The Howling Read online

  He had never cared about being pack leader, had never appreciated his heritage as werewolf, had never wanted to make decisions and guide the others, or mate for the health of the pack. His leadership had been errant, his attitude nonchalant, his relationship with Liv solely for selfish reasons, because he loved her and wanted to be with her. He had wanted to protect her and shield her from the truth about who they both were. She’d known nothing of werewolves, and he’d wanted to keep it that way, knowing that for whatever reason, Liv had never shifted, despite the heritage Sebastian knew she possessed. It had been selfish, and naïve, but he had just wanted to live in quiet normalcy in love with a sweet beautiful woman.

  It was different now. It was time to take his place, be the leader he should have been, but it would take careful planning and patience.

  The house was a mini-mansion, a great, hulking, contemporary glass structure of concrete and steel, on the cusp of the thick forest behind it. There had been changes since he had last risked cruising by the house to check on Liv. Now there were giant pots filled with yellow and purple flowers and four pumpkins resting on the stoop in front of a bale of straw. A cheerful scarecrow sat on the straw, holding up a sign that read TRICK OR TREAT STOP. If Sebastian could have laughed in wolf form he would have.

  There had been nothing funny at all about the fact that his brother had tried to kill him, then had stolen his girlfriend, yet seeing that goofy grinning scarecrow in front of his brother’s expensive, architecturally award-winning contemporary house struck him as hilarious. Big bad wolf goes suburban. For a man as determined to control everything and everyone as Scarborough was, it was good to see he’d let Liv express her own decorative opinion.

  Then the amusement was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

  The thought of his brother with the woman he loved was infuriating, sickening.

  It dredged up a jealousy so ugly, so black, that he sometimes felt like it had eaten him alive, consuming all the good parts of him and leaving nothing but the anger, the pain, the frustration, the burning, agonizing loneliness. It had only been two weeks since he had realized Liv was living with Scarborough, but in those fourteen days, Sebastian had changed. He had gone into the very bowels of emotional hell, had known an anger so sharp it dripped blood, a pain so severe it took his legs out from under him.

  And with it had come the ability to shift into wolf at will. His entire life he had fought the shift, which had only come for him at the full moon, unlike his brother, who had been able to shift whenever he chose since his teen years.

  Now Sebastian could do the same.

  Which meant it was almost time to confront his brother and take back his life, his place in the pack.

  And the woman he loved.

  Sebastian padded around the back of the house and up the steps that led to the second-story deck off the master suite. The metal was cool beneath his paws, the three-quarter moon casting a pale glow across the floor. The exterior bedroom wall was all glass, the windows pushed open and unencumbered by screens. Scarborough and his architect had thought screens interfered with the view of the woods and disrupted the clean lines of the house.

  Sebastian had thought it made for a hell of a lot of flies and mosquitoes in your bedroom, but he never claimed to be classy, just practical.

  Yet no matter how stupid he’d thought it was two years ago when the house was built, it now allowed him to put his head through the window and watch Liv sleeping.

  She was sprawled nearly sideways on the bed, the covers half off and bunched up, damp tendrils of her rich auburn hair stuck to her forehead and cheek. It was clearly a restless sleep, her breathing labored, hand twitching, the scent of her sweat and body lotion intermingling in his sensitive nostrils. There was another scent too, a subtle undertone to the first two, the sweet tangy allure of arousal.

  Whatever dreams she was having, they were clearly sexual to coax that kind of response from her body, and Sebastian leaned forward and breathed deeply. He had missed her, longed for the touch and taste of her soft skin, the look of love in her eyes as he had moved over her, buried deep inside her.

  Sebastian moved restlessly back and forth, the animal and the man in him overwhelmed by her presence, her femininity, her obvious need and desire for a mating.

  Unable to stop himself, Sebastian backed up and soared through the open window.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Liv had been dreaming again.

  In the dream the bride sat in her snug house deep in the woods, fearfully watching out the window at the encroaching night.

  Her hands twitched as the moon rose, and she gripped the armrests of her chair desperately, before reaching down and yanking off her boots with a sob of defeat. Immediately the delicate youthful skin of those shaking anxious hands changed, growing a thick fur pelt. The bride’s jaw cracked audibly, shifting outward, her teeth sharpening. As the full moon lit up the small room, she fell out of the chair onto the floor and all fours, her body morphing into that of an animal . . . a wolf.

  They hadn’t eaten the bride.

  They had made her one of them.

  A werewolf.

  Liv tore her eyes open to escape the image of the gray wolf howling in despair.

  Only to find herself face-to-face with a wolf in her room, pacing in front of her window.

  She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth, only a frantic exhalation of air, like a strangled gasp. She hated these stupid windows without screens. She had told Scarborough that something was going to climb in, but she’d been thinking about serial killers and raccoons, not wolves.

  Only there it was, a pacing wolf in her bedroom, and she had no idea what to do other than watch it, frozen in fear.

  It cocked its head at her, and she realized it had one blue eye, and one green.

  Like Sebastian.

  God, she was still dreaming . . . though she didn’t understand why it was always wolves. Every night, wolves . . .

