside down T where the slashes met before driving the sword through the beast head from beneath his chin. His head was so large that only a glint of metal exited the top of his skull. Constantine pulled the sword free and stood up. Everyone waited for the body to drop, hell, Diana had braced her stance expecting the very foundations of the castle to shake when the thing went down.

Before their eyes the wounds healed. Skin knitted together like zippers pulled, bullets pushed free of his skin and dropped to the floor. He threw his head back and roared.

Well shit.

"Kill."

The single word declaration sent shivers down Diana's spine. She was scared shitless. The sound of the cavalry arriving gave her mixed emotions. The wolves that greeted her on her first night at the castle were more children than pets and after what she'd just seen she knew death was not a hypothetical, someone, something was going to die, and she wasn't fool enough to think those within their ranks weren't on the list.

Her white wolf and Jean Rene's grey one were the first to reach them, followed by the other ten. A sea of fur surrounded and descended on the beast like a crashing wave. The room was the definition of chaos. The scene unfolding was surreal, wolves taking large chunks of flesh and muscle, sometimes exposing bone, it growing back before their bugging eyes. Claws ripping skin and blood pouring from wounds that healed within seconds. The wolves worked in quick attacks, moving in, striking and backing up, always staying out of reach. Every man and woman stood at the ready; prepared to join forces with their Canis Lupus brethren when the hidden door next to the fireplace opened and Geri ran out of the secret passage.

Diana almost swallowed her tongue when her five year old daughter ran straight into the mêlée in the center of the room. But her presence was the bell signaling the end of a round, and the entire room came to a complete stop. She threw herself at the beast. He caught her.

The room was too quiet. Diana's brain was a fast moving slide show, scenes flickering in her mind's eye of how it all could play out, ranging from the stranger gently prying her daughter from him to him swallowing her whole. His massive jaws and long, pointed, sharp canines looked the size of an elephant's tusks. It took Diana a moment to realize her daughter was talking to the beast.

"It's alright," she cooed. Her feet were planted firmly on one thigh; one hand rubbed the side of his snout, the other grasp a handful of fur on his shoulder.

The beast hadn't made a move since Geri had thrown herself at him. Every adult in the room held their breath and tried to figure out how to get the girl safely away from the beast.

"My love, ma vie, come to Papa," Jean Rene said from his place beside Diana. To hear the endearment, ma vie, my life, almost brought Diana to tears. It didn't matter how big the man was, to hell with his ability to heal, if he hurt their child his life would end then and there, even if she had to rip him to shreds and eat his flesh.

"Kill," the stranger said.

Geri nodded in agreement. "Yes, we will kill them all."

"Someone has taken your mate," Diana said taking a step away from Jean Rene. She had a soft spot for any mated wolf separated from their other half. Jean Rene grabbed her arm.

"Yes." The confirmation was growled but it was full of sorrow, full of torment. The howl erupted from his chest shook the chandeliers.

God, the sound almost broke her heart. "We'll kill them," Geri promised again. The sincerity in her gaze was too old for a child. The promise to kill, to take life, should not have been understood by someone her age. But the fierceness in her words made her mother proud.

"Do you feel it?" Jean Rene asked in a hushed voice.

"In my very heart." The entire room turned. Rob had spoken. It was so rare it garnered the temporary shift in attention.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"So calm and peaceful yet—" Constantine answered.

"Deadly," Diana finished the sentence.

"Yes," Wallace added his great voice full of awe.

They watched Geri comfort the stranger. They were silent as she whispered soft assurances to him until his half form melted away, leaving only the man. Only then could they see that he was crying. Silent tears, caught in tiny hands.

"Vie," Jean Rene repeated, his clothes hanging off him in ribbons. He took a step and held his hand out, "Come to Papa my beautiful girl."

Geri turned but the man hugged her tighter a second before releasing her. She smiled; one that confirmed that angels really did existed and maybe she was one.

"Thank you." His voice was deep and rough, full of emotions.

Geri kissed him on the cheek before going to her father, completely oblivious of the mini-heart attacks she'd caused since her arrival. She took Jean Rene's hand and pulled him until knelt before her. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, only as five year olds do, very loudly.

"He loves her as much as you love Mummy."

"From the mouth of babes," Constantine said.

Charlotte, better known as Nanny, ran into the room and almost tripped over her feet when she saw the kneeling naked man. Her face turned a lovely shade of beet as she lowered her eyes. "Mistress, Milord, forgive me..." The words trailed off.

"Take Geri and find the boys. Take them to their room," Diana said trying not to sound too angry at the girl. Everything had turned out in their favor but it could have been different. She'd taken for granted the peaceful years they'd spent since the children's birth and having so many fighters in the house. Never again.

****

Lillian joined them but Thomas was on her tighter than a tick on a dog's ass. The man sat on the loveseat, taking up most of it. He was still naked, but didn't seem bothered by it. Being wolf meant getting comfortable with your body and comfortable with other people seeing it.

"Your name," Rob asked breaking the silence.

"Maximus."

Even his voice was threatening.

"My mate was taken three days ago and I've come to ask for aid. I will need numbers if I am to get to her before—" he closed his mouth, opened it again and took a deep breath. "Before she is killed," he finally said.

"Why should we help you?" Virginia asked.

He looked at her, long enough that Constantine shifted his position, probably making it easier to access the sword hidden again beneath his clothes.

"Our daughter has given her word." Jean Rene said. "We will help you."

"On the promise of a child?" He asked turning his head.

"Yes," Diana said.

He stared at her until it was Jean Rene's turn to fidget. If only there was some way to dim the promise of death that hung around him. It would make things so much easier. Maximus stared at Jean Rene. His expression so blank it was like looking at a mask instead of a living being. His words were monotone and just as empty, just as dead as his face—no, his eyes. The molten gold color was unnerving enough without the sociopathic stare.

"Master has her."

It was the first time he'd looked anything other than homicidal or sounded anything other than detached. Diana made a small sound and brought her hand to her lips. He seemed so...lost.

"Master?" Diana said leaning forward. Every fiber of her being wanted to offer him comfort. He was a werewolf, and she was the queen of wolves. The connection she felt with her wolves, both natural and supernatural, was absent but that didn't stop her from wanting to reach across the space that separated them and touch him.

"It is the only name I have ever called him. He took me from my parents shortly after my birth and kept me locked away. He tortured me constantly to keep me in my animal form and then to keep me in my half form until I was fifteen."

"My God," Wallace said, the hint of laughter that rode his every word was missing.

"We'll help you," Diana repeated.

How could they not?

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jo stared out the room's single window. She'd expected to be thrown into a dungeon, or maybe a cell, with a bucket for a bathroom, but she'd been escorted to a bedroom. The twin bed wasn't her California king, but it was head and shoulders above the images she'd allowed to manifest in her head. She hadn't been given any clothes, which was fine, because having Maximus's t-shirt on kept her connected to him in a way. It held his scent, just a little, the smell would probably be gone by the end of the week but still, any little thing helped strengthen her and gave her hope that he'd find her.

The doorknob turning sent her to the furthest wall from the door. It wasn't time to eat so the visit was social, a first. Other than the men who brought her food (three squares a day) no one had come in the room. The man who entered limp was worse today. She'd seen him briefly outside her apartment door and then again when they stopped after Maximus escaped. The car carrying the man had gone one way and her carload headed for the airport. What kind of criminal mastermind was he to warrant a private plane?

He walked around the room, his hand sweeping across a table, then the bedspread. He sat down and patted the spot next to him. Jo would have gladly gouged out his remaining eye if she thought she could take him, but even old, half blind, missing a limb and a limp, the guy was big. Without the strength that came and went as it pleased she didn't think she had a very good chance of winning in a fight.

"Sit," he spat when she didn't move from the spot she'd been in since he entered the room.

So far there had been no torture, not even mistreatment; Jo figured she should try to keep it that way. She sat as far as she could from her captor. Her ass hanging off the edge and her thighs and calves working overtime to keep her perched in the spot.

"We are of the same mind, you and me," he said, sliding closer to Jo. There was nowhere for her to go. Not unless she wanted to sit on the floor. She didn't think it'd go over well so she stayed in place.

"You think he will come to save you. I am counting on the same. He is the very definition of perfection; an anomaly of an abomination."

Jo sat in silence as the man repeated his life's story and that of his family. It was fascinating. Bile rose in her throat when he got to the part about Maximus—the slaughtering of Maximus's parents, the isolation, the tortured. The things that Maximus was made to endure and do. She was appalled, outraged, disgusted, not with the monster that had taken her from her home, but with the one sitting beside her. The man was obviously insane. He was sworn to protect mankind from a savage beast. She got that. But the things he'd done to Maximus, first as a small child and then as he got older was more than just immoral. Her hands fisted as he spared her no detail about the "conditioning" Maximus had gone through. A perfect specimen, the perfect weapon. Jo was ready to tear his heart out and eat it raw by the time he finished.

"You're crazy," she said before she could catch the words from spilling from her mouth. If looks could kill Jo would have been a rotten corpse. The one eye glared and filled with something so much more than just anger or hatred that Jo shifted in her seat, having to grab the bed before she fell on the ground.

"It's easy to judge when you haven't seen what I've seen. Entire families slaughtered and eaten, victims being consumed by the beasts while still alive, their cries for death ignored as their flesh is being feasted upon. Children orphaned, women widowed, men killed savagely when one of them goes rogue. Bloodlust makes them crazed animals almost impossible to stop; impossible unless you've been trained and even then safety is not guaranteed. My father was killed while on the hunt. But he understood what the newer generations have forgotten."

There was a drawn out pause so Jo asked, "What's that?"

"That a wolf in sheep's clothing, no matter how long he lives among the flock, is still a wolf."

"And a wolf cannot befriend a sheep?"

His laugh was sinister. He dried his leaking remaining eye with the edge of his sleeve. "You're not the first you know." He moved closer. He ran his hand down the exposed skin of her arm. Jo was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was naked beneath the oversized, plain white t-shirt. Her skin crawled in the line his finger traveled.

"I've never asked....what makes one want to sleep with a beast."

When she didn't say anything he grabbed her arm; she was going to have a bruise tomorrow. He got right up in her face until she knew he'd had coffee in the not so distant past.

"There are always a few good apples in a barrel of rotten, but eventually they all go bad. The werewolf is a predatory animal, unpredictable. Its shape and form ruled by its emotion, its body a slave to the moon."

"Except for Maximus," she said in a low voice.

"Yes, except for our Maximus."

She didn't like him saying "our" but she remained silent.

He released her and stood. "He will come, and when he does, I'll kill him. Keeping him alive was a mistake. It was the reason for my fall."

That part didn't make sense but she was not about to argue, he was headed for the door.

"He will be destroyed, and so will you. I'll not make the same mistake twice."

Jo didn't flinch at the little speech. It wasn't like she expected them to just let her go at the end of it all, but she hadn't given up, not yet, not ever. Maximus would find her, and when he did she would be his biggest cheerleader when he tore that fucker limb from limb. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her body and stared out of the little window.

And waited.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

The stone walls were cut rock three feet tall and four feet wide. The floor was the same material, giving the place the ambiance of a prison. There were no rugs on the floor, any tapestries or paintings on the wall. The only accessories were the heavy, wood doors trimmed in iron and the torches that lined the wall every few feet. It was all very dungeon-y.

Maximus walked down deserted hallways wide enough to drive semi-truck through, his bare feet slapping cold stone but making no sound. He walked with a purpose, passed door after door, until he came to the one that was open—the great hall. Tables were set, food was piled high and drinks already in glasses. The area for the musicians held instruments. The only thing missing were the people. No servants scurrying about, no early arrivals, not even a host. Maximus passed into the kitchen. Pots were on the wood burning stoves boiling, vegetables were on the cutting boards, a pig the size of an ox turning in a fireplace large enough for him to stand in, or maybe it really was an ox. Maximus didn't stopped to investigate the meat. He pushed open the door leading out into a side yard. The stars were too bright and there were too many of them. The moon was too close.

Rattling chains and low breathing were the only sounds. His forward momentum slowed, each step grew heavier, as if his body were covered in drying cement. The closer hegot to the wall that stood between him and the sound behind it, the busier his heart pounded. It pumped blood so hard and fast that every vein thumped against his skin. His eyes lowered and he saw that his feet were covered in black fur. Anytime he felt threatened, his body did its thing. He was strongest then. A ten foot tall beast with teeth that hung from his mouth in razor sharp points, his canines reaching well below his chin. His already impressive muscles doubling in size, covered with thick, wiry, black fur, his golden eyes resembling tiny suns in his head. Maximus had been raised by a monster that called himself a man, had only ever known violence and pain, blood and death. So many had died at his hand that the smell seemed to cling to his human body and the fur of his half and animal forms. There was no amount of washing that could take the stench of death from him. It was in his very soul.

The opening neared and Maximus steps were in slow motion. The creature on the other side was pure, raw power. He wondered how the chains held him at all. Every link was six inches thick, the collar the size of a full size sedan, the lock a boulder, but it wasn't just an oversized pet waiting patiently for Maximus to cross the threshold of the side yard. It was a giant wolf and even without fighting him Maximus knew he was stronger than any other.

He pushed against the power of the animal, leaning into the invisible force of it. His fur stood, his skin tingled as the pressure made it hard for him to breathe. Maximus wondered how many people had gotten too close. The pile of bones that scattered the courtyard said more than a few. A foot from the opening his animal form was ripped from his body. Being in his wolf form always freed him. No longer did he choke on the power of the giant black wolf.

The moon was all that lit the courtyard. The animal sat in the corner, each breath doubling—tripling his chest in size which made the puddle of chain at his feet rattle. His eyes were gold, same as Maximus. The wolf lowered his head. His lips pulled back to reveal teeth as large as Maximus's body. One growled word woke him. It echoed in his head as his consciousness fought its way back to the waking world.

"Mine."

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jo woke from a dream she couldn't remember. Her body wet with sweat, her breathing labored, and her teeth clamped against a scream. She lay still, waiting for her heart to slow. She didn't try to remember what the dream had been about, she had bigger problems: tomorrow was the full moon. The weight that sat in the pit of her stomach could've been anxiety from her upcoming change, or the dread of knowing what the lunatic that held her was capable of. The stories of what the madman had done to Maximus played in her head on a continuous loop. She'd be foolish to be anything but worried. What would he do to her?

She sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She needed to get out of here. But how? She'd walked the two rooms countless times since she'd been locked away and still knew little about where she was or how to escape. She knew that the room was above a barn. There were no animals, but she'd been raised on a farm, she knew a barn when she smelled one. She knew her prison was on the edge of some woods, but she could only see one side; for all she knew the other side faced a damn city, though highly unlikely. It'd been nothing but silent since the first day.

Standing she went to the bathroom and filled a plastic cup with water. She drank deep and stared at her reflection in the mirror but it wasn't her face she saw. Her thoughts were of Maximus. She knew he was out there looking for her. But would he reach her in time? She didn't know where she was but knew she was no longer in America. They'd taken a private plan, would Maximus have the means to follow behind on a commercial flight? The house he'd taken her to said no. It didn't exactly look like he was rolling in dough. But on the off chance that he could afford a ticket how would he know where in the world she was being held. Was this the place he'd been raised in? She didn't think so, or he would have already come for her. Maximus delay was worrisome but short of death (and according to madman, he could not die) nothing would keep him from her. But then there was the _other_ problem.

The man—the leader—had only visited once. He'd touched her but she felt like that had been more of a scare tactic. Some of the men that brought her food kept eyeing her for a different reason. She'd been offered no clothing; she was still in the t-shirt. Every day she felt more naked. So far no one had made a move. She didn't know how long it'd stay that way.

She thought of the man that had changed her life. He'd been a monster when she first saw him, had turned into a god while he held her captive, and somehow—someway—he'd become more. They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words. Hell, he hadn't even formed a full sentence, yet she missed him. Missed the single word commands, missed the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. She never thought herself the kind of girl who liked macho bullshit and Maximus was the ultimate alpha male. No pun intended.

She watched the sun breach the horizon, her thoughts rarely straying from Maximus. If what the man had said was true, and he was truly indestructible, he was on his way. The thought made her smile. Yes, he'd find her and when he did... Jo could almost hear the screams of those that held her captive. The sound of the door being pulled open below turned her away from the window. She wrapped her arms around her middle and waited. The man who opened the door was older. He looked like the other. A Wolfe Hunter. And then it all clicked. Wolfe. That had been the name of the man who visited her in the hospital, the one with the trapping company. She remembered the card with the strange logo: a running wolf with two swords. These men were related.

She took a step back when he stepped in the room and closed them in together, the soft click of the door sounding like a gunshot. He eyed her, but lust did not fill his gaze. Pure, unadulterated, hatred heated her skin the path his eyes traveled. A bias, a prejudice, so deep, each time he left she breathed a sigh of relief when he'd left without killing her. Jo fought to keep her spot as he crossed the room in a few strides. She wanted to cower in his presence but she steeled her spine. She would cheer extra loud when Maximus took his life. The thought gave her the strength to remain still as he grabbed her jaw with a hand that could palm her face. He turned her head with a hard jerk, eyeing the bite on her neck. She held her breath and prayed he didn't touch it. The bite was some kind of hypersensitive erogenous zone. She never touched it if she could help it. The pleasure that flowed over her like water whenever she did was a kind of torture. It made her body scream for a release that only Maximus could give her. On the one or two occasions she'd touched it in her sleep she woke so aroused it made her weak. Her entire body ached, the need for Maximus painful. He pulled the corner of her lip up, checking her teeth, and then laid the back of his hand on her forehead. She fought the urge to open her mouth wide and say, ahhhh.

