The Willing (3 page)

“Revenge is simple,” I said. “This is
much more complicated.”

He nodded, as if he knew everything I
had been through, everything that Josh had put me
through.

“I will take you to Mexico, to the
Clan, but I have one stipulation.”

I smiled wanly. “Of course you
do.”

He did not smile back, courtesy of the
new Luka. Instead, he stared past me to Micah’s room.

“You will say nothing about you and me.
They cannot know that you have been with me.”

I stared at the tiled floor hard. That
was not part of my plan.

“You said you didn’t want to give up
your claim to Micah.”

Or to me
, I added silently.

“I have no choice,” he responded. I
felt the sorrow emanating from him like a physical thing. “No,
Emily. Not for me…not anymore.”

I had gotten most of what I wanted.
Luka would take me to Mexico and back my story that Micah is Will’s
son, but at a great price. I knew right then that our relationship
would never be the same. Whatever came out of this mess would not
be something pleasant.

The Lycanti

The things I saw them do—now I know why
the Clan hunts them. I understand why Luka is a Slayer, why Will,
my Will who hated bloodshed, prowled the night for them. Luka told
me he does it to keep the “balance” of Lycanti and Lycanthrope in
our world. As a Lycanti Changeling myself, I would resent receiving
a death sentence just because I am not of pure blood, but I now
understand why Luka’s job is necessary. We really are different
than the Lycanthrope when allowed to live without masters. Our
passions stray further and darker than any Lycanthrope or
human’s.

When I killed Will, I fled. I did not
want a life with the Lycanti in California, mostly because they had
resented Will’s affection for me and tried to kill me once.
Besides, Luka would have easily found me. I started north, first as
a wolf hunting and scavenging, then as a scared, nude human. As a
human, I stayed so nervous that I did not have to endure long in
that tortured, weak form for long. The animal in me is the only
thing that allowed me to survive.

I followed the scent of the seemingly
familiar for about three weeks—a Lycanti male unknown to me. I had
thought Will to be the only male in the area, but a wooded area in
Washington state brought me face-to-face with a man who cared
nothing for the human half of himself, even though he came to me in
that form. The swaggering confidence and glowing eyes I knew so
well flared in the night before me. Blue eyes, so a Changeling of
the southern Brazilian clan—Luka’s clan. Green eyes would have
marked him as a Changeling claimed by the Mexican clan. The trees
rustled and stirred around us, but the nearest humans were miles
away and asleep. Too keyed up to Change back to human, I growled a
warning at him.

“Settle down, woman,” he said smoothly,
running a hand through his thick, black hair which hung shoulder
length. “You tracked me here. I’m curious to know what you
want.”

He came closer to me and I realized
that he was American—a very rare Lycanti indeed since Lycanthrope,
the only ones who can Change a human, prefer the relative safety of
the uncaring Mexican and South American provinces. Some clan
members even work for the government, paid for their efforts while
tracking down killers and devouring them. But I know this man did
none of that. There was nothing tame about him. Tall and lean with
wide shoulders, he was an outcast Lycanti. I thought at the time
that most likely he had killed his master and now Luka hunted him.
If Luka was on his trail, then he had a good reason to be this far
north. His beauty hid the traitorous quality that made us Lycanti,
but I knew it was there.

He moved closer. The stringent musk of
the Lycanti male tickled my nose. Whereas my Will had had a
comforting scent, this man’s attempted to cow me with the threat of
domination. Like all Lycanti I had met so far, he was beautiful in
form and face, toned from running night after night. Lycanti are
created by ravenous Lycanthrope masters, not born into the Clan. I
had never met an unattractive Changeling. This man’s smile, though
warm, slid over me coldly, bringing back memories of my own Change.
A warmth began to spread between my legs.

“I can smell your fear. And your
arousal,” he said in soothing tones. “I can offer you a home. You
will be safe.”

He reached forward and stroked my
flanks, rubbing his hands along me sensuously suggestive. I bared
my teeth at him but did not growl this time.