  No wolf in real life was that big, so she was definitely still asleep, but it didn’t make her fear quiet at all. Staring down the length of her body at it, fingers clutching the top of her sheet, she waited for something, anything.

  It backed up, its back legs crouching down, and she realized that it was going to spring right onto her bed and rip her heart out and her face off. The scream she’d been struggling to unleash finally hurtled out as she closed her eyes and waited for the impact of its heavy, lithe body, the pain of its teeth in her flesh.

  “Shh, Liv, it’s okay.”

  Her eyes flew open.

  Now she knew she was dreaming. There was no longer a wolf in her room.

  The form on the bottom of her bed, moving up toward her on all fours, was Sebastian. His mismatched eyes were filled with tenderness, compassion, lust. His shoulders were muscular and tanned, drawing closer to her, one side bearing a scar she knew her former lover didn’t have.

  And he was naked.

  Fully, one hundred percent, gloriously naked.

  The hard planes of his chest flexed as he slowly crawled up the length of her body, his thighs settling firmly on either side of her.

  His thick impressive erection hovered over the apex of her legs.

  Liv lost her ability to speak again, and for an entirely different reason this time. She hadn’t forgotten how gorgeous Sebastian was, not really, but she had shoved aside the memories of what it felt like to have him invading her space, moving his body, his smell, his deep expressive gaze into her presence.

  Desire kicked at her from the inside out, knocking against her womb, firming her nipples, flooding her inner thighs with a rush of warm lubrication. She could hear the sound of her own short, excited, and frightened pants of breath, feel the heat of his body over her, smell the earthy musk of his skin that was foreign and familiar all at once. It was Sebastian’s scent, with an overlay of something new . . . something woodsy and primal.

  A dull throb between her legs began as he stared down at her sil
ently, her body so long unsatisfied, and so very aware of how close his erection was to her, nothing but a thin sheet and a couple of inches between them. She’d gone to sleep with a shirt on, but this was a dream, and it was bunched at her waist already.

  All he needed to do was yank the sheet down and slide into her. . . .

  He reached out with a finger and drew it across her bottom lip, slowly, painstakingly, from one corner to the other.

  The soft whisper of a touch was maddening and Liv whispered, “Please.”

  “Please what?” His voice was gruff, his face so close to hers she could see the shadow of a beard on his chin. His finger continued to move, over her jaw, her cheek, her nose, cascading down over her neck, pausing at the edge of the sheet before heading north again.

  Under different circumstances she would have appreciated the tender touch, the study of her features, the careful exploration of her, the woman, not just her, a female body. But now it was only stirring that deep ache into a painful swollen throb, a frustrating reminder of how passionate sex with him had been and how empty her life felt now.

  “Please what?” he repeated.

  She didn’t know how to say what she wanted, how to tell him to make love to her, to fill her body and her soul in a way only he had been able to.

  If she were awake, she’d have to slap him, throw him out, tell him precisely what she thought of him in cold and calm terms.

  But she wasn’t, and she was so lonely, so starved for touch. His touch. So that when words failed she simply shoved the sheet to the side, exposing her body, breasts still covered by her shirt, but her bottom half blissfully bare.

  His eyes darkened. “You want me to make love to you? You want me inside you?”

  “Yes,” she said, then gasped when immediately his mouth dropped onto her nipple and lathered it with his tongue.

  He moved in tight little circles around her nipple, over and over, then flicking the bud, then enclosing his mouth over it and sucking hard. The tingling and the tugging spiraled throughout her body, echoing between her legs.

  Six months was too long. She moved restlessly, grabbing onto those hard, powerful shoulders, and trying to urge his head away from her breast.

  Lifting his head, he said, “Patience.” But it wasn’t a gentle reassuring voice. It was edgy and gravelly, darker in tone than anything she’d ever known from Sebastian, and she knew it was her misery, her frustration, her anger and bitterness spawning a darker tone in him in her dream.

  The last six months had been hell in real life, and he was responsible for that agony, but here, in the misty fog of sleep, she could forget and just remember the pleasure.

  Sebastian sucked her other nipple at great length, before blowing gently on the moist, firm peak, causing her to shiver. She was on the verge of asking again, demanding more, but before the mumbled words could leave her lips his head shifted, his thumbs skimming over her tummy and her thighs as he settled between her legs.

  Every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation, knowing that he could do amazing things with his tongue, knowing that in seconds she would probably orgasm from both the length of her celibacy and the skill of his touch.

  He hovered over her, his nose tickling her, his warm breath teasing her clitoris. A hot desperate rush of fluid greeted him, so much that in reality she might have been embarrassed, but here, now, it didn’t matter. In fact, it empowered her. She wanted sex, hard and pounding sex, and he was going to give it to her.

  “Lick me,” she demanded, lifting her hips slightly to bump her clitoris against his mouth.

  Giving a tiny little flick over her clitoris, he breathed deeply, his eyes drifting closed. “I can smell you, smell how much you want me. That’s what brought me in. It’s a delicious scent.”