He eyed her for long moments and she tried not to fidget. He turned, finished with his inspection, and left. She was still standing in the same spot a few minutes later when a second man entered. One not related to the leader. His dirty blond hair was cut military short. His body was strong, the cloth of his shirt hugged impressive muscles. He held a tray in front of him but Jo didn't miss the outline of his erection. Every muscle filled with tension as he sat the tray on the table next to the bed. She'd take the other man's murderous gaze any day over the look she was given now. The man straightened and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them Jo took a step back. He smiled at her show of weakness. He dipped his head, it was all the confirmation she needed. When he left there was no relief. The slow nod had been a promise. One day, and probably soon, he planned on doing exactly what she feared.

Jo refused to cry. What good would tears do? Maximus would find her, before or after, and when he did, all would die by his hand. Who knew, maybe she'd turned into something just as strong and kill them all herself. That made her smile. She was still smiling as she ate her breakfast.

# Chapter Thirty

Tonight was a full moon and the wolves on the estate was preparing for a night of hunting. Master, no, he was Master no more, he was Alfred now. Knowing his name had somehow fueled the hatred inside Maximus. It was a constant hum, a razor's edge cutting his skin. Alfred had never allowed him to hunt, at least not animals; human flesh had been his prize. It was an acquired taste—like lamb or venison. It wasn't for everyone.

Too much time had passed. Each hour she was lost to him, each minute, second drove him a little insane. He knew what the man holding his mate was capable of, the thought of him doing a quarter of it to Goddess made it almost impossible to hold his human form. But he had to do better, had to _be_ better—for her.

It was a little after nine in the morning and he walked the mile and a half to the castle fighting beast's attempts to break free. People tipped their hats, dipped their heads, the girls giggled hello. It was...strange. If they only knew. As he neared a side entrance of the massive, stone structure a door opened and a tiny figure barreled out of it. Nanny was in hot pursuit but the child was not all human and Maximus knew Nanny would never catch the little girl. Her hair a wave of curls trailing behind her, her little legs moving so fast that at times she didn't touch the ground; she jumped when she was still a good six feet from him but he caught her easy, her weight feeling natural in his arms.

"Lady Geri!" Nanny yelled as if Maximus was holding the girl by her ankles preparing to swallow her whole. Behind her came the two boys, Thomas and Alexis. Dark hair and already all arms and legs, they had miniature fencing swords clutched in their little fists. Geri's rescuers.

Without thinking Maximus hands changed into claws, his teeth grew until he couldn't close his mouth and hair grew on his face. His golden eyes glowed like tiny suns. Thomas stopped in his tracks; Alexis continued his advance and swung his sword with a yell that sent birds to flight. Thomas, refusing to let Alexis get all the glory, caught up soon enough and the two circled Maximus; their little swords drawing blood, Nanny looked ready to faint dead away, the sound of Geri's laughter was the sweetest music he'd ever heard.

"Hold on lady," he growled and raised her over his head placing her on his neck. She grabbed two handfuls of hair hard enough to water his eyes and Maximus morphed into Wolf. The twin boys' mouths hung open, Nanny finally fainted.

"Run," Geri yelled. She didn't have to ask him twice.

Wolf loved the feel of the wind in his fur, loved feel of earth beneath his feet. He'd been Wolf and Beast longer than Man, it was the reason they thought of themselves more animal than human. Of course the constant reminders while being skinned didn't help their human side. Geri's knees hugged Wolf tight and her grip was good so he ran full speed. Her laughter sent animals big and small scurrying. They had learned long ago they could run a very long time before they tired. Alfred had been right; they were perfect in every way.

With each step they felt free. Not free of the shackles they'd left behind or of the pain of torture, but free to believe that they were more than just a monster. A mindless thing meant to destroy all in its path. Goddess had given them the foundation, Geri, the house. Geri had seen past the bulk of their muscles, the sight of their form. She accepted them for all that they were—the good and the bad. Wolf ran through the forest with his tiny champion on his shoulders, each powerful step breaking away the stone that had long since hardened his heart. Mindful of the precious load he slowed gradually until he was walking. Geri patted the side of his neck and leaned her body over and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

They walked for hours, until the sun was directly above them before he turned back. The sound of a howl he knew was her father rang and he returned the call. Ten minutes later a white wolf emerged in the path directly in front of them and her mate seconds later. The white wolf growled, but not at Wolf, her frustration was aimed at the girl. He knelt and the girl hopped down, she kissed him once more before running to her father. The sound the grey wolf made was too much like a chuckle to be anything but.

They walked back to the castle with Geri's constant chatter. He looked at the girl, a tiny replica of her mother. He'd kill anything that tried to hurt her. He growled. The two wolves walking with him gave him a weary look. The girl smiled.

They held their wolf form even when crossing into the expanse of the backyard of the estate, taking human forms only when they reached the threshold of the castle. Maximus watched as a silent communication transpired between mother and daughter. The mother's look was scornful, the girl's determine. In the absence of his mate he'd found a calm in the little girl. Maybe he should explain that to them.

"Wallace returned...there's no news, yet." Jean Rene said from his side. "We still have several scouts out looking for her."

They'd promised aid and the king had sent his best men, Thomas had sent his own son. A tiny stirring in his chest fluttered. His hand rose and he rubbed the spot. He was a plethora of emotions; each day brought a new one. He didn't recognize this one. He nodded, a quick jerk of his head, while he frowned. Maximus body had never been ruled by the moon, but his skin itched as his beast demanded to be released. It crawled beneath the thin membrane sending electric currents along his entire body.

"Don't feel bad, Geri has everyone wrapped around her little finger."

Maximus nodded, pleased that she was not in trouble. At least not with her father.

"When did you know Diana was the one?" The question came out of nowhere. The only thing he could think of was Goddess. How to make her happy, how to keep her happy.

"Immediately, from the first moment I saw her. My wolf recognized her as my mate. Was it the same for you?"

"There was...something," Maximus said. He wouldn't say how the three parts of him had warred at what exactly to do with the woman.

"That sounds ominous," Jean Rene said.

"Violence is the only thing I know. The things done to me are a part of who I am." He said the words; they fell easily from his lips. He'd thought them a million times. He wasn't so sure anymore.

"Diana was the one who made me king."

The announcement turned Maximus's head. He'd been staring at the girl. "How so?"

"She told me I was," Jean Rene said laughing at the memory, "But it is she who is truly queen of wolves."

"Because of her parents."

The Frenchman nodded. "Yes. But you don't feel the same about Diana."

Maximus shook his head. "I've been told of the attraction that werewolves have to her, but no, I don't feel anything towards her."

"Interesting."

"That goes for you too."

"Me?" Jean Rene said. His perfectly arched eyebrow lifted.

"I'm not like you."

"No," he admitted, "You most certainly are not."

"I'm more."

There was a stretch of silence.

"Shortly after Diana and I mated, she became pregnant. I'd just declared myself king of wolves and we were on a tour of the packs when we were attacked by Alfred's men. I've walked the earth five hundred years and never have I felt fear like I had when we were separated. I found her on the banks of a river surrounded by men, arrows in her body, bleeding."

Maximus gut rolled at the images bouncing around in his head. It was too close to what he imagined was happening to Goddess.

"I killed them all, but even covered in their blood I was not satisfied. I wanted to put them back together just to kill them again. The next day we were surrounded again. Diana was badly injured. She does not share my ability to turn at will. It was twelve of them, there was no way for me to kill them all before one got to her. She was so brave, so fearless; naked, human, heavy with our children."

"No," it was the only thing he could say. Something thick coated his throat, his heart grew heavy. Like love, children had not been fathomed, but if Goddess was pregnant...he'd lose his damn mind.

"That was the first time Geri and Freki came to us, wolves the same size as you. I don't think you are like me at all Maximus. You are indeed more."

# Chapter Thirty-One

Fenrir had been chained for an eternity. Several of them. Millions of years spent imprisoned with millions more to come. He was a true immortal. The place he called home had been old before the Milky Way existed, and would still be when it was no more. Fenrir had been there for much of it. Time like that gave a new perspective to the word forever.

The chains that bound him were not merely metal, for he could have broken them easily. Odin had put magic on them and escape was a non-issue. Of course that hadn't stopped Fenrir from trying in the beginning. He'd even gotten free once. It had been a complete accident. He'd gone mad during the first millennium, driven insane by being chained. It was no way for a wolf to live. He preferred death. So he'd braced his powerful legs and pulled until his head came from his body. The joy of being free, even in death, made him smile, knowing he was no longer confined to the small space he'd been shackled to was worth death's cold embrace. But death was not forever. He didn't know how long he was out but when he opened his eyes the collar and chain lay on the ground beside him. He didn't waste any time. He headed straight for the reason of his imprisonment, Geri and Freki. The battle had been one for the histories. Many had died but in the end he was recaptured, and Odin had made him indestructible. No bone could break, no weapon could wound him. In trying to insure he stayed chained forever Odin had made him a God.

The sound of footsteps scattered his trip down memory lane like a hand through gnats. He growled and lowered his body to the ground. The man entered the courtyard without fear even though Fenrir could swallow him and not feel his body slide down his throat. The wolf could appreciate that in a man.

"My son."

"I am no son of man," he thought and gave the man a warning growl. He hated being chained; he hated being gawked at even more.

"I am no man."

Fenrir cocked his great head to the side, but still baring his teeth. He wondered where the guards were that kept people away from him. He'd killed millions, anyone dumb enough to get within snapping distance of his jaws. You'd think after a few hundred millennium people would learn. The man stepped closer and to Fenrir shock, stretched out his hand.

How long had it been since he'd been touched? Too long to even guess, in truth, Fenrir was still insane. The palm smoothed the fur on the top of his head until Fenrir felt his muscles loosen and he lay down.

"My son," the man said again in a low voice. "How they've mistreated you, but I've come to set you free."

The words brought his head up, throwing the man's hand from his head. Could it be that he had the counter-spell to break the chains? The thought of having another go at Geri and Freki was too much, the drool that ran from his mouth pooled at the man's feet.

"I cannot free you that way," the man said. "But I can give you another life."

Fenrir growled because he didn't want another life. He wanted one that included him feasting on the remains of the two that were fed from the table of Odin.

"Impossible," the man said. "But there is another way to hurt him and his beloved wolves."

The man smiled, nodded. Fenrir didn't know what to make of him. His sigh blew the man's hair back.

"He betrayed you because you loved."

Love? Fenrir snapped at the man, meaning to eat him after all but his powerful jaws never made contact. As if the man's shape was protected by an invisible wall. The man laughed. Threw his head back and bellowed to the heavens.

"Yes my pet, be angry, but not at me. I am your salvation." And with that a walking stick that Fenrir had not noticed, or maybe wasn't there to begin with, was in the man's hand. He raised the staff, its tip glowing, and touched Fenrir's nose.

The pain was bone-shattering. Fenrir's muscles locked tight enough to break bones. He thrashed on the ground at the man's feet. Pressure built in his center and spread. He became sick from the sensation of being sucked out of his body. He'd known pain, but never like this. He felt like his skin was being peeled from his body while his blood was being squeezed from his veins. Who was this man? Fenrir opened his jaws to howl but no sound escaped him. His body began to smoke and then cave into itself. Blood poured from his body, coloring the man's legs to his knees as he continued to stand over him.

"Loki," the man answered.

It was the last thing Fenrir heard before he was no more.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

The sound of the door below roused Jo from sleep. She didn't get out of bed. She felt like a dump truck had been parked on her chest while she slept. She was feverish, her mouth felt like someone had gagged her with steel wool and her tongue was possibly three times its normal size. She had sweated enough to wet the sheets and while her body felt like she was sitting on the surface of the sun, a chill made her teeth chatter hard enough that she was sure she'd need caps when it was over. If a truck was on her chest, a tank was on her head, one with subwoofers the size of small cars playing a jungle beat that matched the rhythm of her heart, which gave new meaning to the word palpitations.

The door opened and two beefy men came in wearing black leather that creaked with each step. Sword handles peaked from over their right shoulders, guns hung low on their hips and daggers were strapped to their thighs. All that for little ol' her? Jo felt honored. She'd wondered if they were just going to leave her in the room during her first change.

"Get up." The command was followed by a hard kick on the foot board of the bed.

Jo pushed back the covers slowly because she didn't have the energy to move any faster. She swung her legs over the side and almost threw up when she lifted the top of her body. The room began to spin. She swayed on her feet, holding her arms out to balance herself.

"Move."

What was it about big men and single word commands? Jo picked up her foot. Set it down. Picked up the other. Set it down. She repeated the movements until she was at the door. The man standing next to it opened it as she approached. A gentleman—even if his hand was on the butt of his gun.

"Downstairs."

"Alright, alright," Jo said hoping she could maneuver the stairs without falling down and breaking her damn neck. She white knuckled the railing all the way to the bottom. When she reached the bottom she was shoved in the back hard. She fell down, scraping the palms of her hands and her knees on the packed dirt floor.

"Hey!" She yelled.

"Move it."

Jo stood up and walked in the direction the man was pointing in. The stall door was open and thick chains and cuffs were attached to eyebolts embedded in the cement floor. She didn't have the strength to fight off flies, let alone the guards on either side of her. She stepped into the stall. One guard pulled his gun and stood in the doorway pointing it at her, the other came forward and attached the heavy links to her wrists and ankles. Her heart was skipping in her chest. The man that shackled her took a step back and she didn't like one bit what she saw in his eyes. He wasn't the same one from before, but Jo had yet to see a woman in the time she'd been held. He kept backing up towards the door; her skin crawled as he eyed her up and down.

Once he crossed the threshold his partner grabbed the handle of the stall door and swung it close. Jo took a deep breath. At the sound of a lock clicking close she couldn't have been happier about being locked up. As long as the door was between them she was safe.

She took in her new surroundings, her heart still threatening to explode in her chest. There wasn't much to look at. Three walls and the door that was solid wood six feet up with bars in the top. She didn't have enough chain to walk around so she sat on the floor, nervous energy making her almost forget how bad she felt. God, she wished Maximus would hurry up and find her.

The footfalls leading away from the stall was a relief. She pulled on her restraints, wrapping the chain around her wrist twice before giving it all she had. She hadn't expected much. She felt about as strong as a newborn but she let out a frustrated yell when the chains didn't give an inch. She would've cried if she had the energy. The door to the barn opened again and she knew who entered by his uneven gait. She'd expected to see him but that didn't stop her heart from picking up its pace. Even with one arm he pulled the door back on the tracks with ease. He surprised her by shutting them in together. Her fake calm was thin, thread bare, by the time he stopped in front of her.

He fingered the pulsing vein on her throat, before sliding his finger lower, caressing Maximus's bite. She fought and loss the battle as a shiver shook her body. She did manage to bite back the moan, clamping her jaws close, biting down on the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood.

"I've been around werewolves my entire life. I know what this does to you," he said, running his finger across the bite again, this time with more force. The sensation skyrocketed and Jo struggled against the chains to get away from his abuse. She'd prefer torture to him touching her so intimately. It was Maximus's mark only he should ever touch it.

"I can make you come by simply rubbing this mark. It is one more mystery of the wolf. Why does the bite affect mated wolves, but not those simply turned?"

The question was rhetorical, she didn't try to answer. She panted through the feelings she was powerless to stop. Hating every second, hating the man more, each sweep of his finger turning something beautiful into something foul.

"Your skin is hot," he said pressing his body closer to her. Jo fought the urge to bite him, to spit on him. He leaned in, so close she could feel the heat of him. His breath fanned the skin of her neck and ear when he spoke. "I've heard what some of the new recruits want to do to you. I myself would never lay with an animal but I'll say one thing for the beast; he picked a beautiful woman."

"Fuck you," Jo said, anger finally winning. All hint of want for Maximus evaporated at the thought of someone touching her in worse ways than the man in front of her fingering his bite.

He laughed. His hand dropped from her shoulder to her breast. His thumb ran across her nipple and he pinched her hard enough to bring a short, pained sound from Jo.

"No, I don't think I will, but I will watch. They've been such good soldiers. You're covered now, but once you've changed and your human body returns you'll be bare." For someone who didn't want to fuck her he had no problems with his hand roaming. He lowered until it hit the back of her thigh, and then disappeared beneath the t-shirt until he cupped her ass. "Tonight there'll be no pain." He said pulling her tight to his body. "At least, no pain of body, I've seen the monster naked, if you can take him..."

He released his hold, backed away from her in slow steps. The façade of calm kept her from crying, but her chest was tight, she could taste the saltiness of tears in her throat. She only took the shallowest of breaths, afraid anything deeper would hitch in her chest.

He looked above her head, out of the window set high on the wall at her back. The day was painted in dark oranges, deep yellows and varying blues. The setting sun was like the countdown of a bomb. She wondered how much time she had before his body changed into a beast. She'd been nervous before, the promise made her damn near hysterical.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

Same stone walls, same wide barren hallway lit by the same torches. The banquet hall was still empty, the tables still set and the kitchen had cooking food but no servants attended it. He walked through the ghost castle out the back door. Halfway to the courtyard he was Beast, when he crossed the threshold he was Wolf. Tonight his head wasn't in it. There was no wondering what relation he was to the massive wolf sitting before him. He didn't care if it was _the_ master, _a_ master, or something altogether different. Even now, in this dream world, she punched through, a beacon of something wonderful. Goddess.