“Come with me,” he coaxed. There was no
trace of dialect or accent to his voice. “No one controls my pack.
We are free. You will be free.”

Scared and alone, I should have been
defensive, but his grace and calm influenced me. I’m sure he was
putting out that distinctly male Lycanti chemical seduction, too,
which calmed me and made me more receptive to his
demands.

His hands continued to stroke me,
lightly riffling through my fur as if the breeze pushed at it
instead of his fingers. He cupped my canine face in his
hands.

“A Mexican Changeling,” he murmured
while studying my face. “I bet you’re beautiful with that dark skin
and hair with those green eyes. It’s rare that I see any of our
Mexican friends this far north.”

I wanted to laugh, but the closest I
could come to it was a playful bark. He smiled. Oh did he have a
surprise coming. Sure, I had the long black hair, but my alabaster
skin cast me as far away from Hispanic descent as I could possibly
go.

His hands rubbed the tension out of me.
I had never felt so much like an animal, but my body responded to
the petting anyway.

Disgusted with myself, I Changed. His
eyes widened.

“Oh my,” he said appreciatively. I
stood proudly in the moonlight, unafraid and willing for him to
feel me. He disentangled my arms and I couldn’t fight it. I knew
what he had done to me: drugged me with pheromones, just as Will
had. And like now, I had wanted to rage against my treacherous
body, but its insistence to be touched forced me to align my hips
with his and press seductively against him. I felt his cock stiffen
in response. I was like a bitch in heat.

His hands reached out to pet me again,
rubbing me from shoulder to hip, trailing my arm lightly and
traveling back up it to cup a breast in his well-manicured hands.
His other hand wrapped around my waist to tease little circles on
the small of my back.

“Not much on conversation, are you?” he
whispered breathlessly.

My hands slid up his chest. The air was
cold around us, but I couldn’t feel it anymore. A fire raged just
under my skin. I hadn’t been caressed or held in months. My body
demanded it as roving hands slipped down his hard stomach. I ran my
fingers through the thick patch of coarse hair just below his
navel. He groaned deep in the back of his throat and pulled me
close to him.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

I was happy to oblige. Our tongues met
in a delightful frenzy of motion, his hand gripping the fold of my
neck and jaw as if I would turn and run from him. His other hand
came up to my face, brushing back an insistent strand of hair,
delicately tracing the outline of my ear, and joining the other
hand at my neck to pull me closer to him. My arms went around his
waist. Our bodies, already pressed together in a perfect meld of
curves and planes, seemed as if they would become one if he pulled
me to him any more forcefully. My naked body burned in the night
and with my Lycanti senses, I could smell my own sex rising up from
me like a hidden goddess, hear the desperate catch in my breath as
he nipped playfully at my earlobe, feel the tiny whispers of breeze
that squeeze through the crevices of our bodies to tug at my
nipples. His shirt teased me relentlessly as I pressed against
him.

His hand strayed from my neck, down my
torso, and to the damp inferno between my legs. A gentle massage
with his fingers on my raised flesh brought me to orgasm within
minutes; panting and still craving him, I reached down to guide his
finger into me. He grinned, blue eyes disarming and luminescent,
teeth beautiful and straight in the darkness. His finger moved in
and out slowly, his palm cupping my pubic bone and deliciously
pressed up against me at just the right pressure. I practically
purred at the sensation, raising a leg up to his hip to get him
inside me further. He caught my leg, balancing me against him as he
added a second finger to his ministrations. I cried out, climaxing
again.

“Fuck me. Please,” I heard myself
saying. The tone was almost pitiful, but I couldn’t stop
it.

He smiled. “Yes ma’am.”

Tenderly lowering my leg to the ground
and withdrawing his fingers from me, his gaze remained fixed on me
as he slunk out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes. Impatient, I
reached for the button of his jeans. He caught my probing fingers
and smiled.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time,
sweetheart. Let me.” He gestured down to the bulge I wanted to
touch. “If you do it, I might get a little too excited.”

