Dark Wolf Rising Page 15

  His breathing turned ragged as he let go of her arm and lifted his hand to her face, rubbing the corner of her mouth with his thumb, stroking the pad across her lush lower lip. Unable to wait a second longer, Eric pressed down, opening her mouth, and sank his tongue inside, taking possession as if he owned it, owned her.

  It was so strange, how after everything he’d done to her when she’d been under the influence of the drug, he hadn’t actually tasted her mouth until now. If he’d known what he was missing—how unbelievably sweet she was—he wouldn’t have been able to resist. And now he was done for. Her hands curled around his head, holding him to her, her grip as desperate as his own as he sank one hand into her hair, the other moving boldly over her hip and side. She was wild in her passion, her tongue rubbing against his, tasting with hungry, sexy licks that made him feel crazed. Made him feel like the top of his friggin’ head was about to blow off. The kiss was hard and raw, flavored with erotic violence and need. With cravings that were unwanted, but undeniable.

  Desperate for the feel of her, Eric curved his hand around a firm breast, her nipple deliciously hard against his palm, thick with desire. Pulling his head back, breaths jerking roughly past his lips, he watched as he tore her shirt open and unhooked the front of her bra, revealing the pale, beautiful slopes of her breasts...the berry-red nipples, puckered tight and sweet. Before she could draw her next breath, he lowered his head over her, a deep, gravelly animal sound rumbling in his chest as he took her in his mouth, sucking and licking as if he’d go mad without the feel and the taste of her against his tongue.

  Minutes later, he wasn’t quite sure how they’d ended up on the floor in the middle of the hallway, but they had. Her shirt and bra were lying open at her sides, jeans around her knees, his hand shoved inside her panties, as if that was where it belonged. He could remember having her sweet little nipple in his mouth, hearing those sexy moans slipping past her lips, and then everything had gone wild. He’d made her come with the thick thrusts of his fingers, her juices drenching his hand, and now he was lying on his side, facing her with his weight braced on his forearm as she lay on her back, her eyes closed, looking more beautiful than any other woman he’d ever known.

  This was so wrong, but Christ, it felt so right.

  “I thought I must have been imagining it,” she whispered, her voice a little breathless and low. “The way you’d made me feel at the motel. Thought it must be the drug. But it wasn’t. It was real.” Opening her eyes, she turned her head a little to look at him, her gaze full of wonder and a small part of fear. “How do you do that to me? Make me let go like that?”

  “Why does it surprise you?” he asked, painfully aware of the fact that if he didn’t come soon, he’d probably end up doing some permanent damage to himself.

  “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve been called frigid more than once.”

  His eyes narrowed. “By who?”

  “Just a few of the men I’ve dated,” she told him, trying to shrug it off, as if their criticisms hadn’t hurt her. But he could tell that they had.

  “Then they were all dickless little runts,” he muttered, outraged on her behalf, even though he couldn’t stand the thought of another man having his hands on her. “You’re not frigid, Chelsea.” His palm cupped her possessively. “Far from it. You melt me down just by looking at me. God only knows what sex will do. I might never recover.”

  “Maybe we should stop, then,” she murmured, sounding completely serious. He wasn’t sure she was actually teasing him until she added, “In the name of good health and all that.”

  A breathless laugh shook his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m willing to risk it.”

  “Me, too.” The soft smile she sent him had his friggin’ head spinning. “Though I still think a guy like you should come with a warning label.”

  She was joking...but the idea sobered him. Made him sharply aware of just how tightly he was leashing the beast inside him.

  That’s hardly fair, the wolf complained. I’m being golden.

  Before he could figure out what to say to her—and what he should do—someone knocked on his front door. Pulling his hand out of her panties, Eric turned his head and sniffed the air. “Damn it, that’s Cian. I wasn’t expecting him till later.”

  “Who?” She blinked, looking a little disoriented as he sat up and quickly hooked her bra, then helped her pull up her jeans.

  “Cian Hennessey,” he told her, moving to his feet. “He’s Brody’s partner. Brody’s married to Michaela.”

  “Oh.” And then, “What’s he doing here?”

  Reaching down for her hand, Eric pulled her to her feet, then steered her ahead of him as he walked to his bedroom. He needed to grab a few things before leaving, and didn’t want to let her out of his sight until he had to. That was probably a bad sign, but at the moment he was still in too good a mood to care. Looking around for his wallet and keys, he answered her question about the Runner. “Hennessey’s here because he’s going out to Hawkley with me. That’s the Whiteclaw pack’s hometown. The one I told you about last night.”

  She stood by his dresser, holding her shirt closed and still looking a little dazed. “What? Why? I thought Sophia was going there.”

  “She is. But I still need to go and smooth over what happened at the club. If I’m lucky, I can get them off your trail without sending up any red flags. Which means I won’t be able to let on that I know about Perry.”

  “Are you worried they’ll hurt her if they know you’re looking for her?”

  “I don’t want to take any chances,” he said, pulling his weapons case down from the top of his closet. He took out his Beretta and two rounds of ammo.

  “You’ll be careful?” she asked, casting a worried look at the gun.