The black wolf studied him with eyes that mirrored his own. Wolf waited patiently for the beast to utter the word that would release him so he could wake. In the time they'd been together, short as it was, he knew every inch of her, he could feel her skin beneath his paws, taste her sweet honey on his tongue.

The great black wolf lowered his body. Face to face, the beast seemed bigger, one quick move and he could swallow Maximus, it wasn't the knowledge he was in a dream that kept him fearless; he simply had no fear. An exhaled breath blew his fur back.

"Yours."

The single word was nothing he didn't already know, but something had changed. He had changed, and she was the one who'd altered him on a molecular level. Yes, she was his, to cause her pain made him physically ill and not just pain of the body, pain of the soul.

"Yours," the giant wolf said again, moving forward until his mighty nose pressed against Maximus's smaller one. "Yours," he said a third time, this time the sound was more growl than word.

The massive head of the beast swung to the left a second before Maximus picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. A man, taller than he was in human form came from the darken area just beyond the courtyard. His white hair falling in soft curls around his armored shoulders, each step ringing as metal landed on stone. The helmet under his arm sported wings and the red cape billowed in waves around him as he generated his own strong wind.

The man stopped well out of the reach of the beast and Maximus felt the stone beneath his feet tremble as a growl filled the night. The beast stood, its full height was the size of a whale, if not larger.

"Yours," he said one final time before turning his back to the man.

Maximus walked over to the new arrival who was dressed for battle. The armor was old, scratched and dented but polished to mirrored perfection. On his breastplate were two wolves, one light and one dark. Their noses pointed in opposite directions, their bodies crossing at their middles. He reached out and Maximus allowed him to touch him. The instant his hand made contact Maximus's human form returned. Maximus was perplexed by the change in his dream, confounded by the new word, bewildered by the presence of the old man and his ability to change his form. There was sadness in the eyes of the man. Sorrow that Maximus felt in his bones and regret, none of these things Maximus mistook as weakness. There was little doubt the man was just as powerful as the beast to his back.

The man's hand left Maximus's shoulder and he cupped his cheek. His skin was soft, thin from old age and rough at the same time. There was something so familiar about him, but as Maximus searched the memory banks of his mind he couldn't place him. If he'd fought him surely he'd remember. Old as he was, Maximus had a feeling a fight would prove not in his favor. The thought confused him more. There was still no fear as he cocked his head to the side, into the hand that still rested on the side of his face.

"Fenrir."

Maximus woke from the dream. His waking mind just as confused as his sleeping one. But once his eyes focused on his surroundings the dream evaporated. There were more urgent matters to think upon. He stood up from the mass of pillows on the floor that served as his bed. In the years since he'd taken his freedom he'd never gotten use to sleeping on a bed. He went to the large picture window and watched the sunset. All day his body had been humming, Beast and Wolf, fighting just beneath his skin. That was new. There was no threat present and Beast rarely came forward if there wasn't something that needed killing. Wolf had been restless since his mate had been taken. Maximus had never felt such rage from the animal. Not even as a pup being tortured. Then there was the dream. What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all?

Maximus put his hand on the frame of the window and leaned forward until his head pressed against the cool glass. He never thought he could miss someone so much. Then again he never thought he'd ever have anyone _to_ miss. He wondered if she felt the same way. Beast growled at Maximus's uncertainty. He wasn't letting the woman go, whether she wanted him or not. Wolf was confident that there were feelings; otherwise there would not have been a mating.

Maximus head snapped up and he stumbled back, knocking over a small table and lamp. His clothes fell around his body like confetti as Beast ripped through that thin membrane that separated them. With a mighty roar he took a step, the second one was faster, the third he was running and he jumped through the multi-pane glass. Men were pouring from every exit of the castle—swords drawn, guns waving. But Beast knew what he was. He threw his arms back, took a breath that expanded his chest until it looked like something was about to be birthed from it and open his mouth wide. The sound shattered glass. The fight was on.

# Chapter Thirty-Four

Jo ran to the bathroom for the thousandth time, knelt in front of the porcelain throne and had just enough time to push the seat up before her lunch of grill cheese and salad of fresh greens with strawberries made a second appearance. She vomited until her stomach felt like she'd done a billion crunches and then dry heaved until she was sure by the end of it all she'd have a six pack, maybe even an eight pack. She grabbed a towel, wet it in the tub and pressed the cool compress on the back of her neck while leaning against the wall in front of the toilet. This. Was. Just. Perfect. As if she needed another thing to add to her list of worry. She decided that the worst was over because her stomach was pretty much empty. She went to the sink, rinsed her mouth out and went back to the bedroom.

Two days they'd kept her chained in the stall and for two days...nothing. Not a single hair grew. The leader showed up on the second day looking like someone had pissed in his Kool-Aid and slapped her so hard her ears rang, she saw stars and her lip split. He opened his mouth, didn't say a word and raised his hand again. Jo braced for a second assault but he just cursed and stormed off. Well, she was just as surprised as he was. She was totally expecting to turn, hell, her body was still on fire, but no, she was still human. But she did feel strong.

So strong in fact she was contemplating her escape. The woods were about a hundred yards away. She'd squirreled away some food and could pack a few bottles of water with the food in a pillowcase and make a run for it in the middle of the night. No guard patrolled the area and once they locked her in, no one came to check on her in the middle of the night. All she had to do was pick the lock on her door, possibly one on the door below and it was smooth sailing. Oh yeah—and learn how to pick a lock. She didn't let the specifics get her down.

She still didn't have any clothes other than the t-shirt she'd thrown on. And they called Maximus a beast. She'd had to break down and wash it. His scent was gone by then so she'd only cried a little. The shirt was the only thing she had from her life before. A life she was willing to die to get back to. A life that she was ready to start living with Maximus.

The sound of the barn door below sent her to the corner of the room where the boards had shrunken enough to peek through. Below a horse was being led in. She hadn't prayed, but it was as if God himself was telling her to get a move on it.

God had a sense of humor... and it was dark.

Jo hadn't eaten any of the food brought to her for dinner. For one, she didn't want to get sick while on the run, but around seven, nausea would have been a whole hell of a lot better than the symptoms she was sure was followed by death settled in. Her body felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire and she switched between being freezing cold and boiling hot. Her throat felt like she'd swallowed ground glass and her head felt like an elephant was standing on it. All that would have been acceptable, if not for the added bonus of her heighten senses. Every sound was a damn gong, ever smell made her stomach knot and her t-shit, that she would have sworn hours ago was the most comfortable thing she'd ever had on her body, felt like it was made of burlap. Her teeth chattered even as she felt like she was standing next to a barn fire, but if she was going to die, it was not going to be in the room above the barn. She pushed off the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning before standing up. She lifted the mattress and grabbed the food she'd hidden and added the night's supper to the pillowcase. She arranged the pillows and sheets into a body-like form. She didn't know if it would buy her any extra time, but every prison break movie couldn't be wrong.

Every step was like walking through molasses and when she reached the door she decided—fuck it. She grabbed the handle and pulled. The frame splintered and the door opened, so much for buying time with the fake body. The descent from the loft was long as she clung to the railing and tried very hard not to fall and break her damn neck. Wouldn't that just be funny as hell?

The horse that had been brought in earlier was in a stall at the end of the barn and when she got within ten feet of it, the thing started acting a fool, rearing up on its hind legs, whinnying and snorting. The irony of it being afraid of her was so funny she almost laughed. She didn't because she was sure it would sound spot on like one of those that only the insane made. More a cackle than a happy sound. . Afraid that the failed attempt at stealing the horse may have gotten the attention of someone in the house, she went to the barn door and braced herself to open it with brute force, but the knob turned easy in her hand. The night air was a welcome relief on her hot body. She didn't waste time enjoying it. She ran.

A hundred yards didn't look far earlier, but it grew on her with every weighted step she took. She kept waiting for a shot to ring out as her escape was discovered or the sounds of yells and then footfalls, but none came. When she reached the edge of the woods she took a moment to rest and look back on the house. So far so good. Now all she had to do was get through a completely foreign forest, in a completely foreign land, and find a man she'd known for exactly one day, not counting the days in which he kidnapped her. Who was also a mythical creature, while changing into said mythical creature, wearing a t-shirt, barefoot and pregnant. Piece of cake.

Pushing off the tree she was leaning against Jo started her journey and prayed that God's sense of humor got a whole lot lighter.

The one thing going for Jo was that her heighten sight allowed her to see in the dark. When she stumbled and fell it had nothing to do with her vision and everything to do with her body feeling like it was encased in cement. Her arms weren't strong enough to even push up from the ground. Her new found strength picked when it wanted to appear. She cursed it.

She would have cried, but even that seemed like too much of an effort. Rolling onto her back she looked to the heavens. The moon looked close enough to touch. God, the last time she'd looked at it was with Maximus. He'd held her in his arms. He'd been in his half form, a monster, but he'd been so gentle, his fur so soft.

She'd been out here for hours, no shouts, nor barking dogs. Had her luck really been that good? She rolled onto her side, curled into a ball when a wave of pain erupted in her middle like someone was ripping her insides out. Then her back bowed, the pain was bad, too bad to be called excruciating. How did Maximus go through this every time he changed? God, she loved him more for it. She felt like she wanted to kill someone herself. In the end she screamed and then howled.

# Chapter Thirty-Five

Alfred's men didn't need instructions; by the time he exited his bedroom the house was busier than an ant colony. As he approached the weapons room, Geoffrey came to a skidding halt in front of him.

"She's gone."

Anger blurred his vision, tightened every muscle in his body. How could this happen?

"Get everyone armed with something that can blow that bastard to pieces," Alfred snapped and pushed past his oldest soldier. His loyalty was the only reason Alfred hadn't pulled his gun and shot the man where he stood. If it had been one of the newer members he didn't think they would have fared so well.

"That wasn't him."

The words stopped him. "Of course it was."

"No, Alfred. It was her."

Alfred stepped into Geoffrey's face. Spittle hitting his nose and cheeks as Alfred screamed. "We hunt—capture, not kill."

Geoffrey nodded once and was off to pass the order. The excitement of the hunt hurried his heart, his skin tingled. It had been years since he'd tracked one of the great beasts. Forget big game hunting, there was nothing like taking down a werewolf. The events that led to his current state didn't dim the feeling. If anything it made it worse. Alfred had hope to sooth his bloodlust on Jean Rene and taking his mate, or better still, his children. Maximus's mate was a pretty good prelude.

The leather armor was new. The symbol on the chest was no longer the Wolfe insignia of a wolf and crossing broadswords. On his chest was a wolf surrounded by flames. Alfred broken body was weak by Wolfe standards, but was still stronger than most men. His limp barely slowed him now. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing. . Parked in front was an all terrain vehicle about the size of a golf cart with several more behind it, all fired up and ready to go. Alfred grabbed the handle and pulled his body in next to Geoffrey. The man hit the gas before Alfred's ass was firmly planted. Good, he was ready, too. Itching to do what they did best.

They found her tracks easily; she'd been human when she entered the woods and hurting. Several places they found where she'd leaned against a tree or sat. Alfred had to give it to her, to keep moving in the kind of pain she must have been in. Alfred had seen many changes but Maximus was the only wolf he'd seen whose change was like flowing water, his transition just that smooth.

The sound of breaking bush made Geoffrey speed up. They'd caught her.

The beast they came upon was...magnificent and its size...she was beautiful. To put her down was going to be a waste. But not tonight, not yet, first they had to get her mate.

She was surrounded but that didn't mean they had the upper hand, she was a wolf the size of a draft horse. Five guns holding tranquilizers strong enough to sedate a whale were pointed at her.

"Fire!" Alfred yelled.

The sound was deafening. The wolf snarled and lowered her body but she didn't try to get away as darts dotted her body. Odd.

"Fire," Alfred yelled again.

A howl vibrated his bones. The sound rushing towards them had to be the mate. But Alfred was prepared.

"Machine guns, now!"

They'd cut the great black wolf down by removing his legs. They always grew back but it took time. The sound of changing weapons joined the sounds of the struggling wolf already in front of them. She should have been sound asleep but she was still standing. The beast that appeared was not Maximus. Alfred was pretty sure he and his team were as good as dead.

The wolf's big body pushed against ancient trees, bending them as if they were nothing more than saplings. The low growl in its throat was enough to send half of his men running. It was bigger than the first one. An idiot fired, the sound of machine gun fire didn't drown out the sound of growling and snarling. With speed unseen in something so big, the wolf removed the man's head. His body kept standing for a second or two, his finger still on the trigger, bullets entered the great beast's body but there was no blood, only its hair moving gave hint that it was being shot. The wolf placed its body in front of the other one. Teeth the size of Alfred head shone in the light of the moon, saliva dripped from its muzzle. Alfred was no one's fool.

"Retreat," he called out. That wasn't hard. The only two left were him and Geoffrey.

# Chapter Thirty-Six

Jo was sure acid had replaced all the blood in her body. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess she was in such pain. This sucked. The sound that was ripped from her human throat had scared her. She was sure her body would change but she held her human form. The great grey wolf that entered the woods was so beautiful that Jo wasn't scared. She felt oddly calm as the mighty wolf approached and her pain disappeared when it licked her. Then the men arrived, the wolf had stood in front of Jo, shielding her with its body. Jo screamed out when the leader yelled to fire. She was relieved when darts struck her protector. Then its mate had shown up. Holy, hell, he was HUGE. The man with the machine gun was rewarded for his efforts by having his head eaten. Go grey wolf! The rest scattered like rats from a sinking ship. By the time the order to retreat sounded only the leader and his driver remained.

Jo was sure the old man that entered the clearing was part of her delirium. He looked, ancient, his white hair hung in curly ropes to his waist, a beard just as white covered most of his face. His nose was long and bulbous at the end. His eyes were deep set, almost invisible beneath his thick eyebrows. And then there was the color: a blue somewhere between aqua and baby. They were gorgeous. The clothes he wore were right out of a fantasy movie. He was the perfect cross of Gandalf the Grey and Dumbledore, with his long robes and walking stick several inches taller than him.

"Be calm Josephine," he said his voice deep and soothing. He took off one of his many robes and placed it over her shoulders.

"Who are you?" she asked while sticking her arms through the garment. It was way too big, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Odin."

The words were impossible. Too much too soon. Jo, with only one arm in the offered robe, braced herself against a nearby tree and laughed.

Odin...really!

He studied her patiently as she laughed. He didn't interrupt as she went a little crazy. First there had been Maximus, her first encounter with him in his beastly form. Then she'd been kidnapped by a crazed psychopath with a thing for torture. Next were the two giant wolves. Now a damn god stood before her—had offered her clothing from his back. Impossible no longer belonged in her vocabulary.

"Thor's dad?" Jo asked, still chuckling. Her remaining arm was stuck in the endless folds of the robe as she tried to cover her body.

The grandfatherly man helped. The look in his eyes was one she knew. Her own parents had worn it several times. He loved her. It made no sense but it calmed her.

"The same," he answered.

"So these two are...."

"Geri and Freki."

"Of course," Jo said. If Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny showed up she wouldn't have bated an eye.

"Geri seemed to think you needed help."

Jo looked at the grey wolf that had come to her rescue. At some point the animal had shrunk to a more normal size. Her mate remained the same as before, so big his form blocked the moon. Odin stroked Geri's head.

Jo listened slack-jawed as Odin told her the story of how werewolves came to be. Geri and Freki's mating, Fenrir madness, his escape, Odin's decision to save his beloved wolves pup by bringing her to earth, and the little boy that stumbled across them. Freki had bitten him and Odin had made him a protector of the little girl. They'd been separated and married others—humans. The children of the boy with his human wife had gone on to have a line of children, all sons, with special abilities. His name was Cynric. The same happened with the children of the girl, her name was Afi, and she'd had only girls. Cynric and Afi, at last found each other, and had children together.

"So Maximus is from this line?" It made sense. The growl from the elephant size wolf told her she was way off base.

Odin gave the wolf a stern look. He lay down at his master's feet.

"Not at all," he said.

"But...I don't understand—his ability to heal, his size."

He took a deep breath, Jo could tell he was trying to figure out where to start, maybe how much more to tell her. "There are things in play and you are a key part in this...game."

"I don't understand, how can—"

Odin's raised hand stopped her. He stroked her hair and laid his hand on her shoulder. "I can say no more Josephine." He squeezed her shoulder before taking her hand. You are a Queen of Wolves, one of only five. The path you walked while human was but the beginning. There's time."

Jo's mouth was open with a question, one of about a million, but the man started to fade. She could make out the trees behind him. "Geri will take you to your mate. I'm afraid Freki's presence would prove...problematic." And with that he and the giant wolf disappeared.

Jo looked at the remaining grey wolf. There must have been thousands of children born to the little boy and girl, why only five queens? The thought of her being queen of anything made her shake her head. Would her life ever make sense again? She couldn't even turn into a wolf.

That's when Geri bit her.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Not again," Wallace said. They'd heard the blood-curdling roar. It sounded like death, pure and simple.

Thomas, Virginia and the Wolfe Hunters who lived in the castle were among the people who ran with him, broadswords in one hand and guns in the other.

"Son of a bitch," Virginia said when they ran out onto the pebbled back of the castle.

The sentiment was dead on.

Maximus was in beast form and surrounded by the king's guard. Too many were on the ground.

"What happened?" Constantine asked when they reached a guard.

"Don't know. That's how we found him and he went apeshit as soon as he saw us."

They hadn't told the guard about Maximus's special abilities, but the cat was out of the bag. The king's guard would fight to the death to protect the royal family but they didn't rush to death's door. They figured out the beast could not be injured and focused solely on keeping him away from the castle, forming a circle around it but not advancing.

