She shook her head and squeezed the edge of the table like a stress ball.
“We fuck them.”
Darting forward so quickly she couldn’t have stopped him if she tried, Graham nipped her earlobe hard enough to sting. Missy yelped and jumped and tried to squirm away, but Graham was too fast. Before the command even traveled from her brain to her legs, he was on her, pushing her back on the table and pinning her there, crouching over her like a wolf over its prey.
“We pick the one we want for a mate,” he continued, holding her hands firmly against the cool wood and subduing her struggles with easy strength. “We chase her down. And we fuck her. There’s no seduction, no asking what she wants. She knows what she’s in for when she decides to run, and once she does, she can’t back out. When the males give chase, they’re in rut. Their instincts are in control, and there’s no werewolf alive who can control his need to mate when he’s in rut. If a hunt didn’t end in sex, it would end in death. Which do you think is a better choice?” Missy froze beneath him. The open savagery of what he was describing seemed so foreign, so incomprehensible to her. It fascinated her even as it frightened her.
“But deaths are rare,” he continued, voice harsh, eyes glinting. “They only happen occasionally, when more than one of us wants the same woman. Do you know what happens then, Melissa Jane?”
Missy whimpered. He loomed over her until he blocked out the rest of the room, not that she would have been able to focus on anything but him. He filled her senses like air filled her lungs, and she was starting to believe he might be just as vital.
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“If she’s fast enough, she might run again until another male catches her and fucks her. But if she’s too hurt or too tired to run anymore, or if one of the males who caught her is the one she wants, she just lays there and watches while we fight over her. It’s not usually to the death, but you can never tell. Some Lupines are just more…aggressive than others.”
She trembled, trying not to picture the dark forest, the smell of rich soil and fresh blood, the sound of fangs biting and claws ripping, or growls and screams and the eerie silence of victory.
“Then whoever wins gets to fuck you again, only by that point, the winner is usually more beast than man, and he’s not likely to care about your pleas for mercy. All he wants is to fuck, and the only thing he wants to fuck is you.” He leaned down until his words growled directly into her ear and from there directly into her womb, which twitched and spasmed and sent rivulets of moisture to dampen her rippling pussy and the crotch of her jeans.
“At that point, his beast is in control, not his man, and beasts aren’t known to be tender lovers. They fuck hard and fast and brutal, and they do it over and over until the sun comes up and dispels the hunt magic from the air. By that time you may or may not be able to walk, but it won’t matter, because the winner will have you declared his mate, and he’ll have as long as he wants to work off the residual hunt lust. I hear it only takes a week or two. On average.”
She closed her eyes and shuddered, then squeezed them tight because she knew he felt it and didn’t want to see the look on his face while he taunted her.
“Hmm. Was that fear, I wonder? Or arousal?” He nuzzled the tender hollow of her neck and rasped the sensitive skin with his tongue. “Because you’d be smart to be afraid. Lupines, like wolves, are pack hunters. Sometimes if the female is especially sought after, they’ll work in teams to bring her down. Four or five, or even six Lupines will hunt her together, and they’ll all take turns fucking her before they fight. After all, since they all helped catch her, it’s only fair that they should all get at least one taste.” His tongue licked a damp path across her throat to lave against the bite mark he’d left there. He scraped his teeth over it with exquisite delicacy before he lapped his way up to her ear. He tugged lightly at the plump lobe, swirled his tongue along the outer edge and breathed quietly inside, “I have a feeling you’d be
very
sought after.” Missy whimpered, unsure if it was from fear or anger. His quiet threats and overwhelming strength finally snapped her control, and she flew into a fury, bucking and writhing and kicking to try and free herself from his grasp. It was a futile effort, especially considering he already had her hands pinned, but she fought until he used his weight to subdue her, stretching his body along hers and pinning her in place.
“Maybe now you can see some advantages to being my mate,” he growled, rearing up to give her a stern look of warning. “We
will
be going to the hunt tonight, Missy, but if you go as my mate, I can keep you safe.”
