Ellora's Cavemen: Tales from the Temple II

ELLORA’S CAVEMEN: TALES FROM THE TEMPLE III

An Ellora’s Cave Publication, September 2004

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

1337 Commerce Drive, #13

Stow, OH 44224

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0050-1

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

WOLF’S LAW © 2004 CHEYENNE MCCRAY

SCARLET SWEET © 2004 ANYA BAST

WRITERS UNBLOCKED © 2004 DIANA HUNTER

LOOKING FORWARD © 2004 MARY WINE

RAPTOR’S PREY © 2004 DELILAH DEVLIN

VOYEURS: OVEREXPOSED © 2004 SHERRI L. KING

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

ELLORA’S CAVEMEN: TALES FROM THE TEMPLE III edited by The Legendary “Queen of Steam”
Jaid Black.

Cover design by
Darrell King
. Photography by
Dennis Roliff
.

ELLORA’S CAVEMEN:

TALES FROM THE TEMPLE III

Wolf’s Law

By Cheyenne McCray

Scarlet Sweet

By Anya Bast

Writers Unblocked

By Diana Hunter

Looking Forward

By Mary Wine

Raptor’s Prey

By Delilah Devlin

Voyeurs: Overexposed

By Sherri L. King

WOLF’S LAW

Cheyenne McCray

Cheyenne McCray

Law scented the woman long before he heard the clank of chains. The smell of her terror and her anger overshadowed her pleasing woman scent.

Two men laughed and shouted, their cruel voices shattering the peaceful quiet of D’euan Forest.

The wolf slipped between trees, his paws silent upon pine needles and matted leaves. His keen senses absorbed all that surrounded him. The rich perfume of moist earth, spring flowers and cool evening air filled his nostrils, along with other familiar forest smells… A rabbit trembling beneath a bush, just feet away; a fox skirting the edge of Law’s territory; a herd of deer just over the rise. Leaves whispered in the light breeze and wind caressed his muzzle as he loped through dappled sunlight.

He assimilated everything while never removing his attention from the woman.

Her distressed thoughts echoed in his mind as he neared her. Her fury, and again her fear.

I’ll kill the bastards
, she was thinking, and Law would have smiled at her strength and courage if her situation hadn’t been so dire.

His own fury mounted, raging through him like white-hot fire, and he bared his fangs. For he heard the thoughts of the men just as clearly as the woman’s. They intended to rape her as soon as they made camp for the night.

Analeen stumbled and dropped to her knees on the hard-packed earth of a wheel rut. Chains binding her wrists clanked as they hit dirt and the rope around her neck grew taut.

“Get up, bitch.” Dyrke brought his horse to a stop just as she thought he intended to drag her behind him and strangle her to death.

Her breathing came in hot angry gasps. Tears of fury built up behind her dirt-encrusted eyes, but she refused to cry. Dust covered her aching body and fire burned at her wrists where chains had rubbed them raw. Her bare feet were cut and bloodied from sharp rocks from the one-day journey from her village.

“If the wench won’ get up, drag ‘er,” Jove ordered as he rounded back on his own horse. Analeen raised her head and her gaze met his cruel, cruel pale blue eyes. “Even if the wench is hav dead by the time we make camp, we’ll still have our fun wit’ ‘er.”

Analeen would rather die than let these bastards touch her. But she had to live. No matter what they did to her, she would escape and return to her family. Her younger sisters needed her, and she couldn’t leave them in this world alone.

6

Wolf’s Law

“She won’ bring much of a price if she gets any uglier.” Dyrke yanked the rope when Analeen eased to her feet. Her foot caught on the hem of her dress and she almost fell again. “Get up, whore.”

She wanted to rage against the bastards, wanted to claw their eyes out and cut off their pricks. Already she was so exhausted, so weak, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight them both off. One, maybe, but two… Her chances were not good. Not good at all.

And it was almost nightfall.

Dyrke yanked the rope, and Analeen began plodding behind his horse again. Gods, how her muscles ached. She had never been so bone-weary in her life.

And never in her worst nightmares had she ever imagined being kidnapped from her family to be sold as a pleasure slave. She was not pretty at all. Her life had been relatively dull, and she lived in a tiny village, in a small modest home, taking care of her younger sisters. Her father performed odd jobs in the village while she watched the four girls—that was, when he wasn’t drunk or gambling at the tavern’s
litho
tables.

A fierce growl rose up from beside the road.

Analeen’s heart jumped to her throat.

“What the devil?” Jove wheeled his horse around. He ripped a dagger from his belt.

“Wolf!” Dyrke shouted just as a huge black object rushed past Analeen and straight at Jove.

Analeen’s terror was immediate and absolute.
Oh, gods, not a wolf!

As the wolf attacked the men, she fought against the rope around her neck with everything she had. Dyrke had knotted it too tightly and the loop was too small to fit over her head. She yanked against Dyrke’s hold on the rope as hard as she could.

