The Werewolf’s Bride: The Pack Rules #1 (2 page)

I
STAYED THERE
, holding vigil next to Mr. Sanders’s body, as I tried to invoke some remnant of calm.

Sweet, merciful God.

I knew the history of our shifter benefactors, the same as I knew the history of our town. Werewolves used to think of humans as prey. They might gnaw on arms or legs like puppies with chew toys, but they ate the hearts. Within the werewolf culture, the heart of a person, of any creature, held great spiritual and physical power. These days, the shifters claimed to have more refined appetites. Though still as carnivorous as their ancestors, their meals were supposed to be human-free. Even if that ideal didn’t hold true in the rest of the world, it was sacred in Bleed City.

If one of the wolves from the Shadow Pack, from our supposed protectors, had killed Mr. Sanders and eaten his heart—the pact was broken.

As much as I welcomed the idea of freedom, I was too bound by the duty owed my family and Bleed City. The very idea that the pact had been nullified scared me to bits.

What could I do?

What should I do?

Ribbons of hot panic and cold terror wound through me. I needed to get out of here. All I could think about was running home as fast as I could. If I unburdened this tragedy on my parents, they would help me.

No.

I felt an awful, sudden certainty that I shouldn’t involve my family.

Aunt Lila.
She lived a couple blocks away, in the old pink Victorian that had been built the same year as the town—it had been the showy home of Bleed City’s first and only mayor. Aunt Lila was our elder and our liaison with the pack. Everyone trusted her, humans and werewolves. She would know what to do. Decision made, I tried to get to my feet. The floor was too slick from gore for my shoes to gain traction. I fell onto my ass and my hands pressed palm-flat to the floor.

The blood was still warm.

Just as I realized the significance—that the kill was fresh, I heard the low, warning growl.

I was no longer alone.

Maybe I’d never been alone, and the wolf was too clever and too stealthy, to let me know he’d been watching.

Waiting.

I scooted backward, my gaze never leaving the golden eyes of the huge wolf as he crept toward me. His fur was gnarled brown clumps and he was missing an ear. He crouched low, his muscles bunched as if readying to pounce. His menacing snarl revealed sharp, bloodied canines.

If he clamped that massive jaw around my throat, I was a goner.

My fingers slid over a piece of jagged glass. I didn’t break eye contact with the wolf as I grasped the large shard.

He saw the movement of my hand.

He let out a wild cry and leapt.

As his paws hit my shoulders and threw me to the floor, I jabbed the glass as hard as I could into his throat.

My hand slipped down the make-shift weapon. My skin sliced open, though I felt no pain as my own blood gushed onto the wolf’s matted fur. Then the glass broke in my grip, the pieces falling away.

Even though I’d hit the mark, it had not been enough to completely deter the creature. However, the rasp of his growls told me I’d done damage.

I pressed my injured hand against his wound, which barely kept him at bay. He snapped and snarled inches from my face. Blood-tainted spittle dripped onto my neck.

The adrenaline that made my heart rate spike also gave me the strength to fight.

I curled my other hand into a fist and punched him in the head over and over again.

And still I pushed against his throat, hoping that little bit of glass might sever something important enough to make him fully retreat.

Or kill him.

My arms started to shake. I was sweating and panting hard and utterly consumed by panic. My strength was giving out. I stopped hitting the monster with my fist and used both hands to push on his throat.

Yet, I knew with abhorrent certainty that my life would soon belong to the wolf.

Then I heard a voice in my mind, the wispy memory of a self-defense class I had taken while at nursing school.
If an attacker gets you down on the ground, put your feet on his hips and push. He’ll go down or you’ll go up. Either way, it’s a chance to get free.

I had nothing to lose.

I raised my trembling legs, and put my shoes right on his bony hips.

I shoved with all my might.

The wolf yelped as I was propelled backwards. He was thrust away from me and he stumbled. Blood gushed from his neck, and his tongue lolled out as he dragged in rattling breaths. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on—the lamp.

The creature growled and came at me again, but he was a lot slower this time. I yanked the cord free of the wall as I swung the lamp and smashed it against his skull. He went down onto his side and I began hitting him. It didn’t matter that the house was dark again and my human vision was limited. I had purpose. The shade got crushed, the bulb broke, and the ceramic base threatened to shatter in my hands, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

Tears and blood and sweat dripped from my face and my hands. Finally, the lamp broke and slipped out of my grasp. I sucked in huge breaths, sobbing so hard my head clogged and my throat closed.