"Is it me or is he bigger?" Thomas asked.

The guard's jaw dropped. "Bigger?"

Maximus was twice the size he was when he'd first turned; twenty feet tall, his chest the size of a small car, arms and legs as thick as the trunks of the ancient trees that surrounded the castle.

Wolves arrived by the droves, coming from all directions, a second line of defense, one joining each of the men circling the massive beast and the rest creating a barricade of bodies.

Maximus roared again and even Wallace felt the prickling of goose-bumps on his skin. If he wasn't so damn deadly he'd be beautiful.

"Suggestions?" Wallace asked. When no one answered he knew they were in trouble.

The beast's head lifted and his nostrils flared as he scented the air. Every animal and man who carried wolf's blood in his veins mimicked the movement. It would have been funny in different circumstances.

"What is it?" Virginia asked Constantine.

"I don't know," he said shaking his head, "Wallace?"

"Nothing," the redhead seconded.

If possible, the sound that erupted from the monster was louder than the earlier one, and it had shaken the damn castle. The great beast's upper body dropped to the ground, his hands landed with a mighty boom sending a cloud of dust in the air and burying his fist in the ground at least a foot. His body went through the line of defense like a ball through pins.

Wallace could almost feel the tension of the standing guards evaporate. They were glad he was headed in the opposite direction of the house. The royal family was hidden beneath the castle, along with Rob and Alexis. It wasn't harm to those they were sworn to protect that had them breathing easy, at least, not the only reason. No one had been looking forward to fighting inside the ancient stone structure.

"He's going to leave a trail like a freakin' tornado through a trailer park," Virginia said.

"Our first duty is to protect the royal family. We set up post, make sure he doesn't get in," Her father said sheathing his sword. "I want a man and wolf on every door, at every window!" he yelled, walking off and shouting orders like the commander he was.

"I really hope he does not come back," Constantine said.

"But we gave our word," Wallace said, shocked at his friends words.

"And we can't allow him to just roam free. He's rogue if I ever saw one," Virginia said.

"We're not," Thomas said rejoining the group. "Once I've checked in with Jean Rene and the others we'll form a search party to find him."

"And do what? Asked nicely that he do not kill us all," Constantine said.

"Constantine..."Virginia said laying a hand on his arm.

The man turned to his wife and those who didn't know them, didn't know what the Frenchman was, would have thought he meant her harm. But Constantine would cut off his own head with the sword hidden on his person before he harmed her.

"You will not go."

Virginia opened her mouth to protest. She wasn't some delicate thing to be hidden and taken out for special occasions, she was a born hunter. She killed werewolves. Constantine wasn't a large man, but size didn't matter. He was stronger than any human man and most werewolves. He was an alpha just like Wallace, Rob and Alexis and not just any alpha, one created by Jean Rene.

"I forbid it," he said in a low voice.

"You can't forbid me from doing anything," Virginia said dropping her hand from her husband's arm, but taking a step forward, getting right up in his face—chest to chest, almost nose to nose. Constantine grabbed her arms, the leather of her armor creaking where he held her. Thomas took a step in their direction. They might be married but she was still his daughter.

"This is wolf business Hunter," Constantine said through gritted teeth.

"It sure as hell is," Thomas said, and his tone was full of, _I'll fuck you up if you hurt my little girl_.

"Thomas, you know he won't hurt her," Wallace intervened but not making a move of his own. Mated werewolves were dangerous when it came to their other halves. Constantine had not bitten Virginia, she remained human, but that didn't mean Constantine wasn't just as possessive, just as protective.

"You will not go on this hunt. You will stay with the royal family and your mother beneath the castle." His fingers were digging into her arms; the power of his beast vibrated the air around them in an electric charge.

"No," Virginia said, narrowing her eyes and leaning into her husband.

"For fucks sakes," Wallace said running his hand in front of his face. A dominance challenge...really.

"Virginia..." Thomas said. He hadn't moved forward but his hands were at his sides balled into fist, his leather creaking with every breath because beneath the black fabric every muscle was tightly coiled, ready to whip that long, thick sword from his back and take down his daughter's husband the second he made a wrong move. Parents could be just as irrational as mates it appeared.

"Daddy," Virginia warned but didn't take her eyes from her husband. "This is between me and my husband."

"I—"

Wallace finally laid his hand on the man's shoulder. Wallace had nothing but respect and love for Thomas and his family. Werewolves had not been kind to them, first the attack on Lillian that brought them together and then his son dying during Alfred's attempt to take over the Hunters. A wolf had not killed him, but if Thomas and his family had not stood with the king the boy would still be alive. Wallace was amazed he still fought for them. The man was the head of The Odin, the king's guard. He'd taken a vow to protect the very thing that he was suppose to destroy, should have wanted to destroy after what he'd been through.

"Thomas, please." Wallace said in a low voice, which no one would have thought possible. His inside voice was usually a decibel from a yell.

The Wolfe Hunter slowly unclenched his fist, flexed hands large enough to pound the living shit out of most humans but his body was still tight as he fought every paternal instinct in his big body. It would have been hard for any parent, impossible for one that didn't know about dominance challenges for mated wolves, which sometimes meant a fight. Virginia wasn't a wolf but she wasn't backing down. She was young, opinionated, headstrong _and_ married to a man who expected to be obeyed. Period.

"I'd die before I see her hurt Thomas, you know that, but I will not allow this and if she needs me to remind her of what I am and what she is to me...then I am prepared to do that."

Constantine's hands were still buried in his wife's arms; he hadn't taken his eyes from hers. Wallace cursed under his breath, ran his hands through the thick ropes of the waist length dreadlocks before tugging on the beard that hide most of his face.

"Darlin', you know that I love you like a daughter but you're doing a real number on your father. For once can you just agree with Constantine," he asked.

Virginia whipped her head around and a lesser man would have taken a step back. Maybe even ran.

"I'm a grown woman—" she started before Wallace raised a hand.

"You're twenty-three, a woman, but hardly lived long enough to be grown in my book and you'll never be that to your father. To him you'll always be his little girl; to Constantine you will always be his number one priority. We all know you're a skill fighter. Hell, I'm proud to stand by your side in battle but what just ran out in the woods," –he pointed in the direction Maximus ran in— "that is something none of us have ever seen. Why do you think Jean Rene and Rob stayed below with the children? Have you known either man to bow out of a fight, or Diana for that matter?"

As if to punctuate his remark a howl sent every bird in the nearby woods to flight. They'd spent enough time standing around, they needed to find Maximus before he hurt someone, or worst, before he exposed them to mankind.

"I'm not mated, so I don't know what Constantine is going through but I agree with him. You cannot, you will not fight. Even if it means we carry you down below and tie your ass to the furniture."

Virginia looked at the three men and knew it was a losing battle. She understood their love for her, appreciated their concern for her safety. None of that did a damn thing about her anger. She was pissed. She tried to jerk away from her husband but he held tight. Virginia was the same height but a little heavier. She spent a lot of time in the gym building up muscles and training. She was man's warrior and she took her job seriously. She'd been prepared to fight with her father for her right to fight, but then she'd met Constantine. They'd married and she knew her father didn't fight her on going out in the field mainly because her husband went where she went. If anyone could protect her, he could.

"I'll not loose you for pride," Constantine said before pulling her closer to him. So close that their lips touched when he said, "Vousêtes la rythme qui estmoncoeur."

Wallace couldn't hide the smile if he tried and he didn't want to. As soon as the little smooth bastard uttered the French words he knew Virginia was going to relent. After five years of marriage Virginia was fluent in her husband's native tongue. Wallace didn't have to be wolf to know her heart rate kicked it up a notch.

Thomas leaned over to Wallace and whispered, "What did he say?"

"She is the beat that is his heart."

Thomas nodded slowly, the rest of the tension draining from his body like a plug had been pulled. Another howl broke up the overly romantic moment and Virginia kissed Constantine quickly before taking a step back. He let go of her arms, sliding his hands down the length of them until he was holding her hands.

"Do not think for one minute that your kiss will save you from my wrath."

The heat in his gaze had nothing to do with anger and a lot to do with another way mated werewolves showed dominance and Virginia blushed while lifting her chin in defiance.

"Can we go before Maximus eats the first village he comes across?" Wallace asked, the laughter that had been missing returning.

Constantine kissed Virginia's hand and turned to Thomas. "She is my wife, mine to love, mine to protect."

Wallace slapped his forehead and swore he would never mate. This was borderline insanity. He was foolish, but no fool. Wallace didn't have it in him for the constant battles promised when mated to a strong woman or the loss of mental faculties it guaran-fucking-teed

Constantine stepped around Virginia and looked up at her father because the man was almost a damn foot taller than him. Just when Wallace thought he was going to have to step between his two friends that were really more like brothers. Thomas nodded.

Crisis averted, well, at least this one.

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

Beast was the reason they'd survived. Because he didn't have to worry about the delicate thread that tethers sanity to the mind. He was insane.

When Beast tore through Man's body he knew he was different. The power was suffocating; it was a physical thing, making the air around him wavy like heat rising off asphalt. He was bigger, stronger...angrier. Fury blinded him to all around him and the only comfort he had ever known, the presence of Man and Wolf, was not there. The emptiness was terrifying. He was...alone. He rushed through the woods uprooting trees, each footstep ripping the earth. Man and Wolf were gone but there was another and her scent was a whisper on the breeze, not even that, but he was lead by his nose and his feet asked no questions. When he was thrown into a circle of tall grass and wildflowers he saw her. His roar shook the trees. There she was, their mate, Goddess. Conflicting thoughts feuded: kill, mate, destroy...love. Beast fell to his knees embedding them feet deep into the earth, the ground shook, a plume of dirt and dust rose around him. He grabbed his head as the war inside him continued. Never had he struggled with the taking of a life. She stood yards away from him, her eyes wide, her mouth open, tears streaming down her face. She kept her distance but her hands were outstretched. Reaching for him and there was...no fear. The acrid smell on anyone else always made his mouth water, his stomach growl. Fear meant weakness, which meant food. He'd never liked the smell on her, it turned his stomach.

Beast didn't move. Didn't trust himself to get any closer for fear of what he might do. He had never felt so out of control. He threw his head back and roared again. All sound was drowned out by the beating of his heart, the gasps of air sawing in and out of his chest, and the pain in his head. Her hands dropped to her sides, her head hung and he watched her take a deep hitching breath before steeling her shoulders. When she looked up her eyes were the color of the moon and she took the first step to him.

His body became a statue. He even stopped breathing. Each step that brought her closer the more he fought to stay in place. Did he go to her or run from her. How had he ever thought the woman weak? Even before Wolf mated with her she possessed a kind of strength. She was brave, loyal, kind, and fearless. That warranted respect—loyalty—and love.

****

Jo started to cry the minute she heard him crashing through the woods like a herd of elephants. In the distance birds took flight by the thousands as the tops of trees toppled in his progression. God, she hadn't wanted to admit it, but she didn't expect to see him again, at least not like this, maybe chained in one of those stalls, bloodied and tortured and broken, all because of her. When he broke through the tree-line her breath stopped for a moment.

After all she'd been through she wanted him. She needed him. She took a step and then another and another until she was directly in front of him. His massive size shaded her from the sun, blinded her from everything else around them, and drowned out all other noise.

He lunged forward, caging her in arms that were thicker and longer than her entire body and still she was not afraid. Teeth as long as her arms were inches from her face and his breath misted her body, and she held her ground. A low growl that vibrated her very bones escaped his throat and sped her heart... but not from fear. She took a step back, not to escape him but to look into his eyes. He drew his lips back, snarled and growl. She could hear the hammering of his heart in his chest. He had never hurt her and she was willing to bet her life that he never would. He'd changed, was bigger, looked a whole hell of a lot fiercer, but not those eyes. Those golden eyes stared straight through her and into her very soul. God, what a game changer this was. While she was being held, waiting for him to save her, she'd realized that she loved him. Man, Beast and Wolf.

"Yours," she said in a low, calm voice.

He growled again and snapped at her, massive jaws centimeters from her face, fury on his face that would have made strong men drop dead from fright. She raised her hands high above her head because he was that freakin' big and spread them wide and laid them on each side of his muzzle.

"Mine."

****

The words were like being struck by lightning. He roared from the sensation of being claimed. It was the most horrific pain he'd experience in all his years and he basked in the glory of it. Savored every electric shock that traveled through his body one hair follicle at a time, he reveled in her touch, and the weight of it on each side of his face, even while he felt like he was being drawn and quartered. The three parts of him being torn apart, reshaped, molded and held together by her claim—her love. His form—their shared body—changed rapidly, a shuffling of Man, Beast, and Wolf. The shuffling became a flickering, then a vibrating, then a hum until he felt his body threatened to both explode and implode, only her hands kept him grounded. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but he endured and would for as long as it took. For her he would do anything, be anything. Her gaze never wavered while the three parts of him warred, until finally, blessedly, he stood before her, at long last—whole.

The need to mark her was too great to do so with any finesse. He belonged to her, and not in the sick twisted way he had been owned by Master but in the way of the Wolf. Maximus pushed her to the ground, covering her small delicate body with his still large one. There was no fear in her eyes, no tremble in the hands that held firmly to the nape of his neck and onto his shoulder. Pulling him to her, accepting without words what he wanted to give her even though it would be painful in her human form. A vibration traveled through his body and he realized that it was her. She was growling. He watched her teeth grow until they were too large to fit in her mouth and pain where she held him announced that her hands were now claws but she was still otherwise human. Blood ran from the back of his neck, dripping onto her throat. He shifted until his weight was on one hand and pushed the fabric of the robe aside, spreading her thighs wider and positioning his erection—ever present when she was near—at the opening of her sex. As he thrust his hips, burying himself to the hilt, she pulled him forward and bit him. Teeth sliding into his flesh, passing muscle until they hit bone. The pain was...freeing.

He came so hard spasms locked the muscles in his back and thighs. This was not about him; she was marking him -making him hers in all ways. With her teeth firmly in his body they began a frenzied mating.

# Chapter Thirty-Nine

"God, he's one big bastard," Wallace said looking at a tree that had been pushed over. The roots sticking up like stalagmite from the earth were taller than he was.

There were other trees in the same state and smaller ones that had been cut down by his claws. It was a sight to behold, impressive and unnerving. Not only had he proven to be invincible, he was bigger than any wolf they'd ever seen. Their plan was simple. Try not to get killed. They had no idea how to subdue him, but as Wolf Hunters and werewolves they could not allow the giant creature free range. They were already crossing their fingers that he hadn't reached the nearest town. Of course, he had been running full speed when he left the grounds of the castle, even if they kept up their fast jog, the chances of catching him was slim to none. Their only hope was the scent that had gotten him moving in the first place was his mate's. They all prayed that she could control him. Because God knew no one else could. A sound slowed Thomas and he held up his hand to signal everyone to stop. Thomas body ducked low and he ran hunched over into the bush to his left. Wallace and Constantine followed. The sounds grew louder and the men wielded weapons, preparing themselves for anything.

Thomas pushed aside foliage and gasped. "Umm, yeah, it was his mate," he said and it took everything in Wallace not laugh at the guy's color—a lovely shade of red, the tips of his ears, crimson.

Wallace had lived with every type of pack, from nudist to those that lived their entire lives as wolves, where mating openly was as common as a peck on the cheek, and even he was a little embarrassed at the sounds that were coming from the clearing. "They've been at it two hours." His whisper was awe filled.

"Don't tell me he's beaten your prowess," Constantine said, a grin curling one side of his lips.

"It's not me I'm referring to," Wallace said looking like he wished he wore pants so he could hitch them up and maybe thumb his nose, too.

"So it's the lady you're worried about," Constantine said.

"I'm just saying, for the amount of time he's putting in—I usually have to spread the love if you know what I mean."

"For Christ's sake, would you two shut up," Thomas hissed.

"He started it," Constantine said.

Thomas looked at the man. The one he allowed to marry his daughter, his baby girl, even though he was old enough to be Thomas's dad, maybe even a young grandfather.

"Do you ever grow up?" Thomas asked. All the wolves turned by Jean Rene stopped aging the moment he bit them, and they were all powerful alphas. Deadly creatures when they needed to be, while other times they acted like a bunch of high school kids. Well, not Rob.

"Never," the two said together and hid their laughter behind their hands like a couple of school girls.

Thomas rolled his eyes and turned back to check on the happy couple. And yeah, they were still making a go of it. Thomas sighed, holstered his gun, but kept his sword out. At the rate they were going the man was going to be too tired to put up much of a fight. At least that's what Thomas was hoping. At the three hour mark, Thomas was about ready to commit mass murder. Three hours—really! The sun was on the wrong side of the sky, it was late afternoon and they were miles away from the house. Just when he thought he was going to have to break it up the sounds of their joining silenced.

# Chapter Forty

Lying in green meadows was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. The sun on her face, in the arms of the man who'd altered her life in ways that were unimaginable. That was a life worth living over and over again. Jo raised her hand and stroked the strong jaw of her mate. So much had changed in the time they'd spent in the grass: declarations, vows, oaths—with each touch, caress, bite and kiss, a pledge had been made that if the world should stand against them, they had each other and that was enough.

Maximus's golden eyes, like always, looked through her and not at her. To belong to someone so completely, so absolute...it was frightening.

"Did they hurt you?" He all but growled, the vibration traveling through the center of her body, to the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet.

It was the first full sentence he'd ever said to her. His voice was deep, rough, low, calming, it was a sound she could lose herself in for an eternity. "No, I'm fine."

