The Alpha's Daughter (22 page)

In spite of what she'd said, Jazz never
expected Griz to spend the night on the couch. It was lumpy and
uncomfortable and for a man his size, cramped. She expected him to
come to bed like he always did; waiting until he thought she was
asleep and aligning his big body along the edge of his side of the
bed. He never came. She dozed, but fitfully, and found she couldn't
settle into the deep sleep she needed without the warmth of his
hand on her hip.

Her wolf didn't help. The bitch prowled
restlessly inside her, urging her to go downstairs to the couch.
Twice, Jazz found herself sitting up and throwing the covers back.
She could feel the moon calling her as it never had before. One
more day. One more day. Like an annoying song that kept replaying
in her head, the words and feeling repeated until she wanted to
scream.

Never allow your wolf to rule your human.
That was Wolver Law and yet Miz Mary advised she do that very
thing.

"Maybe you should stop listening to your head
and start listening to your heart. Listen to your wolf."

How could you do both? It was all very
aggravating and her pillow was the victim of numerous unearned
blows before the night was over. This banishment was supposed to be
his punishment, not hers.

Her mood didn't lighten any when she found
Griz guzzling raw eggs and milk in the kitchen.

"That's disgusting," she said.

"Good morning," he said and wiped his mouth
on the back of his hand. He showed her the empty glass. "It's
efficient and if you're smart, you'll be efficient, too."

"That wouldn't be efficient. If I managed to
get it down, you'd have a mess to clean when it came back up." Jazz
picked up the coffee pot, shook it and frowned. "You could have at
least made coffee."

"You wouldn't say that if you tasted my
coffee. Better get a move on, Hellcat, company'll be here soon." He
smacked her tee shirt clad butt.

"Hey!" she yelped. Water splashed from the
coffeepot she was filling onto her shirt when she jumped. She
whirled around, threatening him with the half empty pot. "You don't
have ass smacking privileges. The last guy that did that got his
hand broken."

Griz didn't say a word, just stared at the
damage the water had done. The soaked tee shirt clung to her form,
leaving a near transparent view of her body. Puckered from their
dousing of cold water, her nipples were clearly visible through the
thin, wet cotton. He swallowed hard.

"Go get dressed, Hellcat." It was an order,
not a suggestion.

Jazz didn't take orders well. She stood with
the coffee pot raised, proof of her intent. "As soon as I get the
coffee on," was what she wanted to say. Her mouth opened. Her
breath caught. Her heart stopped. She forgot what she wanted to
say.

All she saw was her grizzly's honey brown
eyes devouring her in a way that made her insides melt. There was
hunger in those eyes and desperation and the agony she had
witnessed on the porch. There was anger, too, but this time there
was something more. This time, she could see his wolf peering out
at her and the wolf was hungry, too. Just as she was, her grizzly
was struggling against the desires of his wolf and with the same
result. His wolf was winning the tug of war.

The full moon was coming. She could feel it
pulsing through her veins. Her heart pounded with its rhythm. The
wet shirt felt like ice against her warming skin. Every nerve in
her body was responding to the call in a way she'd never felt
before, not even at the Hunter's Moon when her wolf was allowed to
run free. This feeling had nothing to do with running and
everything to do with the man standing in front of her. Was he
feeling it, too?

"Go get dressed." Griz said again. He sounded
angry.

"No." The word was out of her mouth before
she thought it. She licked her lips, a nervous gesture, fearful of
what she may have provoked.

Jazz's wolf raised her head and howled
silently with delight. No longer fighting the beast inside, the
human Jazz threw back her head, exposing her vulnerable throat to
the man/beast before her.

She'd always thought the gesture was symbolic
and perhaps for some it was. Hers was not. Her wolf was literally
offering up her life to this magnificent alpha to do with what he
chose. It was terrible and exhilarating all at once.

Griz grabbed the coffee pot from her hand,
splashing more water over her shirt as he tossed it in the sink. He
seized her shoulders in a painful grip as his mouth came crashing
down on hers. It was a demanding kiss, almost brutal, and she
opened herself to it willingly. His tongue plunged within, not
dancing, but dueling, forcing her tongue to comply with its
demands.