The wolf was dead.

The front door burst open—and by burst, I meant it was knocked off its hinges and turned into a pile of sticks. Why would anyone do that? The door wasn’t locked.

I was too tired and too wobbly to care. Whatever came inside next could have me—I’d throw myself down in front of it, wolf or man.

“Christ. We’re too late.” The exclamation came from the large blond-haired man who held a sword. I blinked. Yes. That was definitely a sword. His disgusted gaze went from the wolf to me. “I don’t believe it, Grey. The human female killed him.”

I shifted my gaze to the second man—the one named Grey. He was a little taller, a little bigger. His muscles bulged in the blue T-shirt he wore tucked into a pair of tight jeans. He had the longest, silkiest, blackest hair of anyone I’d ever seen.

“I—” Words failed me. My throat hurt something awful and my mouth was as dry as the desert. Dizziness assailed me and I felt like the ground was shifting beneath my feet. I managed to point to Mr. Sanders’s body and whisper, “Hurt.”

“Whoa now, sweetheart,” said the blond. He sheathed the sword—in a scabbard he wore strapped to his back—and stepped forward, but Grey reached me first.

I collapsed and he caught me, swinging me up into his arms, tight against his chest. I felt his warmth surround me, heard the calm beat of his heart, and felt completely, utterly safe.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

I
AWOKE
TO
the hushed sound of voices. I felt like I was moving through thick layers of cotton. Eventually, I managed to pry open my eyes. Aunt Lila and two men stood at the side of the bed—apparently arguing in sharp whispers. I didn’t hear the words so much as the tones.

“May I have some water?” I croaked.

Aunt Lila broke free from the group. I was glad to see her friendly face. She was short in stature, but she exuded the strength and grace so admired by the wolves. She was dressed in a simple black pantsuit, pearls draped around her throat, her silver hair pinned up. Aunt Lila had a class, ageless beauty that defied time. She’d looked the same now as she did when I met her as a child.

A pitcher of ice water sat on the nightstand next to the bed, and she poured me half a glass. She sat down and offered the cup to me. “Sip on it, honey,” she warned with caution. “Drink as much as you want, but don’t gulp.”

I drank what she gave me as directed, and then managed to put down another full glass. I felt much better after the hydration, and I sat up. “Where am I?”

“My bedroom,” said Aunt Lila. “We thought it best to bring you to my house. I gave you a bath and got you fixed up. You slept all night and most of the day.”

“My parents! They must be worried sick.”

“We told them an abbreviated version of events,” offered the blond man. I remembered him from Mr. Sanders’s house—yes, him, and the other man who now stood silently at my bedside. He stared at me as though I was a puzzle he couldn’t put together. I had sinking feeling I knew exactly who he was, but I hoped I was wrong.

“Greyson Burke,” he said. “And you are Arabelle.”

“Most folks called me Belle.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I’m not most folks, Arabelle.”

“He’s not most werewolves, either,” said the blond. “I’m Colt, in case you were wondering.” He studied my face, sidled a glance at his friend, and sighed. “But you weren’t, were you?”

“I’ll speak to Arabelle alone now.”

“Grey.” Aunt Lila’s voice was strained. “It’s not the time to do this.”

“I’ve noted your concerns, Elder. But we’re on a timetable, and I have other business to take care of.”

I could see that Aunt Lila was none too pleased with Grey’s edict. She gave me a look I took to mean, “Stay strong.” I received a similar look from Colt. Then they both left the room. Grey followed them to the door and locked it.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer the question as he sat next to me. His big, muscled body made the mattress dip outrageously. He took injured hand in his, and studied the bandage wrapped around my aching palm. “You had to have nine stitches. The cut was deep.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

I slipped my hand out from his and tucked it under the blanket. His touch, his manner, his…
vibe
, if you will, was giving me the shivers. Lord-a-mercy, he was a good-looking man—the squared jaw, the aquiline nose, the full lips. And those eyes that saw so much and offered so little.

He’d put his long, beautiful hair into a queue at the back of his neck. He wore a green Polo shirt, faded jeans, and black cowboy boots. He filled out his clothes nicely, but I swear if he moved the wrong way, the material of the shirt or jeans might well burst open.

