Black Wolfe's Mate (Paranormal Shifter Romance)

Title Page

Copyright Page

Black Wolf's Mate

Before You Begin

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Thank You!

About the Author

Looking for your next good read?

Black Wolfe’s Mate

A Wolf Shifter Love Story

W
ARNING:  Due to frequent strong language and graphic scenes of a sexual nature, this book is intended for mature (21+) readers only. 

If these things offend you, then this book is not for you. 

If, however, you like your alphas a little rough around the edges and some serious heat in your romance, then by all means, read on...

S
pecial thanks go to:

• Aubrey Rose Cover Designs for this lovely ebook cover.
  
• Monica Black at Word Nerd Editing for her mad skills.
  
• Some very special ladies whose support, encouragement, and suggestions helped me create the book you’re reading right now:  Carla S, Nicole S, Tonya B, Danielle R, Anjee Z, Lynn H-R, Teri N, Holly H, Efrat B, Amanda G, Deb B, Greta R, Rose P-P, Ryan H-L, Pattisue M, Jola K, Stacey B, Jennifer W-S, Nancy Z-K, Elizabeth F-G, Claudia F, Tracy S-O, and Carol T.
  

“I
s there something wrong, Miss Xanthopoulos?” he asked. Something was different about her today. Her lovely golden locks had escaped the toothed bondage of the abalone clip, but she hadn’t seemed to notice. Odd, since each minor shift in the sea breeze obscured her vision quite thoroughly.

One would think she would notice something like that.
He
noticed right away. With all that shimmering luster whipping about her face, he couldn’t see her unusual eyes properly.

And he loved looking at her eyes. Big. Enigmatic. Beguiling eyes.

“I’m afraid I find myself with the oddest compulsion, Mr. Wolfe.”

She had a lovely voice. In general, human voices tended to grate against his keen sense of hearing, especially human female voices. They were pitched too high for his acute auditory capabilities. But hers...hers was a caress, a stroke, soothing to the beast laying within him. She tended not to speak very often, preferring, it would seem, to listen rather than verbalize. They had that in common, though he found it quite irritating that the one woman he wished to speak was not fond of doing so — especially when she had the most interesting things to say.

He lifted a perfect brow in question, though he doubted she could see it through that exquisite mass continually wrapping itself around her delicate features. His fingers itched to touch, to pet, wondering if it could possibly feel as silky as it looked.

“I desperately wish you would make an attempt to kiss me,” she confessed, peeking shyly through the golden strands.

He regarded her with cool, blue eyes, but said nothing. He just gazed at her, quite certain he’d never come across anyone like her before. He remained as still as the rock upon which they sat, the peaceful lull of the ocean lapping rhythmically against the breakers surrounding them.

“Would you?” she prodded, after several minutes passed and he remained silent, unmoving.

Not a flinch, not a flicker. “Absolutely not.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, her pretty features mildly distressed. “Perhaps I shall just have to kiss you, then.”

Her unexpected words stunned him to such a degree, he offered no resistance when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was the merest brush — curious, exploring. Not even close to a proper kiss, really.

“Hmm,” she hummed again, and the sound travelled through every last neural pathway he possessed with a shocking intensity. She opened her eyes and looked directly into his. He put every ounce of warning into them he could. If she had any sense at all, even the slightest trace of self-preservation, she would cease and desist this insanity immediately.

Instead, she smiled.

Her lips brushed his again, more boldly this time. And moist. She must have licked them at some point. His lips parted of their own accord, due in some small measure to shock, but mostly to taste. Acute senses flared to life, aroused by this unusual woman. Like her voice, her scent and flavor were remarkably different from anything he had previously encountered.

Quite simply, she was
delicious
.

His body seemed incapable of moving at all, except perhaps to pull her closer.
That
he could not allow — under any circumstances. His control was already being pushed to extreme levels; he could not afford to lose any more.

She hummed again — or was that a purr? He couldn’t tell which, but the vibration was uttered
into
his mouth at the same time she angled her body toward his. His skin tingled in warning as her exquisite heat soaked into him. She was too close. He tightened the reins on his already tenuous control through a sheer force of will, shaking slightly from the effort, but even his tremendous power was no match for hers.

Tilting her head, her fingers were suddenly combing through his hair, the pads pressing lightly, then more insistently, against the back of his head, with just the barest hint of nails scraping his scalp, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Her tongue peeked out and touched his, a questioning, curious stroke, making his vision cloud with a red haze.

Goddamn it!
She made that sound again and he realized it came not just from her throat, but her entire body. As all that softness quivered against him, a deep-throated purr — definitely a purr — called to the beast within. This time, his beast answered for him in the form of a low growl erupting from somewhere deep within his chest. It was the last warning she would get.

His fangs descended, sharp and lethal, against his will. Her unerring tongue found one and the taste of her blood exploded in his mouth. It was intoxicating. Addictive.

Forbidden
.

With the last vestiges of his inner strength, he clamped his large hands on her delicate shoulders and pushed her away. His keen eyes searched her face for any hint of knowledge, premeditation, or cunning devilry, but he found none.