He growled again, louder and then dipped his head and kissed the bite on her collarbone. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She smoothed the spot between his eyebrows that were bunched together. Every look was fearsome, even concern. "No."

She let her eyes wander to the parts of his body that she could see: his face, neck, and upper body, but only to those fabulous pectorals that were carved into flawless skin. She let her finger skim across the perfect impression of her teeth on his neck. The bite was red and angry looking.

"You've not healed," she said continuing the slow sweep across the surface of her mark on his skin.

"You are the only thing that can hurt me. You are my only weakness."

Didn't that just make her breath stop? To have such power over something so powerful.

"I don't want to be a weakness," she whispered.

He opened his eyes. The twin suns swirled with varying shades of gold. "You are...everything."

She swallowed. And swallowed again. Tears pooled in her eyes and were set free as she blinked. He rubbed the wetness away with a gentleness that made her cry a little harder.

"You're never weak," she said.

He shook his head, his intense gaze weighing on her face. "I have been powerless these last days without you."

"Then let us part no more," she said.

"Yes," he said. "Mine."

And wasn't that the gospel truth.

"We have company," he said kissing her slowly and thoroughly before turning his body to shield her nude one

Jo watched the three men who emerged from the trees that bordered the meadow they lay in. One was so similar to the man that hurt Maximus that she growled and bared her teeth. Her hands dug into Maximus's shoulder. She was ready to rip the guy's head off. Maximus's head swung around and he smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, more along the lines of, _yeah—that's right—that's my bitch_. The man raised his hands, even though he kept his sword. Jo grip tightened on Maximus shoulders but she was ready to pounce the second the man came too close.

"We're not here to hurt you. I'm Thomas, Alfred's cousin, but I'm not on his side."

Maximus stood, keeping his body in front of Jo's and she allowed him to shield her. Not because she was naked, bashfulness was left at the wayside in the presence of a threat, but because she understood that that was where he would always be—between her and any threat.

"I've hurt your people," Maximus said.

The three stopped in their tracks, Jo didn't see fear in any of them, even the tiny man in the three piece suite, complete with gloves. He didn't even have a weapon.

"We can't have you running wild," Thomas said putting his arms down.

"So you hunt me?"

Jo didn't need to see Maximus face, she heard the amusement in it, the arrogance that he so rightly held at the thought of these men actually hunting him. A huff of laughter escaped her. She took Maximus's hand and he squeezed it lightly. She pressed her face into his back and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with his scent. Wait...who the hell was Alfred?

Jo leaned over from behind his back until she could see the men again. The one in the middle and in front of the other two was a Wolfe Hunter."Alfred is the man who kidnapped me? You're his cousin, and Lucas Wolfe is related to you also?" she asked.

Thomas nodded. "Yes, but Lucas and I are nothing like Alfred."

"So you're what...a good wolf hunter?" Jo didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"I am," he said, taking a step forward. He put up the sword; put his hands at his sides, palms facing out. "The king's agenda match my own, to keep people safe, man and wolf."

"King?" Jo asked

"You've missed a lot Goddess, I'll explain everything—later," Maximus said looking over his shoulder and down at her.

"We were wrong not to tell the soldiers about you. But if you have no control—" Thomas said.

"I am not welcome," Maximus finished.

"It's not that simple," Thomas answered.

Jo's eyebrow went up. "What does that mean," she asked.

"We can't just let him go." The tiny man in the three-piece suit answered.

Maximus body when bow tight. His wasn't the only one.

"You will not take him," she swore. She'd missed a lot, but she knew what Wolfe Hunters did. They hunted fucking werewolves and two stood in front of them.

"You will not touch her," Maximus said at the same time.

"Easy," the redhead said taking a step until he was side by side with Thomas.

"Stop!" Jo yelled, stepping from behind Maximus and standing at his side. She could feel his beast fighting to escape, fighting to do what he'd always done where Maximus was concerned, to protect him, now, to protect them.

"You must know you can't win," she said.

"Are you controlling his beast," the redhead asked as if she hadn't just kind of, sort of, threatened them, "I can feel your power from here little queen."

"What did you say?" Maximus asked. His eyes squinted as his brow creased. He didn't look happy.

"Our Queen controls some manner of the wolf. She is tied to our King," the guy said.

"She gives me...peace," Maximus said.

Wasn't her man full of romantic stuff today? It seemed like every time he opened his mouth he was making her fall in love with him all over again.

"We don't wish to harm you or your mate but if you are a danger...I cannot sit by and simply allow it," Thomas said.

'Does your offer to help kill Master—Alfred, still stand?"

Jo mouth dropped open. God, this man must really hate his family. Not that she could blame him if most of them were like the animal that she left behind.

Thomas nodded.

"Then we will go back with you," Maximus said and took Jo's hand.

****

The path of destruction Maximus left in his wake made her feel like apologizing. Ancient trees lay on their sides or were gouged so deeply they would soon die. The walk back was mostly in silence because every time one of the men tried talking to her Maximus growled his disapproval. Only the redhead seemed in a good mood and Jo wondered if he was all there. When they entered the grounds of the estate Jo's mouth dropped open at the castle sitting in the distance. The men weren't happy that Maximus insisted that she rest before she met with the king and queen. But who was going to disagree with him? They were taken to a house called a cottage, but it was bigger than any house Jo had ever been in, with furnishings that were not old but antique. She could feel Maximus's gaze on her skin as she walked around taking in the surroundings. Would she ever get use to this new life?

"Goddess."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"He didn't—" he stopped, his hands fisted at this sides. Jo could see every muscle tightened. "Please, Goddess, do not lie to me," he finally bit out. Each word was short and clipped as if it pained him to even ask about her pain—the possibility of her being in pain.

She laid her hand on his chest, directly above his heart. "No."

He exhaled, then took several deep breaths, each one release tension that had made his body hard as stone. They'd been together in the meadow for hours; both needing to be joined in a way that was life affirming. Now they simply held on to each other. He buried his nose in her neck.

"I've done terrible things," he whispered in her skin.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and put a finger over his lips. "I don't care. You did what you had to in order to survive the crazy person that killed your parents and stole you from your real life. That part of your life is over." This was not up for debate for Jo. It was like blaming a gun when a lunatic fired the shot that killed. She met his fiery gaze with a stern one of her own until he closed his eyes and took a breath that shuddered when he exhaled.

"Alright," he finally acquiesced. "What is this?" He fingered Odin's robe.

"This," she said looking down were the cloth was pinched between two of his fingers, "Is a long story, One that I think best if I shared with everyone at once.

"I'll kill him." The words were not growled, just spoken in a low certainty that made her smile. Jo nodded. She wasn't a violent person, but that was before she'd met Alfred and knew what he'd done to another living thing. He deserved death. One that was slow with much pain.

"I think we should meet with the queen and king. We can rest once I've told them everything."

"You smell different," Maximus said.

The change in subject made her head spin. "I stink," she asked, both mortified and amused at his directness.

He looked at her. His brow furrowed. "No, I love your scent. But it has changed since we were last together. Your taste is different also."

Jo tried not to blush and failed terribly at the words, at the memories the words invoked. They'd been together countless times, when he kidnapped her, and then again when they'd found each other before she was taken by Alfred. He did that thing where he seemed to stare into her soul. How could she have forgotten her suspicions? But she didn't dare tell him now. What if she was wrong? What if the symptoms were tied into the changes started by his bite and nothing to do with... She fought the urge to place her hand over her stomach. They had too many other things to worry about. She'd better find out for sure, after they spoke to the queen and king, after they found and killed Alfred.

"Come."

There was a time when she wanted to scream at Maximus's caveman, one word commands, now they were growing on her. She went with him to a bedroom and smiled at the pillows on the floor. He pulled her down, settled her in his arms and held her close. She was safe. She fell asleep almost instantly.

# Chapter Forty-One

Even in his profession, Alfred had assumed the leather bound book in his possession was fairy-tale, folklore maybe even bullshit. First, there was Jean Rene, an immortal. Then Maximus, who shared the timeless werewolf's ability to turn whenever he liked and now the giant fucking wolves that showed up tonight. The night's fiasco played on a loop behind his closed lids. The story of their origin was a song on repeat ringing in his ears. A Norse god, favored pets, a beast too strong to control. He'd been a wolf hunter all his life and he would die one, but tonight proved what he'd known the day he woke up in his hospital bed. Without being whole, it was going to be hard—maybe even impossible.

One hand on the marble wall of the shower, he hung his head as water cascaded down his body. He'd stayed in shape, though it was hard. A missing limb and a limp really made you work for six pack abs. He used the pump soap that sat on the showers recessed shelf. He washed his hair then his body, rinsed and walked naked and wet to his bed. The only light was from a small lamp next to his bed, but he didn't need much, he wasn't about to read.

He lay down and threw his arm across his eyes. Thomas standing next to the werewolf, after his wife had been nearly decapitated by one and his daughter married to one. The scene had disgusted Alfred the day of the failed attacks. But as his body healed, as he worked to regain strength, learned how to fight with his broken body, the group was a constant in his head. He was never going to be the man he once was. The thought had not made him sad or depressed, fury made him more determined than ever to be just strong enough to exact his revenge. But now he had a better plan. He needed to be bitten—and not by any werewolf. He needed the strongest of their kind to do the deed. He needed Maximus.

Alfred fell asleep with his brow furrowed deep in thought, but as he drifted into REM sleep a smile replaced the semi-permanent scowl as he dreamt of being whole again and the payback to those who stood against him.

The knock at the door was loud and urgent. Alfred snapped awake like someone had fired a shot in the room. The day was brand new, no sun, just the soft light of dawn's twilight coming through the open window of his bedroom. The knock came again, three sharp raps hard enough to shake the solid wood door in its frame. Whoever it was, whatever it was must be mighty damn important; no one ever woke him without just cause.

"Come in."

Geoffrey entered. Alfred remembered how he'd thought the man a giant when he was a young boy. Taller than his father, the lower half of his face covered in a mountain-man's beard, his deep-set eyes drilling a hole in the person his gaze landed on and now he worked for Alfred, followed him as steadfastly as he had his father before him. Thank God, for loyalty, and Wolfe Hunter leaders were not decided in the ways of the wolf. Even at his advance age, Alfred wasn't sure who would have won a dominance challenge when he took over in his late twenties; he knew for sure he'd lose now.

"What is it," Alfred asked pushing up from the bed.

"I think we may have found Maximus."

"What? Where?" Alfred asked. He was already pushing the covers from his body.

"France."

"You're certain?"

"Scouts in the area surrounding the castle report a roar that damn near shook the ground. Nothing like that has happened before."

"Could have been the one we saw last night," Alfred reminded Geoffrey of the beast that had come to the woman's aid.

"Or could be Maximus," Geoffrey countered, "It is Maximus," he said when Alfred didn't speak.

"Then we leave as soon as I dress."

If it was Maximus, and the woman had somehow found her way back to him, they had to act fast. If the two had joined forces with Jean Rene and Thomas, Alfred wanted to strike before they had a chance to come up with a solid plan. He'd go prepared this time. Last time too much was unknown and he and his crew had gotten their asses handed to them. Not this time. He knew what Maximus was capable of, knew what the Sun Wolf and the White Queen had up their sleeves. He was better equipped, better armed than a Special Forces team and if all else failed and he did not recapture Maximus, he would make sure to destroy him, because the end game was always the same, man or wolf, he would always be mankind's protector.

The sound of the door closing as Geoffrey left him to dress was followed by the man barking orders loud enough to be heard by their enemy. His father's men now followed him without question. He hoped they understood when they found out what his plans were. Not like he was going to be able to hide the fact if all went well, but he was fully prepared to get rid of the old regime if need be. He really hoped it didn't come to that.

Soon, very soon, he would be invincible.

# Chapter Forty-Two

Jo woke feeling like the fever was back, but no, it was just the fur covered arm and leg of her mate draped across her body throwing off heat like she was standing next to free-flowing lava. Instead of freeing her body from his, she snuggled closer, burying her head into his chest, tightening her grip around his waist, running a foot up and down his calf. He'd turned after she'd fallen asleep, or was that passed out when exhaustion had staked its claim. Maximus's form had changed several times, but when he at last seemed to have had his fill, he had been in his human form.

She thought she would have been sore, her muscle achy, her arms and legs stiff, but she felt like she could get up and run a marathon... or at least be ready for him when he woke up. She liked sex as much as the next girl, but she never thought anyone could go that long. Apparently Maximus could and, as it turns out, so could she. And hot damn, if she didn't feel the tingle of arousal in the pit of her stomach. Who said she had to wait on him, he was just as much hers as she was his.

She leaned her head back until she could look into his sleeping face. While awake, the features of his beastly face were hard and scary in an, _ah shit, we're dead,_ sort of way. Nothing good was expected if you ever came across that form. But asleep he seemed at peace and she was so happy that her vision blurred and she forgot her original plan. Was it possible to love someone you barely knew? Was it possible to love someone who had done things that should have resulted in a prison sentence? The answer—yes.

Every hour, every second that passed she felt an attachment that was shoring up his place in her heart and soul. It was as if they had been special made for each other. Not soul-mates, something deeper. She loved him on a level she felt Eve must have loved Adam, made of his rib, flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. Was there anything stronger?

Moving her hand from his waist she stroked the soft fur covering the side of his face. Maximus rolled, throwing her hand from his head, opening her legs with his powerful thighs, and put his hands around her throat. There was nothing but death in his eyes. Jo pawed at hands that were slowing choking the life out of her, panic jack hammered her pulse. It was impossible to pull a single breath and soon her lungs were burning from oxygen deprivation. Her mouth was open wide as she tried in vain to suck in any minute amount of air.

"Kill."

Tears fell in her hair even as her brow furrowed in confusion and her mind raced to figure out what was going on. Why was he doing this to her? What had changed in the hours they were asleep? All good questions—had to wait. He leaned in closer and growled, his teeth inches from her face, and then centimeters from her throat when he lowered his head. Closing her eyes she calmed the fear that gripped her. She was so much more than human now. The man strangling her had given her that gift. With the calm came the strength and Jo felt his hands slip. He tightened his hold and leaned forward on his arms. She needed a different plan of attack. Doing the first thing that came to mind, she lifted her knee quick and hard as possible and kneed Maximus in the nuts. His hands stayed around her neck but he fell forward, she rolled, taking advantage of his moment of weakness, she pulled away from him. Good to know, man or beast, a nut shot got the job done.

She scurried from the bed on her hands and knees, barely getting away when he tried to grab her. She'd lost the first fight between them, but she hadn't been fighting for her life, only pissed. Now it was a whole new ball game because the look in Maximus eyes told her one thing loud and clear—he wasn't talking about anyone else. He meant to kill her.

Jo was so fucked if she had to focus and concentrate to tap into her new found strength. She threw a prayer up. She didn't just tap into new strength she changed forms. It was as smooth and seamless as Maximus's. One second she was a supped up version of her human self, the next she was a monster tall enough to look Maximus in the eye. She didn't have time to admire her new body; he plowed into her like a damn tank, tackling her, crashing them into a bookshelf

Maximus was going for the tried and true strangulation, but Jo brought her arms inside the cage of his and broke free. A glimpse of her white fur covered arms was all she got before her powerful arms broke his hold and she brought her foot up, not to kick him in the balls, but to put in his stomach and push him way. He flew the length of the room and landed on a table probably used for tea. She didn't wait for him to get his footing, she ran. She took two steps before his claws sank into her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. Her scream shook the windows. Okay, now she was pissed.

Reaching behind her, she grabbed his hand and ripped it from her skin. She went to one knee and threw his ass over her shoulder. He landed hard on his back, his face at her knee. Unmindful of her claws she balled her hand into a fist and she punched him. She punched him a second time and then was thrown herself.

Bouncing off a china cabinet, Jo fell to the ground and rolled to the side just as Maximus reached her. Springing to her feet, she catapulted herself at his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and getting him in a choke hold that rivaled Hulk Hogan's on Andre the Giant. Maximus slammed into every surface in an attempt to free himself of her and then dug his claws into her thighs when he couldn't dislodge her. She screamed again but didn't let go as she tightened her grip. Realizing that he was getting nowhere, he tried to claw her eyes out. What the fuck? Not knowing what else to do, she bit the shit out of him. Maybe it'd work on him like it had on her. The roar didn't have a thing to do with pain, it was rage filled.

She'd locked her ankles, but his body grew bigger and they popped like snap buttons. The increase in the width of his body loosened her hold around his neck and she was forced to drop. He turned with speed and agility nothing that big should have and Jo didn't think when he reached for her, she swung her claws, ripping his chest to ribbons. It almost killed her. He looked down at his chest and back at her, his face full of, _oh-no-you-didn't_ , and grabbed her swinging arm, twisting it behind her with enough force to break it. The pain was excruciating, it made her vision blur around the edges, and stopped her breath...and was over in seconds. Maximus wasn't the only one with tricks in his bag.

She shot her head back, but even with a broken nose he didn't let go of her arm. He brought his other hand up and around, now she was the one in a damn choke hold. Jo clawed his arm until she hit bone. When he still didn't let go, she dropped to her knees, he followed and she flipped him yet again. Moving fast, she stood up and kicked him in the head hard enough to hear the snap of his spine. The only thing holding his head on his body was the muscles and skin of his neck. His eyes glazed over and Jo dropped to her knees, screaming, panicked.

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

"Help me!" Jo screamed.

"Holy shit!" The red head, Wallace, was standing in the door, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He didn't move a muscle.

"Please," Jo begged.

"Watch—"

Maximus had her around the throat before he could get the second word out.

