Authors: Kendra Leigh Castle
Her Wicked Wolf
Writer Brienne Fox can’t stop thinking about her sexy new
downstairs neighbor. But the chances of living out her X-rated fantasies with
the man are slim when they’ve barely exchanged two words.
Alistair Locke has good reasons for staying a solitary wolf.
With his enemy on the hunt, anyone close to him is in mortal danger. Yet no
woman has ever stirred the beast within the way Brie does, and they can’t resist
the erotic pull drawing them together when they get snowed in together.
But giving in to one night with the woman he desires may
provide the perfect opening for his mortal enemy to destroy the exiled alpha
wolf for good....
ONE
She needed to quit daydreaming about the guy
downstairs.
Brienne Fox dropped her pen onto the table, barely hearing it
roll off the edge and clatter onto the linoleum. The half-finished grocery list
in front of her vanished from her thoughts like so much smoke. All she could
hear was the key in the door, the footsteps...and the murmur of that dark,
silken voice as he greeted what she assumed must be his cat. Not that she’d
spent too much time thinking about what might or might not be in his apartment.
Or what he did while he was in there.
Or anything.
Brie closed her eyes and dug her hands into her hair, resting
her elbows on the table and slumping a little as she castigated herself. Every
day was the same. She was a perfectly normal, well-functioning human being until
that car pulled into the driveway they shared. But as soon as she heard the
steady hum of his sleek little sedan’s engine, all of her functioning brain
cells dropped whatever they were doing to focus on one thing, and one thing
only.
Him. Or more specifically, him naked and in one of a wide
variety of compromising positions, all of which involved her.
It wasn’t exactly productive, since Alistair Locke had barely
given her the time of day the few times she’d managed to bump into him. When
speaking was almost out of the question, a torrid affair didn’t seem all that
likely.
Brie pushed back her chair, got up and wandered over to the
window to look out at the fresh tire tracks in the snow-dusted driveway.
Alistair’s car would be parked by her sand-and—salt spattered SUV, as it always
was, in the old carriage house that had been converted into a garage. Just as
she had boxes of stuff next to his in the upper level of the garage.
Unfortunately, her possessions got more time with him than she did. There was
plenty of space for two people here—almost too much.
She hadn’t been sure about renting an apartment in such an old
house, no matter how beautiful it was. She’d had visions of lousy heat,
electrical and plumbing issues, and of course, a resident ghost that would
doubtless terrorize her into leaving anyway. But the place had sucked her in,
from the high ceilings and gleaming wood floors to the big window that looked
out on the wide street lined with old trees and stately old Victorians much like
this one.
The upstairs was hers, apparently ghost-free, and she loved it.
It was the perfect hiding place for somebody like her, a working writer who
thrived on a certain amount of quiet and personal space. Of course, having
Alistair downstairs had provided a little
too
much
fodder for what was already an overactive imagination.
If she hadn’t been so boringly normal in every other way, she
might have been really concerned about herself instead of just uneasy. She’d
liked guys before. She’d lusted after plenty of them. But this didn’t feel
quite...
normal
.
Brie’s eyes rose to the sky, and she found herself momentarily
diverted. The snow clouds that had hung heavily on the horizon all day had
darkened to an ominous slate-gray, and they seemed to be moving in swiftly. They
were predicting that the massive nor’easter would start hitting by early
evening. She’d promised herself she’d get to the grocery store before the snow
started falling, just in case. With luck, the power would stay on. Without
luck...well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
And of course, Alistair had the only working fireplace in the
house in his apartment....
Brie squared her shoulders and headed back to the table to grab
the grocery list. Food first. She’d just figure the rest of it out as she went.
And along the way, it would be nice if her mind could focus its energy on
something actually productive, instead of creating scenarios with her neighbor
that involved firelight and a soundtrack loaded with songs by Enigma.
Minutes later she was headed out the door and down the stairs,
cozy in bulky boots and a heavy coat. She purposely avoided looking at the door
to Alistair’s apartment. He never came out when she was around, and he wasn’t
going to—
Oh
God
,
there
he
is
.
The door opened, and well over six feet of dark, shaggy,
antisocial male walked out. Brie stopped short three steps from the bottom, so
startled she could do nothing but stare. She rarely got this close to
him...which was a shame, because up close, he was even more delicious than he
was from a distance.
Then again, considering the sudden pounding heart and
lightheadedness, a little distance might be the healthier thing. She just wanted
to climb him like a tree, wrap her legs around him, and bite.
Brie’s eyes widened in horror at the images that flickered,
unbidden, though her mind.
Biting
? What the
hell?
