Wolf Rock Shifters Books 1-5: Five BBW Paranormal Romance Standalone Novels (59 page)

These often ended up being failures as leaders, as Naxx apparently was. He had no idea how to guide a pack. And Dascha recognized some of himself in this other wolf—his old self, at least. The man who had failed all his life by not trying; who, filled with self-doubt, had found himself weakened by its oppressive weight around his neck.

But now he had something to fight for. She was several miles away, no doubt worried, no doubt feeling abandoned. And everything in him was determined to find his way back to her, and the sooner the better.

As Naxx continued his weak-willed promenade around the ring, Dascha paused, staring at him. The other wolf began to pace back and forth, remaining as far away as possible as though to say, “Please don’t hurt me.” He reminded Dascha of the wussy Parisian waiter; all talk and no game.

After sizing him up for a few seconds, during which Naxx lost the last of the other wolf’s respect, Dascha ran at him, smashing headlong into his side and knocking him to the ground. The Fraternity members parted to allow their Alpha to hit the earth with a sharp thud, their faces still expressionless. None of them touched him, helped him up; they were either too afraid or too indifferent to assist.

Naxx twisted his body in an attempt to rise, but Dascha was quick, leaping onto the wolf’s ribcage and pinning him to the ground, his teeth sinking into Naxx’s neck as the Alpha let out a loud, high-pitched yelp. The light-colored wolf thrashed, his paws striking at Dascha, claws managing to slice his shoulder in his one attempt at a proper fight.

Dascha could feel Naxx’s skin give way under his own teeth, and his rage at being cut fuelled him further. He wanted to keep sinking in, as he had done with the cheetah and hyena shifters, or even further. To break the Alpha’s neck, to leave his limp body on the ground so that he would no longer be able to screw his pack over, to betray his fellow wolves.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t kill another wolf; not today. He would show mercy, as his own Alpha would have done. He would be noble and back away.

The entire pack knew who the rightful winner was, after all.

And so he released Naxx’s neck and backed off, allowing the blond wolf to rise, blood trickling through his coarse fur.

The fight should have ended there, the Alpha shifting and conceding victory. But Naxx remained in his form, his back arched, fur standing on end as he stared at Dascha with hatred in his light eyes.

Slowly he padded towards the dark wolf, his large paws hitting the ground with intent, his speed increasing.

Dascha prepared himself, tensing for the inevitable blow.

Damn it—was he going to have to kill the guy after all?

Naxx leapt through the air, looking as though he would come down square on Dascha’s back as his opponent manoeuvred evasively, too late.

But Naxx’s plan failed even as another wolf flew at him from the side, twisting the Alpha’s body away from Dascha’s, his teeth sinking into the back of Naxx’s neck, puncturing him near Dascha’s tooth marks as though in a move of solidarity.

And then another wolf, and another, were on Naxx, holding him down, growling, biting, as the Alpha, humiliated, rolled onto his back in submission to his pack.

Nothing was worse for an Alpha Wolf than to have to show his belly. And now his own pack had forced his surrender, telling him in no uncertain terms that they were tired of his lies, his cheating and his failure to abide by their code.

Dascha stood back and shifted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and breathing heavily. A Fraternity member handed him his clothing and he pulled it on as he spoke.

“When your own pack knows you’re a filthy cheat and a liar,” he said, “You know it’s time to pack it in, Naxx. Just remember: you did this to yourself.”

The other wolves let their shamed, demoted Alpha go, and he rolled onto his side, whimpering at his injuries.

No one offered him
his
clothing. Instead, the Fraternity turned as one and headed back to the house, following Dascha and leaving Naxx alone to contemplate his future without a home.

C
olin found
Dascha inside the manor house, washing his hands and face in the kitchen sink. His injuries were relatively minor, though once again he found himself longing for a shower.

“I believe that if you’re looking for a pack to lead, you’ve found one,” he said. “You’d make an excellent Alpha.”

“I…wasn’t really looking. For a while I thought that was all I wanted. But right now I have a more important priority. Thanks, though.”

“Well, these men see you now as their superior, Dascha. They would follow you loyally. Keep that in mind.”