For the love of God, this had to stop. Jo threw her leg over Maximus body and sat down on his chest. Leaning forward, she used the last of her breath to either bring him back to her or give a dying declaration.

"I love you."

# Chapter Forty-Three

The words stopped his heart. Beast woke with the uncontrollable urge to kill, and not just anything, or anyone, but his mate specifically. His emotions had always run hot and cold, and when she fought back, it was everything he'd ever searched for in an opponent. Strong, quick, she lacked a true fighter's skill, but she held her own. She'd even killed him when she broke his neck. No other person had done that in a fight. No other person had ever gotten the upper hand on him if he wasn't chained.

He was blind with rage, and had no idea of its source. He thought he was past the whole eating thing because mating was so much more fun, but he guessed not. But then she'd leaned in, her light blue eyes locked with his golden ones and spoken words that snapped him right out of his rage induced devotion to kill her. Yes, her words reminded him just why he no longer wanted to kill her. He...loved...her. The mixed emotions warred within him. He could stop himself only from applying pressure to the neck of the female on top of him, but not release his hold. Tears filled her eyes and dripped onto his face. She held his wrist, but not to break free. She nodded.

"Maximus" she said low and raspy because her throat was raw. Raw from his continued attempts to asphyxiate her. "Please don't hurt me anymore."

He breathed deep, scenting the air for the pungent scent of fear; it was all he needed to snap her neck. He hated weakness. No mate of his could be anything but strong. But there was no fear in her, just a resolve that she was prepared to die, rather than to continue to fight. No, no weakness.

He growled, bared his teeth and tightened the lax grip around her throat and pulled her closer to him. "Mine?" he growled in her face.

"Yes, yes, yours, always yours," she said low because she couldn't take in enough air for much else.

He cocked his head to the side, pushing aside the feelings of rage and fury and focused on the white beast atop him. The fur that covered her body was soft; he knew that from her thighs that rested on each side of his chest. Her body was thick with muscle, not the weak soft body of her human form, a formidable beast guaranteed to strike fear in all who saw her. It would be a waste, really, to kill her, that and he loved her. He straightened his arms, she kept holding on to his wrist. He loosened his grip and was struck in the stomach.

He threw her like a rag doll, her body hitting the wall and landing in a boneless heap. He looked down his body at the large wooden—what was that, a table leg?—sticking from his mid-section. There was no screaming, no writhing in pain; he scanned the room for the culprit. He grinned, not that the soon to be dead red haired man could distinguish it from a snarl. Beast tried to get up only to discover he couldn't. The man had driven the makeshift weapon with so much force it was embedded in the wood floor. No matter, it just meant a little extra effort to gain his freedom and then he would feast on flesh.

The woman that appeared at the door was so much like his mate that he stopped struggling.

"Oh God," she said rushing to his downed mate he'd all but forgotten about after being stabbed in the gut.

Seeing his mate unmoving, got him moving a lot faster than the thought of killing the man who'd just tried killing him.

"Ma Lune, move!" A wolfman standing in the doorway yelled.

The woman moved just as Beast reached his mate. She lived! He knelt beside her, picked her limp body up and brought her to his chest. The inner turmoil was maddening, worse than any punishment he'd ever endured. He looked at the couple standing in the doorway.

"Kill me."

# Chapter Forty-Four

"Kill me, please," Maximus begged.

"Oh God," Diana said, her hand covering her mouth, tears running down her face.

"What can we do?" Jean Rene asked pulling his distraught mate into his side. His heart had returned to its normal place once she'd gotten out of the way of the beast as he made his way to his mate.

A shot answered the question. Virginia had come in the back door, Constantine stood by her side, her feet were planted, her arm a perfect right angle from her body, the barrel of her pistol smoking from the shot.

The beast head rocked forward, his eyes closed, they waited on his body to drop...it didn't.

"He wasn't even out a full second was he?" Thomas asked, his voice full of awe, or maybe fear.

Rob was suddenly in the corner of the room. It really was like he'd taken form in the shadows. Diana held on to Jean Rene as her personal guard approached a being so large he could still look them in the eye even on his knees.

"Please," the beast pleaded.

Rob grabbed the massive head. Beast's eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Rob broke his neck at the end of his exhale. His body fell, shaking the house on its foundation. The silence was thick; the only sound was Diana's cries, muffled because her face was buried in Jean Rene's chest. Rob held his hand out and Constantine was right there with his sword. Raising it above his head, he brought it down across the neck of the downed beast. The blade cut through skin and muscle but stopped before severing his head completely. He pried the blade from the beast's throat and brought the sword over his head again.

"Stop." Jo brought her hand up.

"He has asked to be put down," Rob explained, sword still raised above his head.

"And I am telling you no."

"He's tried to kill you and when he wakes he knows he will try again. You are willing to die by his hand."

"I am willing to help him fight what he was forced to become." Jo was frantic. The man standing above Maximus held the same emptiness in his eyes she'd seen countless times. He and Maximus shared the ability of cold, detached killing. It scared her.

"With your life?"

"If that's what it takes."

Rob looked at the woman, her half form impressive, much like his queen's, but bigger, stronger. Rob tightened his grip and brought the sword down across the beast's neck, taking Jo's hand when she threw it over the beast's neck as a shield.

"Rob!"

"No!"

"Stop!"

The room was filled with useless shouts. Jo didn't acknowledge her missing hand; her tears were not from pain. She fell on top of Maximus and wailed; a soul shattering sound that dropped Diana to her knees and Virginia into the arms of Constantine. In death werewolves return to their human form and as his body changed they knew he was well and truly dead.

"Come back to me my love," she said in between cries. "Wake up Maximus." She slid from his body, still a great white beast, and lay down beside him, stroking hair on a head that was no longer attached to a body "Wake up, don't leave me here all alone."

"Ma Lune." Jean Rene's voice was so grief stricken that everyone's attention shifted from the grieving woman to him.

"Yes, I know," Diana said crying harder.

"Know what," Wallace said and damn if there wasn't a hitch in his words and his eyes were a little brighter than they normally were.

"She is with child," Jean Rene said pressing Diana closer to him.

"This is just too much," Virginia said, just above a whisper.

# Chapter Forty-Five

Man, Beast and Wolf were holding on to death with every ounce, every fiber, every molecule of their combined being. They would do anything to make sure she didn't die; including shutting their shared body down in hopes that death would take. His body remained still but his mind—his consciousness—fought the greatest battle it had ever known. A second beast now shared their body and it made the first look like an action figure standing next to the real life superhero.

They were only just able to hold on, and even that was failing as the great beast fought its way back to the only person that had ever laid claim to them in a way that didn't mean hurt. Beast, their beast, did what he did best, he protected, steeling his grip on the larger being, holding him back. But they knew it was just a matter of time, he was too strong and he would prevail if drastic measures were not taken. Too bad none of the three knew what that was. As far as they knew, they truly were immortal. Unless...

The moment one thought it the rest knew the plan. It was so simple they were all amazed they hadn't thought of it before. If they died, all three, then the human body would follow. Beast would have to kill them and them himself. He was the only one strong enough. Because of him, they had lived, and now they needed him to kill them all. There was no worry of their hijacker, it was their shared body, without it, he would be no more. So Beast released his hold and went to Man.

Through tears she witnessed the re-knitting of bone, ligament, tendons, muscle, skin. Each breath was a hiccup as she waited for him to open his eyes. Every whispered word that wasn't a prayer was a plea for him to wake up. His body jerked in her arms and then stilled. It felt like someone had ripped her heart from her chest. She'd never felt so empty in her life, and now people was talking nonsense about being with child. Who gave a fuck when the only person she was ever going to love lay dead in her arms. The thought, the very idea drove her almost insane and God help them all if he didn't come back. She was going to kill each and every one of them—starting with the black-haired bastard with the serial killer gaze.

"Maximus, my love, wake up," she said rocking back and forth, tears blurring her vision and dripping on his face, and on his bloody throat. She wiped at the blood, smearing it enough to make sure his neck was whole again. "Wake up!" she screamed. She threw her head back and cried to the heavens. God, how could losing him cause such physical pain, she felt like her skin was going to crawl right off her body.

"Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup," she chanted. The mantra a pray to God or the Gods, or Satan, anyone who answered prayers, or granted wishes.

"Please, you have to calm down," someone said and her head whipped up as the perpetrator took a step in her direction, towards her beloved. He was so still, defenseless, but he would come back, and until he did it was her job to protect him, like he'd done for her.

A growl that shook her bones rose in her throat, her body grew taut as each muscle flexed, preparing to fight off any man, woman or beast that got within striking distance. Her already big teeth punched down further pass her chin, splitting her lip. At some point her hand had grown back. She would be glad later, once Maximus was back, for now she put it to use, curling her fingers and bringing the clawed hand up and swiping in front of her to keep the woman back.

"He's gone," the ridiculous woman said.

Jo knew better. "No!" She screamed.

"Please," the woman pleaded.

As if Jo cared about her plea. She'd stood aside while the man, Rob, had tried to kill her mate. Jo turned her head and found him. The sword was still in his hand, blood dripping from its downcast tip, Maximus's blood. Rage filled her, blinded her—made her into something Beast would have not only recognized, but approved of. The roar shattered glass.

Man stood still as Beast approached, there was little time. If Beast 2.0 succeeded in stirring his form they would be back where they started.

"Please," Man said, not begging, an approval, an agreement.

Beast raised his hand; Wolf sat patiently waiting his turn. She'd washed them clean, a lifetime of blood, they had been cleansed in her presence, had been baptized in her love. Head high, chin up, back straight, Man waited. It was the only time Beast did not rush to death.

A soft light glowed from behind Man, all three turned. The man was from his dream. He still wore his armor, the cape swirled around his back from wind that didn't reach them. The mightier Beast snarled, roared, raged, but didn't move. The man rubbed Wolf's head and stopped between Man and Beast, completely ignoring the murderous beast standing feet from them.

"Fenrir," he said looking between them. The Beast behind them made a low threatening sound that raised their hairs.

The ancient man turned and held a hand out. "Silence!"

The beast body dropped to the ground and turned into a great black wolf. It's coat so inky it was more the absence of color than a shade of any.

The man turned back to them. The wolf behind him mouth still moved, but no sound came from it. "You are prepared to die for her?"

"Yes," Man and Beast answered together, there was a short bark from Wolf.

"Love is both a wonderful and terrible thing. It gives great joy, but greater sorrow."

They nodded.

"You were in love once."

"Yes," Man agreed, he would only love once. There was no other for him, only Goddess.

"I do not mean her. It is Geri I speak of."

Behind them, the great beast trembled; his fury weighed the very air around them.

Man shook his head. He didn't understand.

"You loved her but she loved another, and heartbroken you became too dangerous. That is why I chained you."

"No," Man insisted. He knew the story, had just heard it from the Sun Wolf and the White Queen, but that story was an old one; Maximus was only thirty years old.

"Fenrir," The man said. His voice was barely a whisper and there was sadness in his eyes that was as confusing as his words. He lifted his hand, paused, and then laid it on Maximus's head, ran it down the back of his neck before his palm came to rest on his cheek. "I took a part of you, the part that knew love, a love so strong it made you mad, and sent it to earth, hoping that one day you would find peace in the love of another."

"Impossible," Man said.

The old man looked behind him at the struggling, soundless beast. "Your father freed the rest of you, the worst part, the part that held on to all the hurt, betrayal, and anger."

Their gaze followed him as he walked over to the colossal monster, the great wolf from his dream. He lifted his arms and lowered it. The wolf's body lowered. He laid a hand on its bowed head. Man, Beast and Wolf weren't confused by the look, they knew it well now. He'd seen it in Goddess's eyes. The man loved the wolf.

"How?" Man asked.

"It was prophesized you would kill me."

They didn't know what to say about that. They'd killed hundreds, what was one more.

"And you still may," he said turning face them. "The story is still being written, even now. Today is but another page, a chapter in the great tome of my life, our life."

"Kill me," Man said.

The man, taller than Man and Beast, looked broken—a hard thing to do when he still looked pretty damn invincible. "I cannot."

"Why?"

He came back to them; put a hand on Beast's shoulder, the other on Man's, "Because like Geri and Freki, I love you too."

Just recently they had not known love. They knew the word, the definition of the word, but like so many others, it meant nothing to them. Now they knew what it was to love and to be loved.

"Then help me."

The man nodded. A tiny smile curling the corner of his lips, "It would be my pleasure."

Fenrir had loved Geri from the first moment he saw her. Strong and powerful, her grey fur softer than the pillows that made their bed in their master's chambers. He had been big even then, bigger than the grey pup, Freki. They were friends, the three of them, going everywhere together, learning to hunt, to fight, but as they grew older it was Freki that won Geri's affections. And Odin was right, it had driven him mad. The first fight between the two male wolves had been bloody, Geri had been hurt, but Fenrir had made up his mind. If he couldn't have her, no one would, her life meant nothing, since his didn't without her. Odin had separated the warring wolves, mended their wounds and chained Fenrir in the courtyard. Each time he was visited by Geri or Odin his rage grew, even Freki had come for awhile. He grew worse with each passing year, madness taking over rage. Years turned into millennia, and then became aeons.

Fenrir watched Odin approach, lowering his head to look the god in the eye.

"Geri is not mine to offer. Her heart is her own. I am sorry."

Fenrir bared his teeth, one long canine the length of his former master's body. He looked at the man who'd visited him; the strong man who showed no fear when he stood before him in the courtyard and beside him his beast and wolf; both so strong, both so fearsome.

"Be happy Fenrir, it is my only prayer," Odin whispered.

# Chapter Forty-Six

Jo laid her loves body down gently; her eyes locked on the black-haired man who would soon know her wrath. She stood an impressive ten feet but there was more in her, so much more, she could feel the power screaming to be freed, vengeance was a sweet taste in her mouth, and it tasted a lot like blood.

The human woman, who had been held in her mates arms seconds ago, fired a shot. Jo didn't feel the bullet pierce her flesh. Her enemy brought his sword up, prepared to defend his life. Jo felt the laughter bubble in the very center of her.

"Run," she said, the thick guttural sound of warning didn't sound much like the Queen's English.

But the man held his ground, a commendable move, it would be his last. She was prepared to launch herself across the small space that separate them (she could already feel his flesh in her mouth) when arms wrapped around her waist. The only arms that could stop her and her vengeance became a distant memory as she turned to face her beast.

His human form was three feet shorter than her but he held her tight. "Beautiful," he said in a low voice.

Her hands were the size of his head, but she ran a claw-tipped finger across his throat where the man had tried to behead him. Her great body shuddered and she lost her half-form.

"Yours." He wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes. "Your eyes—they're still blue."

Blue, green, purple, who gave a fuck when he was standing there alive, breathing—the heat of his body warming her skin like sunshine on a beautiful, perfect, cloudless day.

"You came back," she said, her voice breaking, her breaths hitching as she rubbed his face. She ran her hands down his lovely throat, his shoulders, her needed to touch, to confirm that he was really there, safe and whole. It was a driving need that was stronger than that to kill the man who'd tried to take him from her. She'd deal with him later.

"I will never leave your side again."

A vow she was going to hold him to. She nodded, tears and snot flowing, she didn't care. She only cared that they were together.

"Are you really okay?" she asked, ready to go ahead and open that can of whoop-ass on the son of a bitch if Maximus so much as complained of a sore throat.

"I am perfect...because of you."

He leaned forward, planting a kiss on her forehead, which was so not enough for Jo. She grabbed his head, and pushed her lips to his, a brutal hard kiss that tangled tongues and stole her breath

"Goddess."

A question? A warning? A plea? She didn't know, she didn't care as his lips left hers and traveled down her throat, leaving a trail of fire after each kiss.

"Yes," she said, her breath already panting from the fire stoked only by his touch. "Please."

He had died...twice. The second time was almost permanent, she didn't know the hows of it, but in her heart she knew he'd almost left her and the thought was fresh panic that quickened her heart. She needed him, all of him—right now. She needed to feel him complete her as only he ever would. As if they were one being and he knew her thoughts without words he lowered one hand under her ass and supported her weight while she reached between their bodies and grabbed the hard length of him. She didn't take time to enjoy that pleasure of touching him. He filled her with one strong thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

Maximus would have fallen to his knees but his load was precious. He locked his knees and held her while she rode him, taking everything he offered, taking everything he was. Her breasts brushed his chest, her tightened nipples sending wave after wave of pleasure down his chest, past his abdomen straight to his cock. Powerful arms pulled and jerked her onto his full length. Her arms circled his neck and she pulled him into a kiss that drew blood. The warm invasion of her tongue, the taste of her blood in his mouth...he needed more. With a growl he finally went to his knees and pried her legs from around his waist, kissing her hard before unlatching from her lips and working down her body, three or four quick kisses was all he could spare, he had a particular taste he needed in his mouth, no matter how sweet her blood or salty her skin were. When he reached the curls that had lit his sexual awakening, he threw one leg over his shoulder and held the other wide. Glossy and wet, the lips of her sex plump, the nub of her clit peeking out at the top, beckoning him. The breath he took was meant to slow him down, to savor, to give reverence, to worship. Lowering his head he breathed deep, taking in the sweet musky scent that was his mates'. The first lick was long and slow, he coated is tongue, the sweet nectar seemed enough to live on. Surely he needed no other sustenance, no earth grown food would ever fill him again. His sucked the lips of her sex between his, ran his tongue over that pearl that was her undoing, she jerked and convulsed under his mouth, her hips rocking in the same rhythm as his assaulting tongue. When she came, he took every drop.