I returned his smile and reluctantly
withdrew my hand. The steady hum of nature buzzed around me, but I
didn’t care. If we had been in New York City on a trade floor, I
would have let those men watch me stand naked and watch this man
strip before me. It would have been worth it.

He efficiently undid his jeans and slid
them down. I reached forward immediately to feel him firm in my
hand. His gasp was almost a cry of pain as I moved my hand in long
strokes. He didn’t reach forward to grab at me now, just buried his
face in my hair, steady breaths ruffling my hair as I handled him.
My rhythm increased and his pelvis moved involuntarily towards me,
his cock nudging the hot flesh of my stomach. I stopped the
stroking and squeezed the tip of him lightly, smearing the precum
into the crevices between my fingers. I brought it my mouth and
licked it off, moaning at its taste. He watched and sighed deeply,
the monster between us twitching and demanding more
attention.

“Let me,” he said in two halting
syllables. His self-control was amazing. Will would have been
humping my leg by this point. I nodded my consent with a coy smile.
Before I knew it, I was on my hands and knees in the dirt, grit
digging into my sensitive skin.

But that didn’t matter. All I could
feel was the thickness of him against my inner walls. Tiny
explosions rocked me repeatedly as he thrust deep inside me. Spots
danced before my eyes and my screams echoed around us. I arched my
back, lifting myself higher into the air to get him even deeper
inside me. My bare ass hit the flesh of his stomach with a
desperate slap, our breathing coming quick. I rolled my head back
to loll on my shoulders, completely lost in the sensation of him
fucking me. He reached forward and moved the hair from my back,
squeezing my shoulders while hitting what felt like the core of my
body. His thrusts became frantic and I urged him on with words I
can’t even remember now. With a final shudder, his seed rushed into
me, mixing into mine to become a hot mess that was sure to soak me
through for at least a week.

The frigid air couldn’t cool my body
and lungs fast enough. Nor did I realize what a night with an
anonymous Lycanti male could cost me. The silence between us in the
lightheaded moments after our union should have told me that he was
nothing like Will. This man was as cold as the night air around
us.

Will held me after loving
me.

This man pulled himself out of me,
coolly picked up his clothes in a way I’d never seen of the
passion-filled Lycanti, and motioned for me to follow.

“Come,” he said without a backwards
glance.

And I—overwhelmed with the inexplicable
passion between us and trying to escape my own violent actions and
my memories of Will—I followed like a fool.

The scent of a group of Lycanti was
unlike anything I had experienced, almost overpowering with its
intensity and insistence. Each werewolf has his or her own
particular bouquet—one of the five around the fire even smelled
like a spicy cinnamon. We had approached downwind. And creeping
silently along, they would not think anything of the soft steps of
woodland creatures. With a start, I wondered what I smelled like to
them. Can you imagine a werewolf who smells like peppermint or
bubblegum? How could anyone take you seriously after a first
impression like that?

With the ease that they interacted with
each other, they could have been gypsies or campers settled around
the fire after a long day of mini-adventures. But as Josh and I
approached—yes, I had gotten his name on our almost silent trek to
this site—their conversations ceased. I took them all in, beautiful
like five sleek gods and goddesses gathered in the firelight. Their
clothes were obviously for utility and not for the sake of modern
fashion. Ragged jeans, torn shirts and if they had shoes, just a
pair of flip flops. Only Josh wore clean, Calvin Klein Jeans and a
tapered Aéropostale shirt. Then again, I knew why. Lycanti are
prone to wild passions, and we can’t control the Change when it
happens. It’s pretty hard to keep a good wardrobe because of this.
Yet another impracticality of normal life. So the two men and three
women staring at my nudity was not something I was comfortable
with, but I knew they had no problem with it. But I felt completely
exposed, and I couldn’t stop the blush from stealing over my
face.