The edge of the sink dug into her back as he
bent her over it and Jazz's fingers clawed at fabric covering his
back. She wanted skin, not cloth, and her hands yanked and pulled
at his shirt until it was free of his jeans. With the flats of her
hands, she made her way up the burning skin of his back, pulling
him with her as he bent her back, back, over the sink. Her nails
found purchase and raked their way back down.

And all the while, he kissed her. He devoured
her with a passion and power she didn't know he possessed. She
groaned into his mouth when one hand left her shoulder to press the
cold, wet tee shirt into her breast. He squeezed and kneaded the
soft flesh and then with a growl or a groan, she wasn't sure which,
Griz stepped back.

"No. Please. Don't stop," she pleaded. Her
back remained bowed over the sink where he had left her.

Griz had no intentions of stopping. His hands
fisted the hem of her tee and as he yanked them apart, the fabric
tore from hem to neck, leaving the neckband intact.

Jazz reached for his stomach, that glorious
stomach of rippled muscle. Sliding her hands upward, she took the
shirt with her and snarled when Griz pulled her hands away. She
snarled like the she-wolf that was hovering so close to the
surface, urging her on in a frenzy of animal lust. She fought him,
fought against the hands that gripped her wrists and held her arms
out to the sides.

Griz laughed against her breast, not amused
but triumphant, as he attacked her breasts with the same
ferociousness with which he attacked her mouth. When she ceased to
struggle, he let go of her wrist to search and plunder between her
legs.

Jazz was soaked and ready for more than his
hands could provide, but he ignored her demands and plunged his
fingers into her, dancing his fingers over and around her clit,
teasing it mercilessly until the rhythm of his fingers and thumb
set off an explosion within her. Her body stiffened and she moaned
and his mouth found hers and swallowed the sound.

He sat her up, balancing her on the counter
against the cupboard next to the sink while he worked the button
and zipper of his jeans.

It was all the time she had to recover from
her orgasm and then he was lifting her legs to wrap them around his
body as he plunged into her, filling her, stretching her to meet
his size. Jazz clutched at his head, holding on for the ride of her
life as he lifted her body and forced it back down and his hips
rose to meet her descent.

It wasn't enough for her grizzly and he spun
with her and laid her out across the kitchen table. His empty milk
glass crashed to the floor and the pile of napkins went sailing off
in a flutter onto the chair. He gripped her hips and closed his
eyes.

Harder and faster, he pounded into her and
she felt the tension of the impending orgasm rising within her. Her
wolf wasn't satisfied, however, and insisted on something else,
something more. Jazz didn't know what it was her wolf was demanding
and with her body spiraling out of control, she didn't care. Her
body shuddered and contracted and she felt Griz's pulsing expansion
as he reached his own climax.

Jazz floated on an incredible high, higher
than any drug could reach. Her mind drifted on the feeling of being
fully possessed and yet unbelievably powerful knowing that she had
driven this carefully controlled man to such heights of
passion.

Griz collapsed on top of her and at first she
thought he was nuzzling her breast, but then through the haze of
post-coital bliss, she clearly heard him whisper.

"God forgive me, Angelica, I'm sorry."

Jazz stared down at the man who still gripped
her tightly and buried his face between her breasts. Who the hell
was this man who'd just lit a fire in her that she had yet to put
out? More to the point, who the hell was this Angelica? And why the
hell was he apologizing to her. Jazz's thoughts froze. Was he
apologizing to this Angelica or was he calling Jazz by her
name?

Her wolf, damn the bitch, whimpered in
sympathy for the alpha wolver. Jazz had no such consideration. Her
heart, that only moments ago had been swollen with a joy she had
never felt before, was now crushed and bleeding. Tears filled her
eyes and threatened to overflow, but tears were for weak women and
cubs and she held them back. She wanted to scream in outrage, but
she'd already suffered humiliation enough. She pushed at his head
and tried to sit up.