His gaze pinned mine. His eyes were grayish-green, much like a storm-swept forest. The swirl of earthy colors could not have been replicated in human eyes. It was a powerful reminder that he was beast—a beast much like the one I’d killed. No, not exactly. Grey was far more powerful and dangerous. I knew that to the core of my being—just like I knew without anyone telling me that he was the alpha of the Shadow pack.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

He lifted one brow, his expression as blank as a new canvas. “You murdered a werewolf.”

My first instinct was to apologize, but I quelled the urge. I wasn’t sorry about saving my own life, and I wouldn’t lie to gain an ounce of mercy.

“Yes, he died—because I had a stronger will to live.” I refused to look away from him, even though I knew it was unwise to challenge the alpha with direct eye contact. “And he killed a human.” I felt my throat knot, but I spoke the next words aloud, anyway. “The pact is broken.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He leaned close, and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t want to be part of the Choosing.”

I
LOOKED AWAY
.
He’d already seen too much, and I wasn’t interested in giving him anymore. “I wasn’t supposed to be,” I said softly. “But I will abide by my duty.”

“Arabelle.”

I glanced at him and saw his gaze soften. He let go of my chin and then rested his hand on my thigh. Something electric jolted right through me. A man had never touched me like he so casually did. I felt uneasy with his familiarity, yet I wanted more of it. Being around him was strange—and confusing.

“Are you not the eldest sister?” he asked. “Have I been misled?”

“My sister Carolyn was destined for the Choosing. She was the oldest daughter. By six minutes.”

He blinked in surprise. “Twins.”

“Yes. She always hated that she was born first. She resented that I had the freedom she wanted. After high school, I moved to Sparks and started nurse assistance training. That was the first part of my plan to become an RN. I’ve always wanted to help people, you see.” I couldn’t believe I was being such a Chatty Cathy. My nervousness at the alpha’s nearness had loosened my lips.

“Carolyn died less than six months later. I came home to take her place.” I picked at the comforter. I harbored my own guilt, my own regrets. I didn’t talk about my sister or my time away from Bleed City. Not with my parents. Not with my friends. Not with anyone. I was unnerved by how easily I spoke the truth to him. “That all happened three years ago.”

“How did she die?”

“Like a coward.” The words came out an awful hiss—weighted with my own miseries. Surprise flashed on his face. He curled his fingers around mine, the ones trying to wear a hole in the well-worn quilt. I stared at his long, tapered fingers, at the strength and the gentleness he conveyed with such a simple touch. “I’m sorry. I’m still…I suppose I haven’t forgiven her.” I sighed and looked at him bleakly. “She committed suicide.”

He studied my expression and drew a conclusion. “She killed herself to get out of the Choosing.”

“Yeah. Partly. And she wanted to punish me. Her whole life she was chock full of unhappiness and all that wretchedness turned her heart to stone. When she put the rope around her neck and kicked out the chair, she escaped the life she hated and gifted it to me.”

Grey was quiet for a moment. Then he lightly squeezed my fingers. “What about you, Arabelle? Would you rather die than become a werewolf’s mate?”

I squared my shoulders. “I love my family and this town. Honor and duty are important to me. So is kindness and doing right by those who need you. No matter how I might feel about being a…a shifter bride, I will go to the Choosing. At least I will if we’re still having the ceremony. ”

“We are.” He let go of my hand to brush back my hair. His fingers sifted through my plain brown curls. “The wolf you killed didn’t belong to the Shadow pack. He was a Blood wolf—one of their scruffers. We tracked him to the house, but you got there ahead of us. You did us a great favor—and a great honor.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at him. “Can I go home now?”

“Arabelle, I don’t think you understand the significance of what you’ve done. A human female should not have been able to defeat a werewolf—not even a pathetic scruffer like him. Even the weakest of our kind can snap your bones and tear out your throat.”

“I know,” I said. “He almost did.”

His hand curved around my head and he pulled me slightly forward as he lowered his face to mine. We were maybe two inches apart, and I could feel his breath on my mouth. Startled by the sudden intensity of both his gaze and his grip, I pressed my good hand against his chest. It was like trying to budge a marble statue.

“You are unique, Arabelle. Your impossible deed is already known throughout the pack. Every shifter worth his wolfhood wants you as a mate. You will raise the status of any werewolf who marries you. Not only because you are strong and capable, but also because you are a challenge. A man who dominates such a spectacular woman would be one of the most respected members of the Shadows.”

“You’re saying I’m the prize goat.”