“I will, Colin. And thanks for your help. There’s just one more thing…”

“Estée.”

“Yes. Could you bring me back to her?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be eager to know that you still have a head on your shoulders.”

Oddly enough, his head was the last body part that Dascha was thinking of.

“
W
hat’ll happen
to Naxx now?” he asked as they drove towards Colin’s apartment.

“Oh, I suspect that he’ll fuck off and wind up with another pack; no doubt he’ll become a subordinate to some stronger man. He’ll hate it, too. What a pleasant thought.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’ve never seen such a power-tripper.”

“Some men are too weak to handle the notion of power. But others do quite nicely,” Colin said, looking sideways at his friend.

“I’ve only got one thing on my mind at the moment, and it’s not leading a pack in a country where I don’t live. I need to see her.”

“I know. We’ll be there soon. You’re welcome to crash at my place. I need to boot to downtown London for a meeting later, anyhow, so I may as well take off now. I’ll be there for the night.”

“Oh?” A stream of excitement flowed through Dascha at the idea of spending a night alone with Estée with an actual roof over their heads.

“Yeah. I’ll be gone until at least noon tomorrow.”

“Well, Estée will need some sleep. As will I, to be honest. Then I have to figure out how to deal with Grendel. So I’ll be happy to take you up on your offer. Just do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone we’re there.”

“Very good.” Colin smiled and emitted a satisfied grunt.

“What’s that about?” asked Dascha. “Your shit-eating grin is killing me.”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I think you two will make very charming striped wolf babies.”

“Funny. You’re a funny guy.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

When Colin had pulled up in front of his building he handed Dascha his bags before unlocking the door to the flat for him.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said. “Have a good evening, and make sure to do absolutely
everything
I wouldn’t do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Dascha.

“Of course you don’t,” laughed Colin, turning his back and heading to his car. He waved a hand as he drove off.

Dascha turned and entered the apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Estée?” he called up the flight of stairs. For a moment he heard no response, and it struck him that she might have taken off. Maybe she’d figured out that she could just run away, that she would be better on her own than under his thumb. After all, since they’d met everything had gone wrong.

As a series of possible scenarios flashed through his mind, he heard feet hit the ground above him.

“Dascha?” her voice called.

He sprinted up the stairs, three at a time, finding his way to the kitchen and turning to look for her.

Standing at the end of a long hallway was Estée, a large towel wrapped around her body. Her hair was wet, droplets of water holding fast to her white skin. Fingers held the towel in place but her feet danced about, as though she were trying to decide whether to approach or not.

Rather than wait, he went to her, his arms reaching around and pressing her body to his once again. Her arms, confident in the towel’s ability to stay put, went around his neck and squeezed.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Did you…Is he…?”

“He’s alive, but a little emasculated,” said Dascha. “Turns out his pack isn’t so crazy about the guy, not surprisingly. I have to say that I didn’t like him much, either. Nice clothes, though. At least he has a good tailor.”

Estée pulled back, her hands once again grasping the towel. “I was worried, I’ll admit. Though I don’t know why. With those muscles, I’m not sure how anyone could take you.”

“Well, some could, easily enough,” admitted Dascha. “But he wasn’t much of a fighter.”

“Wait, you’re bleeding,” said Estée, spotting a little red trickle that was easing through his shirt.

“It’s fine,” he said, pulling the shirt off to reveal three long scratches. “I should clean it though.”

“I should put some clothes on…” began Estée, stepping back into the hallway, all too aware that she was nearly nude.

“What’s the rush?” asked Dascha, his eyes gliding over her body. “I think you look pretty damn good as you are.”

“Dascha…”

“Do you know what I thought of,” he asked, moving towards her. “When I looked at that Alpha? When I thought about why I needed to kick his ass?”

“What?”

“You. This. Your perfect, beautiful face and body, standing in front of me. And how, if he killed me, I wouldn’t ever see you again. Or smell you. Or talk to you. Or feel your fingers on me, or your speeding heart, or your breath. How I’d never know what it feels like to do this.”