  His tongue moved then, sliding up and down between her folds, swirling around her clitoris, with just the right speed, just the right pressure. Liv moaned, eyes fluttering closed, the pleasure acute and tense. Her legs moved apart, wanting to be as open for him as possible, her fingers sliding into his short dark hair.

  She came as predicted, fast and tight and immediately, her throat shutting off, forgetting to breathe for that sharp, quick release of her body at his touch. When she sucked back in a lungful of air, he was already flicking his tongue over her again, setting off an uncomfortable jolt from the oversensitive bud.

  “It’s too much,” she told him, trying to push his head away.

  It had been too tight, too swollen.

  But he ignored her and continued to lick and suck at her, the pleasure mixing with an odd sharp pain.

  “I can’t, don’t. It’s too sensitive.” Liv shifted, trying to get away from him.

  “I haven’t had enough,” he said, the words mumbled against her folds as he pulled them apart. First his tongue plunged in, then he replaced it with his finger.

  “Sebastian,” Liv moaned. This was a different, more demanding man than she remembered, and the paradox struck her even in her hazy, endorphin-filled sleep state.

  Now he groaned and raised his head, his lips shiny from her dampness, his jaw set, eyes dark, finger pumping in and out of her as he stared at her. “Say it again.”

  “What?” she asked, bewildered, ankles shifting on the bed, hips rising without thought to meet the thrust of his finger. Oh, that felt so good, and even her swollen clitoris had relaxed. She was going to come again, soon, very soon....

  “My name. Say my name again.”

  “Sebastian,” she murmured, distracted by the feel of him, willing to say anything he wanted as long as he continued.

  His response was to dip a second finger inside her, then slide it down lower, between her cheeks, and slip it into her backside. Liv jerked a little, startled, fairly certain he’d never done that when they were together, but intrigued, shocked at how it felt, the two fingers moving in harmony, in and out, filling her everywhere. The tightness increased, spiraling up and out of control, and she cried out, the orgasm slamming into her. The feel of her muscles contracting around both his fingers had her bucking up off the mattress, but Sebastian held her steady, his stroking never slowing or altering.

  As her body settled back down, she shook her head, cloudy, unsure of what to say or do, waiting, knowing that it wasn’t for her to dictate anyway. Here it was all him, in charge, pleasuring her.

  When he slowly withdrew his fingers, her body gave a spasm against the loss. The fullness had been so wonderful, and then it was gone. Her disappointment was so profound, she was going to beg to have them back, but instead, Sebastian settled between her thighs and pushed his thick erection into her wet, aching body.

  “Oh!” she cried, opening her legs as far apart as they would go, back arching and hands reaching for him. Yes. This was what she wanted.

  As she gripped his biceps, he thrust deeper inside her, as far as he could, then pulling out to the very tip, before plunging deep.

  “Oh, God,” she said, amazed at how good it felt, how much she had missed this, him.

  “You like it, don’t you?” he demanded, pausing half in, half out.

  “Yes, yes.” She moved beneath him, lifting her hips to force action.

  He didn’t disappoint. He started a pounding rhythm that had her insensible in seconds, the thick fullness of him deep inside so satisfying she wanted to scream in relief.

  “He doesn’t make you feel this way, does he?”

  “Who?” she asked, struggling to focus, her breath coming in short, urgent pants, her thighs clenching around his cock. She was going to come a third time.

  “Scarborough. He can’t do this to you.”

  So lost to the pleasure, she didn’t even pause, but answered truthfully, “No, no, he can’t.”

  Sebastian grunted, and she felt the hot pulse of his orgasm, tripping off her own. They gritted their teeth and groaned in unison, memories of all their nights together mixing a desperate melancholy into the magic of the moment.

  How could he have done this
to her? How could he have left?

  But there were no answers in the illusion of his eyes, and even as the last shudders wracked her body, Liv found herself drifting, limp on her bed.

  As she lost the clarity of the dream, as the images grew shrouded and shifted, Liv’s last thought was a cold one, one she needed to hold and own more so than any pleasure he had brought to her asleep.

  Sebastian had not kissed her.

  Not even once.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sebastian watched Liv fall asleep, her eyelashes fluttering as she settled back into slumber, nightshirt still bunched up over her breasts.

  He shouldn’t have come here.

  Shouldn’t have made love to her.

  She didn’t think he was real.

  She was living with his brother.

  And now he had the taste and touch and smell of her all over his skin, on his tongue, embedded in his brain, his heart, his soul. The memory of Liv had helped him stay alive, the reality seemed like it might kill him.

  He couldn’t have her. She was no longer his. And she had betrayed him as surely as his brother had.

  Yet he lingered before he pulled the sheet up over her, allowing himself one last touch of his fingers over her full lips. Then he moved off the bed, unable to stay another minute. God, she had felt so good, and he could stay inside her forever.

  But she was no longer his, and his brother had seen and touched and tasted the same places on her body that he had and it made him sick, disgust and anguish overwhelming in their intensity.

  Sebastian shifted and leapt out of the bedroom window. He padded carefully down the metal stairs, then when he hit the ground, he ran. Away from Liv, away from the past, away from the uncertainty of the future, and the temptation to claim her body with his yet again.