“I don’t think that’s the right metaphor.” He leaned closer still and nipped my bottom lip. I sucked in a shocked breath, my eyes going wide. He seemed pleased with my reaction. “I’m choosing you as my mate. You are mine, Arabelle.”

“What?” I cried. “No. I’m not. I can’t be! You’re…” I stared at him and tried to come up with an appropriate word that would convey my feelings. “
You.
”

“I’m me?” He chuckled. “I would tell you not to be scared, but…” He swept my lips in a soft, brief kiss. “You should be scared. Werewolves are not gentle creatures. But I believe that you will be able to handle even the darkest of my desires, sweet Arabelle.”

“What if I’m not a virgin?” The question came out rushed and quivering.

He leaned back, his gaze turning crystalline, his grip tightening. “Are you not?”

“Would you want me if I wasn’t?”

He narrowed his gaze. Then he leaned in and sniffed my neck. It was the oddest sensation—his breath puffing against my skin. He continued breathing me in, sniffing at my breasts, my belly, and then—sweet lord—he put his face right in my lap. He inhaled my scent deeply. Then he lifted his head. “You are most definitely a virgin.”

My face blazed with mortification. A werewolf sticking his face between my legs humiliated me so much I surely wouldn’t be surprised if I burst into flames.

Grey laughed. “You’re adorable. I like seeing you blush.” He released me and straightened, but he was still too close for comfort. “I look forward to teaching you about all the ways you can please me.” His gaze dipped to my chest. My breasts tingled and my nipples hardened under his lustful stare. “And I will learn exactly what pleases you. We will have a good mating, Arabelle.”

I rubbed the back of my skull. It prickled where he had clutched my head and pulled my hair. “Does this mean I’m not going to the Choosing?”

He shook his head. “The ritual belongs to Bleed City. Werewolves don’t stand on ceremony, but we respect those who do. So, yes, you will go, but it means nothing. You’ve already been chosen by the alpha. No one else can have you.”

“Will they know?” I asked. “The other werewolves, I mean.”

“I am the first to pick my mate, so it doesn’t matter.” His expression turned thoughtful. “All the same, I don’t want other males to so much as point their snouts in your direction. It’s best that I scent you.”

“Scent me?”Uneasiness burrowed under my skin and soaked my bones in dread. Somehow I knew he didn’t have a bottle of
Eau de Alpha
with which to spritz me. He was talking about something that required physical contact between us. Was scenting his way of saying we were going to have sexual relations?

Oh, sweet mercy.

“Scenting is one of several ways we claim our mates. The other werewolves will know instantly that you belong to me—and that I belong to you.”

“Oh.”

“Push up your nightgown and then remove your panties.”

I stared at him, both enthralled and terrified about following his command. He offered no other explanation—and no soothing words to calm my virginal fears. He remained silent and patient, waiting for me to comply.

My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a net full of butterflies.

I grasped the edge of the nightie and, with trembling hands, drew it up my thighs. As he intently followed the material’s progress, his eyes darkened to a stormy gray-green.

My simple cotton panties were soon revealed.

I tucked the nightgown around my breasts and then I looped my fingers under the sides of my underwear. Grey’s gaze riveted to the apex of my thighs. I tugged downward and then hesitated as the material bunched at my hips.

“No man—or werewolf for that matter—has ever seen my…” Embarrassment knotted my throat.

“Your womanhood,” he said in a low voice etched with a growl.

“R-right. I don’t—” I searched for words to describe what I was trying to say and settled on, “Do stuff. Down there. With razors. Or…um, whatever.”

“You’re natural. That’s good, Arabelle. I don’t want you to prepare yourself as other women do. You are exactly how you should be…exactly how I want you.” He wet his lips, his gaze dropping to where my fingers were hooked. “Take them off.
Now
.”

My heart stuttered and then began racing in a wild rhythm. With
thump-thump-thump
echoing in my ears, I lifted my rear end so that I could wiggle off the only boundary between my mound and the alpha’s hot, possessive gaze. I slid the panties off my legs, untangled one side that caught on my foot, and then placed the underwear on the nightstand.

Lying there with half my body completely naked made me so uncomfortable that I wanted to dive under the covers. However, with Grey’s hungry gaze on me, I didn’t dare. In fact, I didn’t even want to twitch lest the slightest movement caused him to pounce on me.

“Lie completely on your back,” he commanded softly. “And spread your legs.”