He climbed her body, not finished with her—he'd never be finished with her—and kissed her, sharing with her the taste of honey he'd eaten. She moaned beneath him, locking her legs around him, his erection slid easily between her silken folds.

"No," she moaned, and struggled to push him from her body.

He raised his body from hers, loved the way she looked, the way she smelled. He brushed the bite that would always mark her body. She shivered, closing her eyes, breathing in though her nose and out through her mouth, arching her back, rolling her hips. Her no was confusing when she so obviously wanted him.

"Lay down," she said with her eyes still closed, and like the obedient pet he was, he rolled from atop her. She followed, throwing her legs over his waist, kissing his neck before going lower, carving a path in his flesh down the center of his chest, and stomach with wet kisses and long lashes of her tongue. She maneuvered his legs open with hers, settled between his thick thighs and took his erection in her hands, working them up and down, a small twist at the end when she reached the head. Maximus watched, his brow furrowed as he focused solely on not spilling his seed in her skilled hands.

"I want to taste you," she said.

She leaned over and just the sight of her open mouth headed in the direction of his groin was enough. His hips punched forward as his climaxed raced up his shaft; his mate's mouth was there seconds before he spilled. His hands slammed down beside him, and he clawed the rug with human hands as the sensation of her warm wet mouth, coupled with the suction made his muscle tightened so hard he almost broke bones. Grabbing a handful of hair he pulled her up his body and took her mouth. His taste in her mouth made him growl. He rolled her body, hooked a leg over his arm. His entry was slow, each inch a testament of what she alone made possible: control.

"I love you so much," she said, her breath blowing softly on his skin. Changing the angle of his hips he pushed forward hard, needing every inch of him inside her. She gasped, "More."

Odin had promised eternities with her, every year spent chained he would have to live with her. They'd live until the sun that this earth circled died and then they would live on in the world he'd come from. She was a Goddess. A daughter of the one he'd loved and somehow that was alright. She was everything he needed, now and forever.

# Chapter Forty-Seven

Maximus stood at the window long enough to see the sun fall from the sky. The first wolf was already standing sentry when he arrived. He'd left goddess asleep on the mound of pillows, too restless, too deep in thought of things yet to come to find comfort, even in her arms. The wolves arrival had begun as a trickle, then they'd poured into the front lawn of the new cottage they had been escorted too, finally they'd come in droves. Hundreds upon hundreds, all sizes, all colors. They stood vigil, watching him with too intelligent eyes, walking in fluid circles, never touching, a sea of fur, in an eerie silence.

Maximus knew the moment she woke and turned as she entered the room. Never had he thought something so wonderful possible. The road to freedom had been long and hard, his life had been a nightmare from almost the beginning. Time had never meant much to him, each day connected to the next, connected to the next, in an endless stream of...nothing. Now there was her. She stood in the doorway, her body so small compared to his, delicate and fragile—at least in appearances. In the twilight lit room she stood gloriously naked and he looked upon her in awe.

Odin promised him life eternal. He was no ordinary man, and was more than just a werewolf. He was Fenrir. A god. And she...truly his Goddess. He lowered his body to the ground to pay homage, to revere, to worship. With each step she took closer, the stone that had lain dormant in his chest for these long years beat faster and faster until he thought it would punch through his chest and take flight. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and pulled him to her chest, hugging him tightly to smooth, warm skin that smelled of a spring day after a long rain. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist thankful that she too was immortal. He was no longer torn between his three selves, but he didn't think his new found control would be enough to hold his human form if her body wasn't as indestructible as his own. She ran her hand over his head, stroking him, petting him and the long sigh that loosened every muscle was nothing but complete contentment.

"Goddess,' he whispered into her skin, raising his head and looking into eyes that he'd fallen in love with long before he ever met her. They were as stormy as his were fiery, a kaleidoscope of blues that mimicked the moon. She smiled sweetly down at him, caressing his cheek before leaning over and planting a kiss on his forehead, on each eyelid, his cheeks, covering his face in whisper soft kisses. The things he done said he shouldn't deserve her loyalty, her love. And if her love had not been enough—new life grew inside her body. His children. Before the fight, before Odin, he'd only been able to scent the change in her body, now he felt the fluttering of twin heartbeats. He pressed his lips to her flat stomach.

"Oh my," she said, looking out the window in front of her.

"They're here for you," he said when she lowered her gaze.

He led her to the door. The wolves all turned in an uncanny synchronization to face them.

"How do you know that there here for me?" she said in a low voice.

"Animals do not like me," he answered. Maximus was the ultimate predator, animals had been leery of him his entire life. No land animal was stronger, faster, deadlier.

They watched them silently, as still as statues.

"They're beautiful."

Maximus nodded. "Yes." He gently nudged her forward. She looked at him, not afraid but uncertain. "Go to them, they are yours. We all are."

Her mouth opened and she took a calming breath before releasing his hand and going to the mass of wolves. They all stood and she stopped short of the closest one. Maximus scented the air but didn't smell fear from her. She took the step that brought her to a large red wolf. Slowly her hand rose and she petted it between its ears. She walked into the mass, and they flowed around her like water. Diana was the self-proclaim queen of wolves, a descendent of Geri and Freki but the woman before him was a queen also. He threw his head back and howled, swearing fealty to her and only her. Second later so did the field of wolves surrounding her.

The driving need to put the man that raised him down became his number one priority, because Alfred was wilder than even the most dangerous rogue. His goddess may be immortal but Maximus couldn't allow anyone to hurt her, he knew from experience that invincible didn't mean you didn't feel pain. He didn't know if the offer of aid stood or if they were even welcomed, but they were headed to the castle to find out. The guard at the door opened it as they approached answering at least one question. A man stepped into the doorway on the opposite side of the room before they cleared the threshold.

"This way," he said bowing, a dip of his head, and turning to lead the way.

Maximus put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side because he could feel her anxiousness. She had nothing to fear, she was the thing to be feared.

The man opened the door to a room holding three women, five men and a group of wolves lying around like forgotten toys or was until they stepped into the room. They all rose, as one, moving in the same manner as the animals from earlier. The women stood and the men all took steps closer to them. Thomas and Virginia were dressed alike in black leather; their accessories were metal and could definitely be called statement pieces: swords, guns and daggers. Virginia stood next to her mother and Thomas stood behind them, between the shoulders of his wife and daughter. Alexis was the same seven feet as Maximus but had none of the bulk so he looked damn near skinny in comparison. He stood next to Thomas behind Lillian, to her right. Constantine flanked Thomas standing behind his wife. As usual his attire was immaculate, the chocolate brown suit made his blond hair seem almost golden. Wallace and Jean Rene stood behind Diana. Wallace's dreadlocks were tied back from his face, which oddly enough made him appear wilder, with nothing to distract from the wild bushy beard, thick eyebrows and deep set eyes. Jean Rene was dressed similar to Constantine. He was only an inch or two taller but Constantine's features were soft, they made him looked delicate, almost fragile. Jean Rene was more masculine, no one would mistake him for anything other than a man. He too wore a suit, blue with a crisp white shirt and blue tie. Diana had tears in her eyes, and Maximus wondered if these were new tears or if she'd never stopped crying.

The wolves in the room looked at Diana, then at Jo, and then each other before whimpering and circling around the room. Some brushed against Diana's legs, some looked as if they would approach his mate but his presence kept them away. Diana offered comfort to those that were close enough; she looked just as confused as the rest of the people in the room. There whimpers grew louder, and short barks and low howls were added as the agitated wolves paced. Maximus lowered his arm from Jo's shoulders and she took a single step forward. The wolves stopped pacing and circling and looked at her. The white and grey wolf approached first, ten others followed close behind. They crowded her in the front and to the side that was furthest from Maximus, each waiting patiently for her to pet them. Once she'd touched them all they went back to Diana, the grey and white sitting at her feet, the rest taking posts next to or close to the remaining people in the room.

"I'm so sorry," Diana said stepping through the wolves and rushing in their direction, arms opened wide.

"Please don't" Maximus said, his body already tensing at the invasion that was a hug.

Diana stopped. "Yes, of course," she said. She looked so distraught he almost felt sorry for her. A kinder man, one that had not lived through the monstrous things Alfred Wolfe had done, would have offered an explanation, told her that he didn't liked being touched by anyone other than his mate. Maximus only looked at her. His mate's sharp elbow stabbed him in the side. He looked at her and tried to figure out what she wanted.

"Don't be rude," she whispered.

"Please," Diana said holding her arm out signaling them to sit.

Maximus and Jo sat alone on a loveseat. Diana, Jean Rene, Thomas and Lillian sat opposite them on a matching couch. The rest of their people stood behind them.

"I'm really sorry about shooting you," Virginia said breaking the silence.

Wallace chuckled, tried to hide it behind a cough while covering his mouth. Even that small sound was like boulders rolling around in his chest. The man, who looked ready to plunder villages, good mood was everlasting. .

"You were the first to answer my call, for that I am grateful," Maximus said pulling Jo closer to him, grounding him in a way he was becoming use to. He nodded once at the woman. His mate tensed beside him, still angry at the wrong people. If she were in her animal form her hackles would be raised. "No Goddess," Maximus said.

She turned to face him; her eyes a swirling storm already glowing as the anger in her built. He could feel the power of her beast, a heat that traveled along his skin like a hot summer's breeze. A part of him knew he shouldn't be happy at the look in her eye. One he was sure mirrored his on so many occasions. She was not a born wolf, and certainly had never lived through anything as horrid as his upbringing but looking into her eyes he saw she could be just as dangerous, just as deadly as he. He was proud. He palmed her cheek. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face into his hand, when she opened her eyes they were no longer glowing, just the beautiful new blue.

"I'd die a thousand deaths if it meant you safe," he said. He wiped the single tear that escaped with his thumb and then pressed it to his lips. He turned to the crowd in the room. "I hurt your men."

He was prepared to negotiate sanctuary for Goddess. He was ready to end the waiting game he'd played since he left Master's reins. The thought of one of his children being captured by the man was enough to make him growl, the sound escaping without him realizing it until he saw the people and wolves in the room shift, every muscle tightening.

"No one died," Thomas said. Maximus knew that his wife had been attacked. She wasn't a wolf and her wounds had healed but she wore the evidence of that attack on her lovely face. He growled again.

"I don't mean anything by this," Wallace said, of all the men he was the only one with his weapon out, a great sword held at his side. "But can you quit that...you're really freaking us out." The redhead grip tightened on the handle of the sword.

Since he'd first laid eyes on Goddess—since he'd first caught her scent—his body had been in the throes of sensory overload. The new emotions wreaking havoc on him. The men and women in the room were a unit, friends—a family. Sitting in front of him were warriors, not survivors, not victims. He'd brought danger to their doorstep, asked for aid and then hurt their people. He was not a mindless beast, not a monster, even with Master's cruel upbringing. The beatings, the torture had tried, but he'd only stowed his emotions, his humanity away—locked it up safe, as he had the memories of his parents. Being with Goddess, with these people had broken the lock on that door.

"It angers me to think of what could happen to Goddess, and what was done to the woman." He thought to explain, to say the words out loud would calm him. It didn't. It only made him want to kill Alfred all the more, and the one that hurt the scarred woman.

"Maximus."

The single word turned his head. She laid a hand over his, taking the edge from his anger, and other emotions yet to be identified. With just her touch. He slid from the couch, landing on his knees. He kissed the sides of her neck and then her chin, before licking her in the same spot.

"Wow," someone said from behind him.

# Chapter Forty-Eight

Jo thought before that she was tethered to the man kneeling before her but it was deeper than that. She could feel every emotion; his thoughts were almost a picture in her head. She couldn't imagine living through the things he'd endured. She comforted him, petted him. In a lot of ways Maximus was like a child. One raised in the wild thrust into civilization. The emotions inside him were the whirlwinds of a great storm. His confusion was almost breathtaking.

"A submissive pose."

There words were spoken as if Maximus had done something never seen before. Since most of the people in the room were mythological creatures and they'd seen Maximus as his worst, she looked up from Maximus's lowered head. Everyone was looking at them in amazement.

"What?"

"He's saying you're his dominate." Thomas said, because the rest of the people were tongue-tied at the sight of the near giant curled over her legs.

She looked down at the massive man, he could kill everyone, everything in the room, yet he was kneeling at her feet. Still... "No, it's not like that," she said, continuing to stroke his head. They didn't understand. They couldn't feel the anguish and confusion as she could.

"It's exactly that," Wallace said, his usual laughter replaced with awe. He stared at her like she was a newly discovered species. "Werewolves, even in our human form, are a lot like the natural animal. We mate for life, we hunt in packs, we have an alpha," he said, looking at Jean Rene and then Diana before looking back at Jo. "The oldest and strongest is the alpha of the pack. Maximus isn't the oldest but he sure as hell is the strongest wolf in this room and yet he kneels at your feet. He kisses your neck and chin; these are all signs of submission among the wolf."

"Yes," Maximus said as he raised his head; his eyes swirling like molten metal mixed with pinpricks of light. The word affirmed Wallace's explanation. The single word was—surreal. Jo felt a little short of breath. He was almost two feet taller, his body damn near twice as wide as hers, he outweighed her by God knows how many pounds and he was saying _she_ was _his_ dominate.

Maximus placed his palm on her cheek, his golden gaze holding her silvery one. They had not spoken about all that had happened since she'd escaped from Alfred. They hadn't spoken much at all since they'd been reunited. With his touch he showed her what happened while he lay lifeless. Her breath left her in a hurried exhale as the scenes of Odin and another great beast stood with Maximus. She saw his three forms: Man, Beast, and Wolf. She heard the story, the explanations, and finally the promise. He was Fenrir, an ancient wolf, a favored pet of the Norse God, who had fallen in love and then driven insane by the same. Tears wet her cheeks and her breath hitched. The love that Maximus felt for her was that overwhelming—so complete, steadfast, endless. Worship was not a strong enough word. She shook her head but he stopped the movement by cupping her face with his hands. She went further back, before Master—Alfred—had kidnapped him, before he even left his mother's body. She felt him birthed to the world, heard the sound of his father's voice and that of his mother's in song. She even knew their scent.

Maximus showed her Jean Rene. He'd watched Jean Rene and Diana make love. How the act had been confusing but had turned the flicker of the thought of freedom into a flame. Then he was watching her from the branches of a tree in his beast form. She smiled through her tears. It should have frightened her but she found it strangely sweet and funny that the gigantic beast wasn't sure what to make of her. Her next breath caught in her throat and she squeezed her thighs together as she experienced Maximus's sexual awakening. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she watched him as Beast masturbate repeatedly, the frightening form's hand sliding over the steely length of an impossibly large erection, his thumb rubbing over the plum-shaped head. Jo's body shuddered because—how could it not. All that length and width had been inside her, she knew how it felt, how it tasted. What she was experiencing gave a whole new meaning to the word voyeurism. She felt the war of his emotions—knew that it was Wolf that stepped forward for the first time and claimed her as his mate. She felt them fall in love with her one at a time, each entity at different times until they all were in agreement that she was theirs. Her heart swelled. This beautiful tortured man loved her.

"Maximus," she whispered.

He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a gentle meeting of lips. While he kissed her she saw that she truly was—a goddess. An immortal, just like him.

# Chapter Forty-Nine

"Can someone explain to me what just happened?" Wallace asked.

The rest of his crew was coming out of the same daze. The two sitting in front of them had gotten in his head and now he knew way too much of their personal business. Too much of his king's and queen's as well.

"Extraordinaire," Jean Rene said low and a little breathless.

"When I escaped Alfred I ran into the woods and was saved by a giant grey wolf. His men shot her with tranquilizer darts. A second wolf, bigger than the first, her mate, ended up saving us both," Jo said still looking at Maximus. The rest of the room entirely sure she was talking to them but that was okay, as long as they heard the story.

"It was Geri and Freki. An old man appeared, told me that I was a daughter of Geri and Freki, or rather, a daughter of their daughter. He told me how he'd saved their pup—from you." She stroked his shoulder, rubbed his arms, she petted him a lot. That was fine too. Someone had to control him.

Jo looked across the room. "Odin—it was Odin that came to me in the woods. He told me that I was one of only five queens."

"Five," Lillian asked.

Jo nodded because she thought the number seemed lacking as well. "He also said I had a part to play in events that are still unfolding. It was all very cryptic. It makes a sense now that Maximus showed me what happened between the two of them."

"So you're to try to stop Fenrir from killing Odin," Virginia said. Her arm was around Constantine. It was a sight to get use too. Virginia dressed like a soldier, Constantine in his finest. They were in reverse.

"What else happened?" This from Alexis.

"He created a protector for Geri and Freki's daughter, a small boy that Freki bit when he wandered upon their group. Cynric and Afi were separated. They married humans and had families, all boys for Cynric and all girls for Afi. They found each other and had children of their own. I'm from that line of children."

"Afi and Cynric," Diana said. She repeated the names. It was another piece found in a puzzle missing too many.

"Geri bit me," Jo said.

The looks in the room were comical. Wallace's mouth actually hung open.

"You're shittin' me," he said.

"No," Jo said smiling at the man. Wallace's demeanor was the best infection one could ever hope to catch.

"Do you know where you were?" Thomas asked. The entire side of the room leaned forward.

"No...sorry," she said. "I was kept in a barn." Maximus growled and she squeezed his hands. "I was kept in an apartment over a barn. There were a lot of woods. I ran, I didn't look around or back once I got out. After Geri bit me I passed out, when I woke up I was standing in the middle of the clearing. I could hear Maximus coming for me." She smiled while those who'd seen him shuddered.

"Damn!" Virginia said with real feeling.