Alistair froze for a moment when he realized he wasn’t alone,
and they stared at each other in the silence. Brie drank him in, unable to help
herself. He was wearing all blacks and grays, which seemed to be a habit of
his—black peacoat, gray-and-black scarf, black pants, all covering a long, lithe
form that moved with sensual, effortless grace. His hair was black as a raven’s
wing, and seemed less to be cut in an actual style than simply overlong. It
waved slightly, falling around a face that was a study in hawkish beauty. His
cheekbones were high and sharp, a perfect match for his blade of a nose.
Handsome was probably the wrong word for him, Brie thought. Compelling was
probably a better one.
Alistair’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line as he watched
her. His eyes—big, thickly lashed, and the blue of the deepest ocean—seemed to
exert a gravitational pull that she had to struggle to resist. And she would
keep struggling, Brie thought as she collected herself as best she could.
Because she was reasonably certain that Alistair was not thinking “Please, hurl
yourself at me right this instant,” no matter what his eyes looked like..
“Miss Fox,” he said, his deep, cultured voice making a formal
address sound more like a lover’s endearment.
“Mr. Locke,” she replied, her lips curving up into a small
smile despite herself. He couldn’t be much older than she was, early thirties
maybe, but he’d never addressed her by her first name. The combination of his
British accent and his old-fashioned manners fascinated her. It was like meeting
a character from a Jane Austen novel right outside her door.
She’d certainly pictured him in breeches enough times.
Alistair inclined his head and hesitated. Brie imagined he was
trying to decide whether to continue outside and risk actual conversation with
her, or simply slink back into his apartment and wait for her to leave. Her
smile faded in the face of the usual hurt and confusion. She wasn’t some troll,
and as far as she knew her conversational skills were just fine. So what was his
problem? For about the millionth time, Brie wished she could take this
ridiculous attraction, light it on fire, kick the ashes away and move on with
her Alistair-free existence. He was probably like this with everyone, she told
herself. The man never had company that she’d seen. And some people simply
didn’t like other people. But it got harder all the time not to take his
repeated snubs personally. They were neighbors. She was low-key, neat, didn’t
throw wild parties, never blocked the driveway, and had never reacted to his
presence by turning into a slobbering idiot. Despite all that, all she generally
had to do was say hello to get him to bolt.
So she found herself shocked when Alistair shut the door behind
him, locked it and continued speaking to her of his own volition.
“And where are you off to before the storm, Miss Fox? Somewhere
safer, I hope.”
TWO
Alistair had promised himself he wouldn’t get this
close to her, but surely a walk to the garage was safe enough.
Though of course, nowhere with Brienne Fox would be completely
safe, he thought. At least, not where he was concerned. The woman had no idea
how appealing she was. How much he wanted to explore every inch of that curvy
little body with his lips, his tongue.
His teeth.
That last impulse was the most worrisome. It had been a long
time since a woman had stirred his senses this way—if one ever had. No matter
what he tried to tell himself to rationalize it all away, some deep, dark part
of himself kept quietly insisting that Brienne was different. Singular. Which
would explain why he was compelled to spend an unreasonable portion of every
evening simply breathing in her scent, which seemed to permeate every nook and
cranny of the house, and wishing he could just...roll around in it. Preferably
with her.
Frustrated, Alistair forced the unwanted thoughts away. He had
good reasons for staying a solitary wolf, and he had no intention of endangering
anyone...no matter how mouthwatering she might be.
“I’m just headed to the grocery store, actually,” Brienne said,
blissfully unaware of the heated images cascading through his thoughts.
“You?”
“I have a few last-minute things to pick up. Nothing more,” he
replied. Such a casual way to put it, Alistair thought, smirking at the dark
humor in the moment. Brienne was talking about buying milk and bread to weather
a storm. He was talking about making final preparations to take on an enemy that
had been snapping at his heels for years.
It wouldn’t be long now. He could scent trouble on the wind,
pressing in all around him. Owain was close by, searching. This time, he would
allow his brother to find him...and somehow, he knew that the end of their long
battle would come during this storm. It didn’t just provide convenient cover to
avoid human attention, it was dramatic in a way that would suit Owain—howling
wind, blinding snow, and a bloody crescendo.
Alistair often wished his brother had decided to channel his
impulses differently and just become an actor instead of a psychopath. In the
meantime, he would rather not give Owain another weapon to use against him.
Enough people had been punished for earning his affection.
Alistair drew in a deep breath and opened the front door for
Brienne, catching the scent that had slowly been driving him mad for months
now—vanilla and apricot, a breath of summer on a blustery winter day.