She glared up at him, fuming. “I’d be safer if I didn’t go at all.” Christine Warren
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“Maybe, but that’s not an option for you,” he said firmly. “It’s my pack, so I
have
to go. And If I’m going, you’re going.”
“Why? For heaven’s sake, I’m not even Lupine. I’m human. You can’t hunt humans.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why not? We’re predators. We’ll hunt anything that runs away.” She sputtered, but he bulldozed right over her. “Besides, like I said to you a few minutes ago, since no one knows about you yet, I’m not officially mated, which means I have to participate in the hunt. And since you’re my mate, you’re the one I’m going to be hunting.”
She almost felt her eyes pop right out of her head. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, no. No way! After what you just told me about these hunts, do you honestly expect me to go wandering out there alone in a park full of horny werewolves? You’re out of your mind!”
“Did I let on that you had a choice?”
His look matched his words for sheer arrogant gall, and she could almost feel the smoke coming out of her ears. She had to take a very deep breath before she could actually speak. “Look,” she bit out, “You may have to abide by these traditions of yours, but I don’t. You may doubt my determination to get the hell out of here way before this hunt of yours starts, but I don’t. And you may think that a few hours of sex makes us mates, but I don’t. So. Get. Off. Of. Me!”
She used all her strength to break free and all he did was look vaguely surprised.
“Is
that
what this is all about?”
The genuine shock in his voice pierced her determination, and she paused. “Is
what
what this is all about?”
He drew back until he knelt astride her with his hands still cuffing her wrists and a half-surprised, half-bemused look on his face. “You think this is all just about sex.” The accusation in his voice did not sit well with Missy.
“What else is it about? We haven’t spent four out of every five minutes in each other’s company naked because we were sharing macramé techniques. I mean, we’re practically strangers. I don’t even know if you have a family!” His bemusement slid into a grin, the kind that made her forget why she was mad at him. “My parents are retired and living in Bermuda. No brothers or sisters. A slew of aunts, uncles and cousins.” He pulled her up until he could wrap her arms around his neck and tug her into his embrace. His green eyes caught hers and held them. “And one very sexy mate.”
His lips descended toward her and almost made it before she jerked herself back to reality. “Not so fast,” she protested, turning away and pressing against his chest to hold him at bay. “You are not going to turn this into more sex.” Christine Warren
Fur Factor
75
He gave her a comical pout. “But we only have eight hours before the hunt starts. I figured we shouldn’t waste it.”
“And how is that going to prove to me that this mate thing is about more than sex?” The new pout wasn’t quite so comical. “I told you it isn’t. You’re not just a warm body. You’re my mate. What am I supposed to do? Take a lie detector test?” Missy looked—and felt—decidedly unsympathetic. “You might try explaining to me how you came to the conclusion that I was the girl for you based on having known me for—“ she glanced at her watch, “—twelve and a half hours.” With a disgruntled sigh, Graham pulled away and flopped back on the sofa where he glared up at her from a lazy slouch. “I just know. It’s a Lupine thing.”
“And again I wouldn’t understand?” Her voice sounded dry even to her own ears, but it didn’t seem to affect Graham. He continued to scowl at her while his fingers drummed impatiently against the leather cushions.
“I didn’t say that, but I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.” Missy folded her arms over her chest, crossed her legs at the knee and raised her eyebrows. “You won’t know until you try me.”
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
76
Graham wrapped a mental noose around his impatience and hauled on it hard. The scent of her that had driven him wild earlier now verged on driving him insane. He’d been right about her fertility, because the subtle changes in her scent told him unequivocally that Missy was pregnant.
His beast gave a mental roar of triumph, and he had to fight not to echo it aloud.
The swell of emotions generated by that knowledge threatened to choke him, no matter how hard he struggled to beat them back. The sense of pride and excitement, joy and possessiveness that stirred to life inside him all but knocked him on his ass. But that was nothing compared to the surge of love.
Love
.