"Sorry," Jo said again.

"It couldn't have been far, within a hundred or so miles," Constantine said.

"How would you know that?" Maximus asked.

"Unless Geri teleported with your mate, I'm assuming she ran with her."

"Makes sense," Thomas said standing.

A horn blew in the distance. One of those that sounded a hunt, maybe called knights to battle.

"Take the women to the bunker," Jean Rene said. Jo could feel the power of his beast charge the air. It was like static electricity, which was comforting compared to the lightning flickering across her skin coming from Maximus.

Rob materialized. The Queen's personal guard. Jo knew he'd been close the whole time. He didn't come further in the room, just stood within the doorframe, his eyes on his charge as well as Jo and Maximus. She had hoped she was able to forgive the man, who delivered the blow that almost killed Maximus, but anger closed her throat, it knotted her stomach and became rage in the blink of an eye. Someone was growling, oh yeah, that would be Jo. A hand grabbed her forearm just as she took the first step to the man who she was pretty sure she was going to kill if she ever reached him.

"Goddess." Maximus voice was loud and commanding and she turned her head but her eyes stayed on the target. Maximus turned her head until she had to stop looking at Rob, that or her eyeballs were going to be looking into her own skull. Jo closed her eyes and reined in the fury gripping her heart. They so didn't have time for her to lose her shit. She knew what sounded the alarm. Who else planned an attack on a house full of werewolves but a werewolf hunter?

"Goddess." The word was calming in a way a thousand deep breaths couldn't accomplish. She nodded and opened her eyes. She knew he was ready to end Alfred's life so that he could start his new one with her. He laid his hand on her belly. "Go with the others."

Bullshit.

"No." She took a step away from him, or would have if he hadn't held her in place.

"Josephine, you should come with us."

Jo's head swung around. Virginia was standing next to her husband. She didn't look happy. "Take it from someone tied to a werewolf for awhile. When it comes to their mates, they stand their ground about safety. This one,"—she cocked her thumb over her shoulder at Constantine— "refuses to let me fight, and I've saved his ass more than a few times."

"I said you couldn't fight Maximus," Constantine chimed in. Now it was Virginia's turn to swing around to face her husband.

"What?"

"I said you could not fight Maximus. I would never stand in the way of you avenging your brother."He could have given her jewels, or professed his undying love, from the look on Virginia's face. It was the equivalent. "Battle awaits." He bowed at the waist to his wife. He took her hand and kissed it on the way back up.

Victoria kissed him quick before turning to look at Jo and said, "Sorry."

Lillian and Diana were waiting by the door, Alexis and Rob standing behind them. The rest of the men were at a door at the back of the room.

"I'm going with you." Maximus opened his mouth to protest but she silenced him with a finger over his lips. His body hummed with power, it almost vibrated.

"Shit, she's making it too easy for us," Wallace said.

"What...why?" she asked the redhead.

"A wolf protecting his pregnant mate...Maximus is going to kill everything within scenting distance before we can even reach one."

The man looked so disappointed that Jo laughed.

It was her turn to say sorry, but she was going. She turned back to Maximus, leaning in close, and whispered in his ear. "I still haven't eaten."

His head jerked back, his eyes went wide and then...he...laughed. The sound was like thunder. It still managed to only rival Wallace's.

"Well, Goddess, allow me to escort you to dinner."

Jo's skin felt tight and tingled. She was antsy and raring to go. Her transformation was quick; one moment she was human, the next she was ten feet of teeth, claws and white fur. She looked down at Maximus, now three feet shorter and the desire in his gaze tightened her skin for a different reason. She didn't have to look down for long as he changed beside her. Not into the wolfman that had taken her from her family's farm, or the one she fought hours early, but into something fiercer, more frightening, a thing more animal than human, a wolf on two legs.

Alfred's time on earth was numbered...down to minutes.

# Chapter Fifty

Alfred stood behind a massive oak that was so big the trunk completely shielded his body. He'd sent Geoffrey away with the others. The man hadn't wanted to leave his side but Alfred was still the leader, and while he appreciated that the older hunter thought he had to protect Alfred in his weakened state, he didn't need Geoffrey cutting off his head after he'd been bitten. They'd sworn an oath not only to protect civilization but each other if one were ever bitten in battle. It was a quick, painless death if the hunter was unmarried and had no children or taken home to say his goodbyes before being put down if he had family. As Alfred didn't have children and had never married, Geoffrey or any number of his soldiers wouldn't hesitate to kill his ass. It was going to be an uphill battle for sure once he came out, but worth it. He'd be whole again. The soft glow behind him wasn't the last of the sunlight leaving the day's sky. Alfred turned with surprising grace given his missing limb and gimped up leg, a gun pointed center mass at the man standing behind him.

"Your human weapons are of no use to you," the man said, dismissing the gun pointed at him and Alfred's yet to be drawn sword. His clothes were all black but weren't like any Alfred had ever seen. The golden glow of his eyes was the same as the beast he'd kept so many years.

Alfred lowered his gun but kept his finger on the trigger. "Who are you?"

"The, _who_ , is not important...the why...now, that's the question."

Alfred looked the man up and down—from the long black hair that fell from a widow's peak so severe it looked drawn on, to his black booted feet. "I give, _why_ are you here?"

"To level the playing field."

Alfred didn't understand a damn thing the man was saying but he liked what he was hearing. "How?"

A staff materialized out of thin air, the tip glowing white with a tinge of blue. It looked scorching hot or freezing cold. He pointed it in Alfred's direction. Alfred stood, hypnotized, as it inched closer and closer to his face. He closed his eyes a second before it touched his forehead. Pain seized every muscle in his body, throwing him to the ground. The man took the steps that separated them and dropped to his hunches. Alfred played the part of a worm on hot cement, his body folding in on itself, only for it to straighten when his muscles were shot through with enough wattage to light a small city the size of maybe of—oh, let's say—New York.

"Odin took my son and then treated him like yesterday's trash. He stole from by boy his revenge. While my son suffered for eternity his beloved wolves' child walked free. It was the reason I visited your ancestor so long ago. I gave him the power to hunt and kill what my son could not."

The man could have been speaking Mandarin, that's about as much sense he was making. As bits and pieces of the man's words tried to penetrate his pain-filled mind Alfred continued his little dance. The man laid a cool hand on Alfred's forehead and like magic the pain was gone. "Fenrir couldn't give you what you sought. That gift comes only from the gods."

Alfred stood, his limbs were heavy and loose, but otherwise he felt pretty fucking amazing. Stronger than he'd ever been, even as a younger man. He was ready to fight King Kong and Godzilla maybe even Monthra. When he looked at the man he knew he'd gained a couple of inches as well.

"For too long Odin has sat on the throne uncontested. A new era is upon us and it's time for a new reign."

Alfred understood completely.

"You are not immortal, it is a gift you have not proven worthy of." The man took a step back, the golden glow that first announced his presence was back. "You'll need a suitable weapon." He pointed the staff over Alfred's shoulder where the handle of his broadsword stuck out. The weight grew; it felt warm against his back. Alfred didn't draw it, he kept his eyes front and center.

"If you live through the night bring me those soldiers you think worthy to fight our war and I'll make you an army that can take on The Sun Wolf and Maximus."

"So I won't win tonight?" Alfred asked.

"Oh no," he said and actually laughed. "If you survive tonight I will be surprised—thrilled—but surprised. Most of your new humans will die like lambs brought to slaughter. Your line proved to be stronger than I hoped for but there are stronger that walk the surface. Jean Rene and Maximus are just two."

It wasn't the vote of confidence he was looking for, but hey, it was something. All he had to do was live through the night. He'd been fighting a species that had superhuman strength his entire life, with his new body, and the power coursing through his veins, heating his blood, he was pretty fucking confident. "I'll see you tomorrow." He was smiling as he said the words. It was a happy smile.

# Chapter Fifty-One

"Beautiful."

Jo turned as Jean Rene jumped from a tree a few yards from them. He was in half-form, impressive but nowhere near as big as Maximus, who growled a low warning to the approaching wolfman.

"I mean no disrespect, but beauty such as hers must be acknowledged. She looks so like my Diana."

Was it her or was his chest puffed out? But the time for peacocking was short lived as a dozen fighters came from the surrounding bush. Jean Rene moved like wind, a dance of savagery that was also beautiful. A gun went off and the sting of a bullet made her pay attention. She was in a fight not at the damn ballet. Maximus took down the shooter before she could do more than turn in his direction. The hunter's head disappeared between Maximus's massive jaws. Jean Rene had a man by the head and clawed his throat out. Maximus went to his second victim, gutting instead of eating his head.

The opponent that stepped in front of her was an original Wolfe hunter, his features a lot like Alfred and Thomas's. His sword held in front of him, there was no fear in his eyes and it didn't perfume the air around him. He was skilled, very strong, but no match for Jo even on her first time out. Her size and strength was too much for her to lose a battle. Her wounds healed almost instantly and there was only a slight discomfort whenever the blade made contact with her skin, paper cuts were more painful. The man was weakening but still putting up one hell of a fight, she wished she was better trained and was seriously reconsidering her insistence on coming when the sword ran her through below her ribcage. It was a bee-sting in terms of pain, but it wasn't injury to her body that panicked her. She was pregnant. She took the man's head and twisted. A roar behind her raised every white hair on her body.

Her heart was right behind her tongue, chocking her as sure as there was a pair of hands wrapped around her throat. She looked at the handle of the sword and the few inches of blade that hadn't been pushed in. Maximus was in front of her, she only knew because she could feel him; her eyes were glued to the weapon. When she finally looked up she could only imagine the look on her face because Maximus was looking ready to throw up, pass out, and will the bastard she'd just killed alive so he could kill him again.

He raised a shaking hand. She grabbed it and held it to her lips. She brought her other hand up and stroked the side of his face. Tears were streaming down his fierce face. She placed his hand on the butt of the sword. He pulled it out quick, roaring as he did. The wound closed immediately. One day, and she was really hoping it would be tomorrow, their life would slow down. She was a new wolf, newly pregnant, and queen of werewolves and an immortal goddess—she needed to process.

"Please—"

"Yes," she said before he could finish the sentence. He rubbed her stomach, his clawed hand gentle.

"Find Thomas, he should be at the back of the castle, center entrance, our last line of defense should anyone break through. Diana's wolves will escort you," Jean Rene said.

Jo gasped at the sight of the wolfman covered in blood and gore.

"Thomas will take you to the rest of the woman and children."

"Thank you." She turned back to her mate and couldn't help but say, "Be careful."

He couldn't kiss her, pointed muzzles and sharp teeth were not for kisses made. He hugged her tight, his body a solid wall of muscle pressed tight against her own strong form. "I've never been..." he said.

"I'm fine, we're fine," she said

"You should go Josephine." Jean Rene said.

They released each other and she squeezed his hand before letting it drop. Her job was to protect their unborn. His job was to protect them both. The wolves appeared around her like ghost and surrounded her.

"Change of heart?" Thomas asked opening the door when she neared it..

"Stabbed too close to comfort," she answered.

"That'll do it."

It didn't seem right to be having such an ordinary conversation, a teasing one at that, with people involved in a deadly fight in the woods beyond the castle. Jo noticed a young man looking too much like Thomas and Lillian.

"This is my son, Wesley," he said. "I'm going to take Josephine to your mother and sister." Thomas didn't hug the boy but Jo thought he was fighting every instinct in him not to. "Be careful."

She didn't know how he did it. One son already lost and another still fighting. She would have been half crazy with worry. Of course, she hadn't seen Lillian yet. She followed Thomas and when he opened the hidden door, exposing a secret passageway it became obvious that she was going to have to change back into her human form to fit, which was a little bit of a problem seeing how she was naked. Not like she wasn't naked now, but being covered in fur made her seem less so. Thomas leaned inside the open door and pulled out a robe. Her chest almost caved in, the sigh of relief was so great. Thomas laughed while he handed her the robe and turned his back to her.

The passage was lit by motion sensor lights, and at the end of it was a door that looked vault quality. Thomas knocked a secret knock and the sound of numerous locks being thrown filled the hallway. Jo stepped into a space bigger than the house she'd grown up in. Lillian and Diana stood from the sofa they were sitting on. Lillian face was so full of worry that Jo almost started crying. Thomas and Lillian looked at each other, an unspoken conversation passing between the pair. They didn't go to each other and she was sure it was because if they touched Thomas wouldn't be able to leave and Lillian wouldn't be able to let him go. He nodded once to his wife, she returned her own and then he was gone. Alexis closed the door

"What happened," Diana asked once they were all locked in.

"I was run through with a sword."

The woman more fell down than sat down on the couch but Lillian surprised her by saying, "Ouch."

"Yeah." Jo was still rooted in the spot she stopped in when she entered.

"Maximus must have been a—" Lillian paused, looked a little embarrassed but finished her original thought. "A Beast."

Jo laughed. She wasn't worried about him. But there were others that had sworn to protect and give their lives. Husbands, sons, mates; so many that did not have the protection of Maximus and yet they welcomed her into their fold, these people who were now a new family. Diana held out her hand, Lillian took a step to the side, over making room for her. She went without hesitation.

# Chapter Fifty-Two

It was one thing to feel invincible, quite another to know it for sure. Maximus ran through the Wolfe Hunters like a knife through butter. Doing what he did best, doing what he was trained to do. Every man, the one who'd sliced his skin from his body, who'd taken his spleen, removed his lungs, gouged out his eyes or cut off a limb. Each cry for mercy mixed with those of his younger self as he screamed over and over... the double echo fed his frenzy. Some of the newer fighters ran—after pissing their pants. Not trained warriors, boys and men who didn't know any better. Not that it mattered, those that stood shoulder to shoulder with Alfred went down, those that ran he didn't chase. It was Alfred that Maximus wanted.

A man bigger than any of the fighters so far stepped out of the shadows, but his face remained hidden. No matter, if he was still standing there when Maximus finished off the one in his hands he could be next.

Together he and Jean Rene were a dynamic duo; a perfect tag team combination. Jean Rene jumped down from the trees just as another Wolfe Hunter emerged. Maximus recognized this one, Alfred's second in command, Geoffrey.

Tearing the man's body in half like a paper doll, Maximus threw each half in different directions, trusting Jean Rene to take care of mystery man, he and Geoffrey had old business to square up on.

Geoffrey had been a big part of Maximus torture, both overseeing and participating in the pain inflicted. A cold, stone hearted, son of a bitch if ever one was born. Maximus bent at the waist and roared in the man's direction. A preamble of things to come.

The weapon that Geoffrey brought up was a fucking, honest to god, rocket launcher. It had been long theorized that if Maximus body were in enough little pieces he wouldn't, couldn't survive. He'd over heard the conversations, had thought of it before his torturers. It was not something that kept him up worrying at night. Before Geoffrey could get the weapon stable on his shoulder Maximus was in his face, snatching the weapon from his shoulder, and taking the arm, too. Blood sprayed from the socket. He turned a ghostly grayish color and his mouth opened so wide his jaws seemed unhinged. The piercing scream was as if the man had climbed inside Maximus head and was yelling bloody murder from inside his skull. Maximus crushed his head just to shut him up. He turned. Jean Rene was in trouble.

He had been a wild animal, a mindless beast, a man without a soul. He'd killed mercilessly, in an attempt to frame the Sun Wolf so that Alfred could have a legitimate reason to hunt him in the eyes of the Wolfe Council. Afterwards he'd been instructed to kill him out right when it became too much of a waiting game for Alfred. Maximus had refused.

When Maximus saw the couple together, before Jean Rene was king of wolves and Diana the white queen; in witnessing that intimate moment, he knew there was something else—more. Tonight, the man that should have died at his hand needed his help and Maximus answered the call. It didn't take but a couple of steps for Maximus to see just who had gotten the upper hand and the sight made his step falter.

He was bigger, his missing arm was back, and gripped within his joined hands was a giant sword. Maximus ran forward and threw his arm out just as the blade came down. The force of the blow so great his arm was forced down landing on Jean Rene, the tip of the sword inches from his head The sword had hit bone that didn't break but the cut took its sweet time healing after a night of almost instantaneous healing. It was definitely something to worry about but another time, like when Jean Rene was out of mortal danger.

Beast had looked for the perfect match in battle since the first day he'd taken over. He didn't know what happened to Master, but he had turned into just the thing Beast had looked for. The fight was long and hard. Beasts' breath sawed in and out, the exertion, a welcome change. Alfred wielded the sword with an ability that was to be praised. Beast barely registered the whistling as he went in for the kill, tired of toying with his prey. Jean Rene had recovered from his wounds and even fought off a few strays allowing Beast his revenge. The smaller wolf hit Beast like a tank, tackling him to the ground. The night exploded—literally. Maximus shielded the smaller wolfman with his body, splintered tree parts rained down on them, impaling Maximus in places, chunks of dirt and rocks battered his back and legs. When the night settled Alfred was gone. He offered his clawed hand to the Sun Wolf. Nothing like fighting for the same cause to form a brotherhood, they had shed blood together, all was good.

The two walked back to the castle, a platoon of wolves their guards. Alfred and his crew had retreated and for now they were safe. Thomas and Wesley came out when they spotted them coming across the lawn. Minutes later those that had been hidden in the castle came out, followed by countless others: Wolf Hunters, werewolves, and house staff. They stood around on a night that would have been perfect if not for the fighting, but too beautiful to lose all its magic, not when everyone was safe. Those mated kissed, those who were not smiled at those who were. Maximus thought of his first love. Would Geri have been enough to tame him? For some reason, he didn't think so.