Instead, he saw only surprise. Surprise and pleasure. The beast inside of him, dazed in wonder, realized she was no longer feeding him. It roared and clawed at the man, insistent on him rectifying that immediately. The beast was hungry — for her.

No
...

He shot to his feet so quickly, she recoiled backward, her elbows landing hard on the solid heavy stone of the breakers. He winced, the idea of causing her any harm abhorrent to him, but he had no choice. He had to get away from her as quickly as possible. Fists clenched to keep from reaching out to her, he turned on his heel and walked back toward the seaside mansion, his body protesting every step.

* * *

T
o anyone who might have been observing the scene, Angelica Xanthopoulos would not have shown much of a reaction at all. It took only a moment or two for her to gather her somewhat stunned self together again. In a move of fluid grace, she pushed herself back into a sitting position and, as she was wont to do, wrapped her hands around her knees. Her gaze soon fixed once again upon the far horizon. She did not call out to him. She did not turn around.

But she did cry.

Silent tears. Private tears. Without racking sobs or bobbing shoulders. Well hidden by the layered lengths sweeping around her face, shielding her weakness from any prying eyes.

It had been a gambit with little chance of success. Men like him — gorgeous, reclusive, billionaire types — did not get involved with women like her. Tall — she guessed him to be at least six-foot-two — and powerfully built, he moved with the grace of a big cat and the confidence of a man who knew exactly the amount of power he wielded. He wore his blue-black hair just a bit longer than currently in vogue, his masculine features could have been carved by the angels, and his eyes were clear and infinite — bluer than the bluest sky on the finest day.

Those things were, like everything else about him, perfect.

Derrick Wolfe. Owner of the exclusive, remote resort in which she now found herself. Owner of the entire island, as a matter of fact. Wolfe Island. What the hell had she been thinking?

Yet, for some strange reason, he
had
taken a passing interest in her.

Of below average height, above average mass, she had no misperceptions of herself. She was the one no one saw. The invisible, silent nothing. The fact that she had garnered his interest, even for a heartbeat, was hard to comprehend.

Maybe that was why she had done it. There was no logical reason for him to have been sitting out there with her as he had for the past three days. In the absence of logic, there was chaos. And only in chaos could she ever hope to fathom why, for the first time in her life, she had taken the initiative and actually kissed a man.

A man who, unfortunately, did not wish to be kissed.

Rejection, even perfectly logical, saw-it-coming-a-mile-away, no-other-possible-outcome rejection, still stung. But she wouldn’t regret it. She would probably never have another chance to do anything like that ever again.

It had been worth it. And if she were lucky, she wouldn’t return to her room to find her bags packed and someone waiting to escort her back to the mainland for practically attacking the reclusive owner.

At best, Derrick Wolfe would do everything possible to avoid her from this point on.

She sighed. That was unfortunate. She had enjoyed his company. But she wouldn’t have had it for much longer anyway. Blackness rimmed the outside edges of her sight as the pressure began to build in her head.

A storm was coming.

D
errick Wolfe paced the length of his suite. It comprised the entire seventh floor and rooftops of the private residences in the northern wing of the centuries-old castle. Chiseled brick by brick from the obsidian-like stone so prevalent on the island, it had taken him and his pack nearly two-hundred years to complete and another hundred before he accepted the first guest.

What the hell was wrong with him? In all of his many years, he had never lost control like that — not even as an adolescent.

Through the ten-foot arched windows spanning the length of the west-facing wall, he could still see her, perched upon the cliff face. She hadn’t moved in hours. The sun was descending, bathing everything in spectacular hues of reds and golds. There were plenty of other guests out as well, enjoying the glorious transition from day to night, but they were on the beach mingling, drinking, dancing, and talking as the torches were being lit. Not sitting alone on a rock.

Didn’t the foolish woman realize the rising tide would surround her perch and leave her stranded out there?

Growling in frustration, Derrick called for Silas without uttering a sound. The man was at his side moments later. Ever calm, ever controlled, Silas was the ultimate predator. No one ever saw him coming until it was too late.  

“What have you discovered about her, Silas?”

Because he’d been his pack mate for more than five hundred years, Silas knew just about everything there was to know about Derrick Wolfe. Including that he never,
ever
, took an interest in a human female beyond the occasional hour of physical release required by a healthy, virile male. Even if Derrick could not sense the other man’s emotions, he would have known Silas was worried, and with good reason. Being interested enough to ask Silas to find out more about her, when combined with the fact that he had not yet fucked her, was aberrant Alpha behavior.

Silas was smart enough to keep his thoughts carefully guarded, however. He calmly followed Derrick’s gaze to where the woman sat unnaturally still amidst the outcrop of black stone as the tide washed in around her. His hazel eyes widened, only a hair, but that was a huge reaction for him. The sentinel was as immovable as the very rock upon which this tropical paradise was built. Derrick almost smiled.

“Twenty-six years old. Quit her job as an editor and illustrator at Golden Goddess Publishing about a month ago. Sold her car, terminated her apartment lease, and emptied her bank account shortly thereafter.”