God damn it! He had fallen in love with her! What the hell was he supposed to do now? Wanting her was one thing. Lusting after her generously round ass and the soft swell of her belly was totally okay with him. All well and good. Even being charmed by her chimeric flashes of timidity and boldness didn’t bother him. He didn’t mind laughing at her jokes or valuing her opinion, but damn it, why did his stupid heart have to bring love into it? Why couldn’t it be happy with lust, friendship and respect?
She cleared her throat and pursed her lips, and Graham fought the urge to squirm like an eight-year-old before a parental firing squad.
“I’m waiting for you to explain it to me, Graham,” she said. “And don’t give me that bull about me not understanding. I want an answer.” He rubbed his hand absently against his chest, right over his heart, and knew he wasn’t quite ready to tell her his big secret. If she still struggled to come to terms with the way they both burst into flames when they mated, no matter who was watching, then she damned sure wasn’t ready to hear that he loved her and that he’d deliberately made her pregnant when he’d known good and well he could have prevented it. Some things were better left unsaid. At least until he could be sure there was no turning back for either of them.
“You smell,” he blurted out, then watched as her eyes widened before narrowing into thin little slits of pique.
“I
smell
?” She growled, doing a fairly good imitation of him in a mood. “You’re telling me you want me to be your mate because I stink? Somehow, I’m missing your logic.”
“Not stink. Smell,” he clarified. “Smell wonderful.” Her lips were still thin and straight, so he pushed on and tried to explain something he’d never before tried to Christine Warren
Fur Factor
77
define. “Lupines have acute senses of smell, thousands of times better than humans.
Even better than most dogs. Everything around us has its own scent, and a lot of our social customs are built on the information we get that way. It’s just ingrained. We’re born smelling, even if it takes a few hours before we open our eyes.” Her mouth softened, just a fraction, but he saw it.
“It’s only logical that we use that sense of smell when we mate. It tells us who we’re attracted to and who we’re not,” he said. “The most beautiful female in the world won’t appeal to a Lupine if she doesn’t smell right.”
“What smells right?” she asked. He could hear the reluctant curiosity in her voice, but it was still progress.
“You do.”
“Clearly, I’m not the first woman who did. Did you tell any of them they were your mates?”
Damn it! Why couldn’t he have found a stupid mate? It would have made his life a hell of a lot easier. “No, because none of them were. You are,” he repeated, as forcefully as he could without grabbing her and shaking the sense into her. “Lupines mate for life, which even wolves don’t always do. But like humans, we don’t always wait for our mates just to have sex.”
“Which means you still have to explain how the way I smell makes me your mate.” He raked a frustrated hand through his hair and glared at her. “You’re asking me to explain instinct here,” he complained. “It’s like me asking you to explain why humans get all freaked out when they see us on full moon nights.”
“That might have something to do with the fur factor,” she said, her tone wry.
”See, some people cling to the crazy notion that werewolves aren’t real. I hear it helps them sleep at night.”
“What I mean is that the fear they feel is instinctual, not rational. You can’t really explain something like that.”
“At least I tried.”
“You just smell different!” He was frustrated now, and it showed in his voice. He considered it a lucky stroke that it didn’t show in him changing into something a little less human and tearing the stuffing out of his sofa. “Other women smell like sex. They smell…available. Like musk and perfume. You smell different. You’re…fascinating. All rich sweetness, like honey and vanilla.”
She rolled her eyes. “Great. I smell like vanilla. The most boring of all flavors. And this is supposed to convince me I’m irresistible to you?” He shot forward so fast that he saw the surprise widen her eyes when she blinked and found him leaning so close to her that their noses almost kissed.
“You are anything but boring, Melissa Jane,” he growled, meeting her brown eyes and holding their soft gaze with his own. “Remember, vanilla comes from orchids and Christine Warren
Fur Factor
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was once paid as a high tribute to the Aztec emperors. If they could have smelled your scent the way I do, they would have demanded you, instead of a few orchid pods.” Her lips parted, drawing his eye like a beacon. Unable to resist, he leaned another fraction of an inch closer and traced the soft gap with the tip of his tongue. He felt the rush of air when she gasped and closed his teeth delicately on her lower lip, nibbling and nipping and tugging at the sensitive flesh.