“Thanks,” Brienne said, the look she gave him bemused. It would
be, he supposed. Chivalry was basically dead these days, but old habits died
hard. And his were very old indeed. Old enough to terrify a beautiful young
thing like her.
“Of course,” Alistair said, hoping his voice sounded steadier
than he felt as he stepped out after her.
“My first real nor’easter,” Brienne said, her tone as warm as
it always was when she tried to speak to him. “I’m not sure whether to be
excited or worried.”
She seemed to be both, which didn’t surprise him. Their longest
encounter to date, shortly after she’d moved in, had involved Brienne chattering
happily about the “adventure” of moving to this small Northern town from the
sunny Florida coast where she’d been raised. She seemed to carry that sunlight
with her, he thought. The woman was so damnably
inviting
. What puzzled Alistair was why she continued to try and
initiate contact with him when he was anything but. He was an unsociable
creature who’d spent too long focused on honor, duty, and nothing else. He was
under no illusions about his meager appeal to someone like her. Most women
seemed to sense his
otherness
and steered clear.
And yet here she was again.
Fascinated despite himself, Alistair fell into step beside her,
letting his eyes rake her from head to toe when she looked away. Brienne’s
beauty was striking each time he saw her. She’d twisted up the loose curls of
her honey-blond hair into a bun, though a few obstinate tendrils had already
escaped to frame the perfect oval of her face. Alistair’s gaze lingered on the
pretty pink rosebud lips, the pert little nose, and the eyes, wide and an
arresting shade of forest-green that quickly returned to him. He already knew
the body that was hidden beneath her winter coat was perfect, small-waisted and
amply curved in all the right places. He’d admired it often enough from
afar.
Not to mention imagined it enough in his unoccupied
moments.
Alistair didn’t realize he hadn’t responded to her until she
tried again, her voice taking on a nervous edge that he knew he’d caused.
Good
, he thought. She ought to be nervous around
him.
“So do you think it’ll be bad? The storm, I mean? The weather
people seem to think we’re going to get dumped on, but they’re wrong at least
half the time.”
“I think they’re right this time,” Alistair said. He could feel
the approach of the storm deep in his bones, could smell it on the cold breeze.
They would indeed get hit. One storm among hundreds he’d experienced, and one
more he would spend without the warmth of his pack to surround him. He let
himself wonder, just for a moment, how they were before pushing the thoughts
aside. They were safe, according to his last conversation with Edwin. His nephew
was doing a good job acting as Alpha in his stead, but lately, he’d begun
pressing Alistair to come back. Edwin was increasingly insistent that with
Alistair now healed, they could fight off whatever army Owain could muster. He
was almost tempted...until he looked at his scars. And remembered the bodies—the
friends—they’d had to burn.
Alistair’s guess had been right—his brother hated him even more
than he wanted control of the pack. As long as that stayed true, he would stay
in this self-imposed exile and keep this the way it always should have
stayed.
Between the two of them.
“Well, hopefully the power will stay on,” Brienne said, drawing
his attention back to her. “I’m not sure the landlord has a generator to lug
over, even if he could.”
He frowned. “One never knows. Surely you have friends locally
who’ve done this before.”
She shrugged, flushing a little. “I’ve had some pretty tight
deadlines since I’ve been here. And, you know, it’s kind of harder to make good
friends when you don’t work outside your house. Not that I don’t have friends,”
she added hurriedly. “They’re just mostly not, you know,
here
.”
It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that the woman
wouldn’t have a backup plan that involved leaving. Or that she wouldn’t have
dozens of friends lined up waiting to help her, even though he’d never actually
seen any of them. It was a shock to realize they had something in common.
“But you seem so”—
delicious
,
beautiful
,
irresistibly
lickable
—”friendly,” Alistair finally managed,
nearly choking on the word.
Now she looked amused. “Oh. Well...thanks?”
“You may want to think about visiting your family Miss Fox, or
at least getting out of town if you don’t want to go that far. There’s still
time to pack a few things and start driving. It’s likely to get very bad. Have
you looked at the news? This is nothing like the hurricanes I expect you’ve
seen. When the storm moves out, we could be snowed in for days.”
And
I’d
hate
to
see
you
caught
up
in
anything
that
might
happen
, he silently added. Surely Brienne had safer
places to go, places she wouldn’t be alone without heat or light. Places where
she wouldn’t be compelled to ask to share an unfriendly werewolf’s
fireplace.
One look in those intelligent green eyes and he knew that was
exactly what she expected to do. That, and perhaps more. There was no ignoring
the desire he saw simmering just beneath the surface...though the gods knew he’d
been trying for months now. This would be so much easier if everything in him
didn’t want to respond to her need by revealing his own. Alistair swallowed
hard.