  “Always,” he told her, slipping the Beretta into the waistband of his jeans at his lower back. The Whiteclaw might pat them down, but it would look too suspicious if he tried to go into the town unarmed.

  “I just wish I could go with you,” she said, doing up the buttons that remained intact on her shirt. “Perry’s my sister. I should be there.”

  Eric walked across the room, not stopping until he was standing right in front of her. “I understand how you feel, Chelse. But you’re just going to have to trust me to handle this.”

  With a sigh, she said, “Eric, I don’t even know you.” Her voice was tight, strained with worry. “How can you expect me to trust you?”

  “Sometimes you do,” he said in a low rumble, lifting his hand to her face. He rubbed his thumb over the slick surface of her lower lip, thinking she had the most sinful mouth he’d ever seen...ever tasted. “You trust me when I make you come, Chelse.”

  Scowling, she knocked his hand away. “And there you go acting like an ass again.”

  Despite how much her lack of trust bothered him, he enjoyed riling her. His chest was still shaking with a muffled, gritty laugh as he headed toward the front door and pulled it open.

  “Did I interrupt anything?” Cian asked from his perch on the porch railing. His pale gray eyes glittered with humor, since he could no doubt scent the lust that was still surrounding Eric like a cloud.

  Ignoring the question, Eric said, “I didn’t expect you here this early.”

  The Runner grinned like a jackass as he caught sight of Chelsea coming up behind him. “Obviously.”

  “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Hennessey.”

  Cian laughed. “It does tend to get me into trouble, doesn’t it?”

  “Wow,” Chelsea murmured, joining him at the door. She slowly slid her gaze over the Runner, blinked, then shook her head. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re exactly how Torrance described you.”

  Eric scowled, thinking now would be a good time to wipe that suggestive smile right off the Irishman’s pretty face, when Chelse
a gripped his arm, drawing his attention back to her. “I don’t like this, Eric. If you’re on bad terms with the Whiteclaw, why do you even think they’ll let you onto their land?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a hierarchy thing,” Cian drawled, before Eric could respond.

  He cut the Runner a sharp glare and warned him to stop right there.

  “How about let’s not stop,” Chelsea muttered, “and you actually tell me the truth?”

  With another low laugh, Cian hopped down from the railing. “I’m not sure you can handle the truth, honey. But I will say that Eric here is like werewolf royalty. It would be an extreme insult for a pack leader to turn him away.”

  Eric had had enough. “Go wait in the damn truck,” he snarled, tossing the smirking Runner his keys. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  * * *

  Cian shot Chelsea a mischievous wink before walking down the porch steps and disappearing around the side of the cabin. Giving Eric a curious look, she asked, “Do you normally work with him?”

  “Not if I can help it.” He shoved one hand back through his hair, appearing irritated as hell. “But this is Mason and Jeremy’s way of trying to make the two of us get along better.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his grumbling tone, and he sent her a playful look of warning. “Laugh and I will get even, woman.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She was more than a little surprised by how flirtatious she sounded. “Will it be something I’ll like?”

  With a deep, guttural groan, he dropped his head in his hand and rubbed his eyes, his tone wry as he muttered, “It shouldn’t be this easy for you to get me hard.”

  Biting her lip, Chelsea reached down and lifted the hem of his shirt, and sure enough, there was a big, distinctive ridge behind his denim fly. She swallowed, then lifted her gaze to find him staring down at her with a dark, smoldering look that made her breath catch.

  “You’re determined to send me away with a boner, aren’t you?”

  “If I am, it’s nothing less than you deserve,” she murmured, wondering if his voice always got rougher when he was aroused, the husky sound giving her chills. The good kind.

  The look in his eyes somehow got darker, a slow smile curving the edge of his mouth. “You’re a cruel woman, Chelsea Smart.”

  Knowing he’d think it was funny, she said, “You probably won’t be surprised to learn this, Eric, but I hear that a lot.”

  She enjoyed the sound of his laughter as he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then followed after Cian. As she shut the front door behind him, Chelsea only hoped to God she’d get the chance to hear it again.

  * * *

  The drive to Hawkley took a little more than an hour, and Eric and Cian were allowed into the town without any issues. Eric parked the truck on one of the side streets, and they walked over to Crate’s Avenue, following the directions they’d gotten from the scouts who had given them clearance on the main road into the town. As the two men made their way down the sidewalk, it was obvious they were being watched. Unlike Shadow Peak, Hawkley had the look of a well-to-do militarized zone, armed Lycans watching the streets from rooftops and front porches.

  “Is it just me,” Cian murmured under his breath, “or does this place give you the creeps, too?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling,” Eric replied, wondering what the hell the Whiteclaw and Donovans were up to. Even the air tasted off, as if something rotten had eaten its way into the core of the town, contaminating it from the inside out.

  They knocked on the wide double doors of the colonial-style house where they’d been told they could find the pack’s leadership, and waited for someone to answer. It didn’t take long before the door was opened by a young man Eric recognized as Sebastian Claymore, son of the man who basically ruled the Whiteclaw with an iron fist. Eric told Seb why they were there, and they were asked to wait on the porch.