I wasn’t completely unaware of went on between a man and woman in the bedroom. Being in nursing school had opened my eyes to many physical aspects of sexual encounters—at least from a classroom perspective. All the same, knowledge was not the same as experience. Nor could information negate my abashment at the whole concept of being naked with a man and letting him…
oh, lord
.

Still, I wouldn’t disobey.

I scooted down until I was flat against the quilt and stretched out my legs, giving Grey a bird’s eye view of what no man had ever seen.

“Will it hurt?” I asked.

“No.” Grey moved across the bed and knelt between my legs. He appeared like a supplicant getting ready to worship his goddess, but I knew such a fanciful image was far from the reality. He was a werewolf.

And werewolves ravaged.

He scooted backwards until his boot soles clacked against the foot board. Then he sank forward, resting his fingertips on the tops of my thighs.

He settled his mouth, hot and wet, on the tender, virgin flesh of my womanhood.

His light, almost chaste, kisses, created tiny electric shocks. They were foreign, but highly enjoyable, sensations. I couldn’t stop the gasps of pleasure, the little moans that crawled out my throat.

His mouth felt so good!

Admittedly, feeling anything but scared at this whole “scenting” display was welcome—and unexpected. I let out a shuddering breath.

Grey started interspersing those little kisses with long, sensuous licks that made me squirm. My damaged hand pressed against the covers, and unbidden, my other hand cupped the back of Grey’s hand. I delighted in the soft, silky feel of his hair.

His carnal forays made my flesh swell and moisten. A tight coil of need began to unwind with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his mouth.

“I’m so wet,” I murmured.

Grey glanced up, his eyes animalistic, his face somehow both human and wolf. I knew he was intentionally keeping his beast leashed. Excitement leapt in my belly.

“I’m just getting started, my sweet,” he said in a voice thick with desire. “When I’m done, you will know you are mine.”

He kissed the top of my pubic bone, and then he dragged his tongue down the slender line of my wet heat.

I sighed in pure delight as he nibbled me in the same way he might a ripe, juicy peach.

He parted my labia with his strong, sure fingers, and blew hot air across my sensitized flesh. The coiled ache that seemed both pleasure and pain loosened more, and a strange, tingling joy ribboned through me.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured.

He delved once again into my moist folds, only this time he flicked his tongue against my tight, little bud. My fingers twined into his hair as I arched up, pressing my tormented sex against the heat, the hunger of his mouth.

“Please,” I begged. I knew he could give me the relief I wanted, the golden bliss I sought, but had never truly experienced. “Please, Grey!”

“As my lady desires.” He drew my aching clit into his mouth, suckling hard as he rapidly flicked his tongue against my clit.

I felt the rise of quivering excitement, the incredible blooming of sexual rapture.

“Oh!” I pressed him against his mouth as ecstasy crashed in me.

Over me.

Through me.

Grey kept licking, kept suckling, even as the glorious waves of orgasm faded. I was left feeling sated—for a moment. My clitoris felt intensely sensitive, and Grey’s continued ministrations bordered on painful.

“Stop,” I said. “Stop!”

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He sucked the tender, swollen bud harshly and then I felt one of his thick fingers enter my channel. I bucked, trying to get away from this new invasion, but he put his other arm above his head and pressed against my hips, trapping me.

What had started as sweetly awakening sensuality became a new kind of agony.

I lay pinned against the bed, the sexual prisoner of the alpha, and I could do nothing.

Tears squeezed from my eyes as I felt his finger curled upward in my virgin flesh and began a slow, torturous stroking. I sucked in an unsteady breath.

Sweet mercy! What was he doing?

I moaned.

The incredible sensations he’d wrought from my clitoris was nothing compared the strange and wonderful thrills he created from the tiny knot of nerves he’d found just inside my entrance.

Now, a different sort of delight unfolded and weaved itself into the stinging ache of my tortured clit.

I no longer felt pain.

Or fear.

The expert touch of my alpha lover was bringing me to orgasm again. I felt my clit tighten, my inner muscles squeeze, and then I was crying out…

…screaming Grey’s name…

…as double spikes of terrible, beautiful pleasure pierced me to the very core.

I slumped against the bed, my entire body limp and replete. Grey rose and sat back on his heels, his expression full of smug satisfaction. “How are you, Arabelle?”

“I’m wonderful.” I rose onto my elbows. “So, that’s how a werewolf scents his mate?”

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “As I said—one of several ways.”