“Please call me Brie,” she said. “And thanks for the advice,
but I’m sure I’ll manage. You’re staying put too, right? If things get sticky,
I’m sure we can figure something out.”
It was spoken innocently enough, but Alistair found himself
suddenly inundated with visions of how it might be if he drizzled honey all over
her body and licked it off. Sticky, indeed. He fought back a shudder, glad he
was wearing a coat that covered the hard, throbbing evidence of his thoughts
about her. It was time to end this before he did something foolish. Fortunately,
they’d arrived at the garage. Alistair opened the side door for her, and she
stepped inside. He followed, but she startled him by stopping short and turning
to look at him, a determined look on her face.
He only narrowly avoided crashing into her. As it was, they
were less than an inch from being pressed up against each other—and Brienne
stood her ground. Pride had him standing his own. Surely he could manage to be
so close just this once without tucking his tail between his legs and
running.
He’d always been supremely self-controlled. And yet with
Brienne, and her alone, things had gotten infinitely more difficult all at
once.
She tipped her head back to look up at him in the dim light,
the steam from her breath mingling with his. Alistair could feel her warmth,
enticing him to get even closer.
She
knows
I
want
her
,
damn
it
.
She
must
.
I
should
have
stayed
away
.
“Is there something wrong, Miss Fox?” he asked softly, and
then, when her brows drew together, remembered what she had just instructed him
to call her. “Brie?”
The intimacy of being asked to use her nickname affected him
more than he’d expected. Much like the woman herself.
“No,” she said, still frowning a little, as though he were a
puzzle she was attempting to work out. “I just...I wondered...if you might want
to get dinner sometime.”
“Did you,” he murmured, enchanted as much by the way her eyes
went soft and hazy as he was by the innocence of the question itself. Before
Alistair could think better of it, he’d lifted his hand, tracing the contour of
her cheek with the back of his knuckles. She sighed, turning into his touch as
he marveled at how very soft her skin was. Alistair’s breath caught in his
throat. It was just a simple touch. But from the way it affected him, she might
as well have pressed her entire body against his.
He brushed his fingertips along the path he’d just traced, then
across the temptation of her lips, which parted at his touch. Alistair gave a
strangled moan when her tongue darted out to flick over his finger before she
sucked it into her mouth, hot, wet, impossibly sweet. Her eyes slipped shut on a
soft, breathy sound of pleasure. He hadn’t expected it, and the light suction on
his sensitive fingertip nearly buckled his legs beneath him. The rush of desire
carried with it visions of her using that mouth on him in ways he’d only dreamed
of.
Licking. Sucking.
Biting
. Every
instinct roared to life, sending heat racing over his skin. The scent of her,
each delicate pull of her lips around his oversensitive flesh, was suddenly
overwhelming. The ancient beast that slumbered within him was awakened all at
once, and when he groaned again, it sounded like the guttural growl of a wolf. A
snippet of a rhyme from his youth drifted through his mind, just an ominous
whisper.
The
mating
bond
,
when
true
and
real
,
is
soft
as
velvet
,
strong
as
steel
.
Alistair didn’t know how he found the strength to pull away
from her. As it was, it was a clumsy, frightened stumble, but there was nothing
to be done for it. He could barely breathe. All he could do was feel, one
sensation crashing into another until every inch of his body vibrated with need.
All for her.
Even in the shadows, he could see Brie’s furious blush, bright
pink on peaches and cream. She didn’t understand. And he didn’t have time to
explain.
“I...I’m sorry,” she stammered, sounding as shaken as he
felt.
“No, that’s...I have to go,” Alistair said, hoping his rough
voice sounded more human than he thought it did. He fumbled his way into his
car, hitting the garage door opener with such force he was worried he’d broken
it. A claw, long and black and only halfway retracted, punctured his visor as he
pulled his hand away. He backed out too quickly, unable to get his breathing
under control...or his arousal, which coursed through his blood like wildfire.
His final glance at the garage before he sped off showed Brie bracing herself
against the side of her car, head down.
Alistair tried to regret touching her. How could he not have
realized what she was, when he’d barely been able to get her out of his head all
this time? But some part of him had known. It was why Brie kept trying to engage
him, why he’d stayed here much longer than any other place he’d hidden in the
past five years. He needed to stay safe, stay alone. But as he left Brie
standing there, all he could think of was the release he knew he would find
buried deep within her, tangled in her arms. Because no need on earth was
stronger than that of a wolf for his mate.