  While Cian paced from one end of the porch to the other, Eric took a seat on one of the white benches, elbows braced on his parted knees, and thought about Chelsea. Yeah, he should have had his mind on the coming meeting—but he couldn’t get the stubborn woman out of his head.

  And he wasn’t the only one...

  He didn’t know what was happening between them, but it was becoming painfully clear that his animal half had started to think of her as something it wanted to possess. A definite problem, since he knew that the more he touched her, the more his wolf would crave her submission, and that was something he couldn’t see a woman like Chelsea Smart ever giving a man—especially one like him. Given the situation, he didn’t trust how the animal would react.

  You should have a little more faith. I know what’s at stake.

  Did it? Or was it just telling him what he wanted to hear? Earlier that morning, Jillian had told Eric that if he were going to lose control with Chelsea, it would have already happened when she’d been drugged. But he was still afraid to believe.

  That isn’t fair, the wolf argued. Didn’t I just prove myself again this morning? We gave the human pleasure. No pain.

  “You’re a million miles away.” Cian’s deep voice cut into his thoughts, dragging him back to the moment. “It’s time to get your head in the game, Drake.”

  “I’m fine,” he muttered.

  The Irishman pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans, placed one between his lips and cupped his hand over the tip as he flicked open a silver lighter. He took a long, deep drag, then looked at Eric. “You gonna claim her?” he asked as if it was the most casual question in the world.

  Eric shook his head. “No. She isn’t meant for me.”

  The Runner arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m sure it’s time to change the subject,” he shot back, lighting his own cigarette. They smoked in silence, studying the town, taking in everything they could. Careful to keep his voice low, Eric exhaled a stream of smoke, and said, “You see that blonde over there walking down the street?”

  “The one with the legs that go on for a mile? What about her?”

  “She was stripping at the club on Saturday night.”

  Cian sniffed the air. “She’s human.”

  While they watched, one of the Whiteclaw males took the girl’s arm and led her into what appeared to be some kind of office building.

  An ugly suspicion started burning in Eric’s gut. “I’ve got a bad feeling,” he said for the second time that morning.

  Dropping his cigarette butt into the ashtray sitting on the end of the bench, the Irishman said, “You’re not the only one.”

  Eric had hoped they might catch sight of Perry Smart, if she was even there, since Monroe had called on their way to Hawkley with the news that the trace on Perry’s phone had turned up nothing—but although they spotted two more human girls walking down the street, neither of them looked like the photograph he’d seen of Chelsea’s sister. After another few minutes of waiting, the door to the house finally opened again, and the spectacled Sebastian came out onto the porch, saying, “Roy is ready to see you now.”

  “Where’s your father?” Eric asked, wondering why Clive Claymore wasn’t the one they’d be dealing with. Roy was Clive’s younger brother, and a complete jackass.

  Something flickered in the younger man’s eyes. “My father passed away several months ago.”

  “Our condolences,” he murmured, sharing a look with Cian. It was common protocol for packs to report any changes in leadership to their neighbors. The fact that the Whiteclaw hadn’t informed the Silvercrest of Clive’s death struck them both as another bad sign.

  They followed the younger man through the house, which was decorated in dark woods and rustic furniture. At the back of the first floor, they were shown into a large study, where Roy Claymore was perched on the front edge of a massive oak desk, waiting for them. He w
as a big, brawny man, with thick black hair and a crooked nose. He’d always been known as a bruiser, more concerned with his questionable business dealings than with his pack, while his brother Clive had been the more politically motivated. Though the Whiteclaw had a League of Elders that was similar to the one Eric’s father had destroyed in Shadow Peak, their League served as little more than a ceremonial fixture, without any real control. For the past thirty years, the pack’s power had sat with Clive. Now, it seemed, Roy had slipped in and taken that power for himself.

  “I thought Seb and his brother had been living out West for a few years now,” Eric remarked, after they’d all exchanged greetings and Seb had left the office. He and Cian seated themselves in the two sturdy leather chairs situated in front of the desk.

  “That’s right,” Roy said with an easy smile, while the look in his eyes made it clear that he wanted to know why they were there.

  “What brought them home?”

  The older Lycan regarded him with a shrewd gaze. “They didn’t always see eye to eye with their father. Different ideologies and visions for the pack. But it’s my goal to see the Whiteclaw embrace a more progressive track than we have in the past. To be blunt, my brother lacked vision. I don’t.”

  “So you called them home,” Eric murmured, wondering what the hell Roy was up to, and willing to bet that his nephews were somehow involved.

  “I requested they return to their family, where they belong,” Roy said, giving Eric a thin smile. “Surely you know what it’s like to want to have your family close by?”

  Eric knew the bastard was talking about Eli, and he had to struggle to control his temper, not wanting to give himself away with his scent. He had a feeling Roy Claymore could smell aggression from a mile away.

  Cian filled in the strained silence. “We couldn’t help but notice that you have quite a few humans in town.”

  Roy shifted his gaze to the Runner. “That’s right. Unlike the Silvercrest, many of our males have come to enjoy the pleasures that can be found with a human.” Lifting a shoulder, he said, “It was inevitable, really, with so many of them working near the girls at the club we own in Wesley.”