"I have to get dressed," she said, her anger
rising at the quiver in her voice. She would not let him see what
he had done.

Griz stood and withdrew from her and Jazz
hated herself for the whimper that escaped at the loss of him. She
turned her head away.

She'd given herself to him.
Not just her body, but her self. She'd followed the Mate's advice.
She'd listened to her wolf and damned if the bitch didn't want him
still. Jazz ground her teeth and clamped her lips shut.
"
He doesn't want you
," she snapped at the agitated wolf prowling inside her,
"
He wants Angelica
."

For the first time she could remember, her
wolf snapped back.

Jazz slid from the table ignoring her wolf
and Griz's offer of help.

"I've hurt you," he said, "I knew I would. I
wanted…

"It would take more than a quick fuck on a
kitchen table to hurt me," she said, brushing his hand away from
her hair.

"Jazz, Jasmine, we have to talk."

"Yeah. Later." She pushed past him and headed
for the stairs, her hands clutching the torn tee shirt around her.
"Get dressed, Griz, someone's at the door."

Jazz made it to the room before the tears
started to fall. With her back to the door, she slid to the floor
and cried as she hadn't cried since her mother passed away. She
wished her mother was here now. She could use a little motherly
comfort right now and maybe her mother could explain what was
happening to Jazz inside.

"What is, is what's meant to be," her mother
would tell Jazz when she was a little girl.

It was usually in answer to the little girl's
question, "Why wasn't I born a boy?"

Was it the answer to her question now? "Why
can't I have what the Gilead women have?"

"They found mates that suited them," she
grumbled aloud. "Ellie and Tom, Donna and Harvey, Sandy and Mark;
all were mated and happy. Even Edna and Edith had Dear Ernest," she
sniffed.

She wished she'd never come to Gilead, never
saw what her life could be. Like the women of her father's pack,
she had been content with her life as it was. It was all she knew
until her bastard father decided to auction her off as an Alpha's
Mate.

"What is, is what's meant to be."

Jazz's head thumped back against the door.
Was that the answer? She was born to be an Alpha's Mate and that's
all she could be? She shook her head. Not Roger Fucking Wilson's
Mate, that's for sure. Not now. Not ever. Not anyone's Alpha's
Mate.

If an Alpha's Mate was what she was meant to
be, then the universe was in for one big fucking surprise. She was
Jasmine Phillips, Queenie, Jazz. She didn't have to do anything she
didn't want to do and no one could make her. She was not going to
be an Alpha's Mate. She'd rather grow old alone.

She picked herself up and wiped her face as
best she could on her sodden tee shirt. It was time to armor up and
go downstairs. She could say one thing for the old grizzly bear. He
wasn't one to brag. He'd keep what happened in the kitchen to
himself and so would she.

She'd play her part for this two day event
and enjoy the freedom of going over the moon two nights in a row,
an unheard of pleasure where she came from. She'd enjoy the run and
when it was over, she'd take the pig money and run. She didn't know
where she was going or how she would get there, but she couldn't
stay in Gilead wanting him every day and knowing he was wanting
someone else.

Her wolf snarled and snapped at this new
plan.

"Shut up," Jazz told the bitch. "I'm done
listening to you."

Through Ellie's tutelage, Jazz had already
learned that a Gilead frolic was no ordinary party. A Gilead Full
Moon Frolic was a two day event that sometimes carried over into
three.

People were already arriving by the time Jazz
came downstairs. No one lived that far away, yet multicolored tarps
and canopies were sprouting on the grassy verge across the road and
in the open field next door. They brought out chairs and tables and
coolers and had every intention of spending the day away from their
homes.

"It's like a mini vacation," Ellie explained.
"They'll feed their livestock, but that's the only chore anyone
will do. For a little while, you leave your cares and
responsibilities behind and when the moon rises, you run. The cubs
are all in one place and the older folks keep watch while they
sleep. We can go over the moon without worry."

A group of men surrounded the fire burning in
the two grills that had been fashioned from oil drums split
lengthwise and hinged. They laughed and chatted and cheered when
one of their packmates brought them more coffee.