While Analeen fought the rope, Jove’s mare gave a high-pitched scream. The wolf snarled and clamped his incisors deep in the horse’s flank. The mare reared and screamed again.

At the same time, Jove threw his dagger at the wolf. With a lithe movement, the beast released his grip on the horse and dodged the blade. Analeen saw the wolf’s furious gray eyes, the rage in them so intense it iced her spine.

Jove’s horse bolted into the forest, blood flowing down her flank. The man on her back almost lost his seating. He yanked on the reins and shouted for the horse to stop.

The mare thundered through the trees and Analeen could only hear the dying pounding of her hooves.

Dyrke’s gelding had never stopped whinnying with fear and trying to dance away from the wolf. The horse dragged Analeen. She tumbled forward, dress tangling around her legs. Her face slammed into hard-packed dirt. Stars sparked behind her eyes. She clawed at the rope, trying to breathe.

The man shouted, “Bloody wolf!”

Analeen scrambled to her knees in time to see the man cock his arm back, ready to fling his own dagger at the huge black menace.

7

Cheyenne McCray

The wolf lunged, its fangs flashing white against its black face. Instead of clamping his incisors onto the horse or the man, he snagged Analeen’s rope in his mouth. With one strong snap of his powerful jaws, he bit the rope cleanly in two. This time she stumbled backward. She landed hard on her hip and pain seared her body.

Dyrke’s features held a mixture of fury and fear as he flung his dagger. Analeen barely saw the blade flip through the air before she scrambled to her feet and fled into the forest. She still couldn’t yank the rope over head, so she caught up the end and clenched it in her fist as she ran.

Blood pounded in her ears as her bare feet pounded against forest floor. Rocks and sticks poked into her soles and bushes snagged her torn dress, ripping it from one breast and further into shreds. Behind she heard Dyrke’s cries, the horse’s screams, and the wolf’s snarls.

She didn’t want to die like her mother had. Her throat so mangled and torn that their father wouldn’t let any of the daughters see her before her body was burned.

Everything behind Analeen went quiet. No sounds came from the direction of the road, and her terror mounted.

Analeen came to an abrupt stop. She heard only wind murmuring through branches above her. Not a bird, not a squirrel. And nothing, nothing at all from the fray she had left behind.

A wolf’s howl shredded the silence and another cold wash of fear rushed over her.

She swallowed, hard. Her body trembled. What should she do?

A tree. I could climb a tree.
Wolves couldn’t climb trees, could they?

The tree in front of her, the branches rose too high; the one next to it was too spindly to hold her weight. Feeling more and more desperate, she whirled—and slammed into something hard.

A man.

She stumbled back. Big hands grabbed her by her shoulders as she started to fall.

The man caught her to him. Her body flush against solid muscle. Huge hands gripping her arms. Tall, so tall, with long, wild, black hair.

And silvery-gray eyes as fierce as the wolf’s.

Renewed terror and fury gave Analeen the strength to fight, to forget her wounds and her exhaustion. She shoved her hands against the man’s bare chest and struggled against his hold, but his grip didn’t lessen.

“No!” She screamed and clawed at his bare chest, fighting like a forestcat. She tried to bite his arm, kicked at his bare legs and tried to twist out of his grip.

And then she realized the man was entirely naked.

Shocked, Analeen went completely still. Her gaze fixed on his cock, a part of her registering its impressive size. And damn it all, her nipples tightened at the sight.

8

Wolf’s Law

But the larger part of her grew rigid with fear. She became very aware of her breast hanging through her torn dress and the shreds that barely held the gown to her shoulders.

Her gaze shot to his.

“Are you finished attempting to claw my eyes out, kitten?” The man’s deep voice penetrated the haze of terror that suffused her very being. His voice held a hint of irritation that matched the reflection in his eyes.

Analeen swallowed. Her entire body trembled and exhaustion crept back into her bones. Weariness overcame her so fast her head spun and her body went limp. The punishment she had been through at the hands of Dyrke and Jove, the terror of the wolf and her flight, and now a frightening naked man capturing her—it was all too much.

Darkness wove itself through her consciousness until everything went black.

Law frowned as he caught the woman tighter to him. Rage still burned within him at what the men had done to this small creature, and he desired only to kill both of the bastards. He would have hunted them to the ends of Dair if he hadn’t been concerned about the woman running through the dangerous forest alone.

Analeen
, he had read in her thoughts.
Her name is Analeen.

His frown turned into a scowl. What did he care what the woman’s name was? He had no interest in human women. He would simply return the wench to her village and be done with her.

Yet a deep, primal part of his being did not want to let go. Her scent of woman’s musk and wildflowers mingled with the smells of blood from her wounds, and dirt clinging to her skin and clothing. Her eyes were closed but he remembered their blue-green depths, and her spirit combined with fear in her gaze. He could not help but admire the way she had fought him, the way she never gave up even though she had been physically abused and terrified beyond reason of the wolf.