He put a palm on each side of her neck and leaned in, his lips seeking hers out as she turned her face up in encouragement. And then all worries about the towel and gravity were gone as her arms shot once more around his neck, pulling her onto her toes, her body easing towards his as they kissed.

Heat rose inside each of them, hands exploring muscle and curve, desire meeting need.

Estée felt a sigh slip from between her lips as Dascha pulled away gently, his eyes fixed on her.

“I need this off of you,” he said, his thumb infiltrating the space between the towel and her breasts. “I need you naked, on a bed, or a couch, or table, or the floor. I don’t care where.”

Estée pulled his hand away and interlocked his fingers with hers, pulling him to a nearby room which housed a twin bed coated in a quilt and a couple of pillows.

“Guest room,” she said quietly, turning back to him.

She placed her hand where his had been and tore the towel away, revealing her clean, smooth body to him in its entirety for the first time.

Her every curve was perfection, and at first he simply took her in, inhaling her scent, taking stock of each variation in her shape.

“One second. Wait one second,” she said, dashing out of the room. For a moment he was certain that she was fleeing his hungry gaze.

But then she was back, cotton balls in one hand, a bottle of saline solution in the other.

“I want to clean your wound,” she said, approaching him as he took her in. The naked, beautiful nurse, tending his wounds. What a fantasy.

“Oh, if you must,” he said, his right hand slipping upwards, fingers easing under her round breast as he pulled his mouth towards her, taking her nipple between her lips.

“You’re a terrible patient,” she moaned as she poured several drops of saline onto one of the cotton balls and dabbed at his wound. “Distracting your doctor…”

Dascha’s left hand was wrapped around her thigh now, pulling her in as he forced her nipple into a tight peak. He seemed oblivious to her medical treatment.

“There, all done,” she said, putting the solution on the night stand as she pulled herself free of him. “But here’s the thing: I haven’t concluded my examination.”

“Oh?” he said, leaning back, palms flat against the mattress.

“No. Take off your pants, please.”

He stood, slowly peeling away his jeans and chaps, for once not overly eager to tear them off. Instead, he teased her by moving slowly, methodically. Underneath, a pair of blue silk boxers made Estée sigh with pleasure; or rather, it was what jutted out from their waist that did so.

She took his hand, leading him towards the bathroom where she’d begun to run a hot shower.

“You know exactly what I need, don’t you?” he asked, pulling her to him.

“I know what I need,” she whispered, her fingers pushing his hair back as she looked into his eyes.

She stood on her toes again, pressing herself into his chest as she raised her chin.

“What do you need?” he asked, teasing her, his lower lip so close that it brushed against hers. “What do you need, my tiger?”

“This,” she said.

And then she kissed him again. At long last, she really had him. Every molecule in their bodies coming together in that moment of fervent need, steam rising about them, either from the water’s heat of from their own. For those precious seconds, each forgot where they were; it didn’t matter. They were one.

Dascha’s tongue was searching for hers, tasting her in intimate strokes as they kissed, her fingers on his neck, his chest, his muscles taut under her touch.

She let them slide downwards to the edge of his boxers, pulling them away, releasing him from their constraining fabric and letting them drop down to the ground as he stepped into the shower, guiding her as he went. Only for a moment was their kiss interrupted, and then under the steady stream of water, it began again, Estée’s arms around his neck as his hands pulled her waist into him, his cock standing erect between them, so thick, so perfect.

And in an instant she knelt before him, taking him in both hands as his fingers wound themselves tightly in her hair.

In the car’s trunk she’d felt this magnificence: blood rushing, thickening this glorious shaft, pressed into her from behind. But now he was naked, mere inches from her, as her eyes looked up, seeking his approval, his pleasure, his face.

And those blue eyes of his were on her, water trickling down around his features as he took in her white skin, her perfect, smooth breasts, nipples easing over his thighs as her hands stroked him slowly and water dripped down in streams, highlighting each vein, each curve.
Yes,
he was saying wordlessly.
Please. I give myself to you.

Her lips parted, taking him in as he watched, his chest expanding as he inhaled, hardly able to fathom what was happening.

This woman, this perfect creature, was eating him up, sucking his cock, delighting in his flesh.

She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.