Captive Wolf (Werewolf Erotic Romance) (Amber in Darkness #1) (2 page)

Acute pain shot up his spine as the knife plunged into his lower back. But he was expecting it. In fact, he was counting on it. His muscles twitched with rage as he casually glanced at the man behind him.

"What is that? A three inch blade?" He laughed with malice. "I bet you have trouble getting laid."

Scott's elbow shot back, catching the man in the jaw. He heard the sickening crunch of shattering teeth; the metallic scent of blood filled his senses. Reaching back, he tugged the knife from his flesh and tossed it aside. Then he was on them.

His arms shot out with quick, successive punches, pummeling the man in front of him. A fist flew at him from the side and he bent back, catching the man's arm before snapping it like a twig. Another charged him and Scott jumped in the air, burying his knee in the man's face.

A beer bottle broke over his head but he shook the glass from his hair and snarled as the men backed away from him.

The bartender stared at the melee with wide eyes. "—the hell?" Then he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. "I'm going to fuck you up."

The blast knocked Scott back as the buckshot hit him dead center in the chest. It stung like the devil but he squared his shoulders, widened his stance, and kept his feet on the ground.

The beast fought with him from under his skin: black fur, dark eyes, primitive, hungry. It howled with bloodlust, a jarring discordant sound in his ears. Its massive body rattled against the cage of his mind. A snarl built low in his throat but he forced it down, swallowing the bile.
You are a man
, he growled at himself.
Never again.

He clenched his fist, squeezing it tight until he was sure they were still fingers, not claws. Then he glanced up.

The men who remained standing had given him room, their eyes flicking from the tangle of screaming bodies on the ground and then back to Scott.

Scott poked a finger into one of the holes in his chest. "This was my best shirt." A trail of blood ran down his jaw from a gash near his temple; he grinned and glared beneath lowered brows. "You haven't seen fucked yet."

The bartender gaped. Then he quickly cocked the gun for another shot.

Scott lunged at him before the empty shell hit the ground. They crashed against the liquor rack, spraying glass and alcohol across the bar. Flexing his muscles, he lifted the man in the air before slamming him to the ground.

The bartender coughed and gasped, his arms flat at his side as he blinked with unfocused eyes.

"You got a ride?" Scott growled.

"—the fuck is wrong with your teeth?" the man whimpered.

"Do you have a ride?" Scott asked again.

The man quickly reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Here."

"And your jacket."

He struggled out of the sleeves, his face pale as he stared back at Scott. "Take it. Just, please, don't hurt me," he cried.

Scott straightened and drew in a long breath, tasting the scents in the air: blood, fear, power. Magnificent. Poisonous. He ran his tongue over his teeth.
Normal
. He snorted. The man didn't know shit.

He shrugged into the thick leather jacket and vaulted over the bar. Then he stepped over the writhing men on the floor.

When he reached the front door, he glanced over his shoulder with a toothy grin. "You boys have a good day."

***

The segmented whitewashed walls of the library rose up from the green grass like the bleached bones of a giant whale. The flowers accenting the walkways around the glass and stone structure only added to the strangeness of the architecture. Amber assumed they'd hired an abstract artist to give the little town flavor. Yet next to the old Victorian-style classrooms, it looked more schizophrenic.

But Amber loved the smell of hyacinths and jasmine. She could almost imagine herself studying in the courtyard under a tree or strolling over the small green hills to her next class.

Then she brushed past a student and waves of anxiety rolled unabated through her mind. She paused, pressing her palm to her forehead.

It wasn't always like this. Usually it was sporadic, in sparse, unpredictable fragments. But today it seemed especially bad. After all the time she spent with the Others, she'd gotten used to the silence.

The emotions flooded in like uninvited guests at the chaotic party in her mind. A frustrated instructor, a horny college boy, a depressed girl; they all hit her as if they were her own feelings.

Austin turned with a concerned look. "I shouldn't have brought you."

She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. "It's okay. I wanted to come with you."

He frowned. "We'll be in enough trouble if they find out you left the grounds. Just try to keep calm."

She nodded and quietly followed him through the front door.

"I can't bring you upstairs. Will you be all right browsing?"

She smiled. "Of course."

Despite the moods flaring from each person she passed, she had been looking forward to this. There had been a time when she couldn't wait to get into college—as was probably true of most normal teenagers, yearning for freedom. But to her, that expectation had been especially poignant, a bright promise on the horizon that she might have a future someday.

School had always come easy, almost effortless, and it was the one place where she knew she belonged. The place where things made sense and she wasn't a freak. She'd never been able to say the same for her home life.

It had all happened so quickly. Her mother remarried, and she had no illusions about that—her stepfather didn't much like her. Then the trauma of moving, a new school, no friends. And finally her new twin brothers were born. They were perfect, of course, nothing like the troubled, angst-ridden teenage girl she'd become, sneaking out late at night to turn into a wolf.

It was on one of those nights that her stepfather had caught her climbing back in through her window. The wild pent-up urgency seemed to fluctuate with the cycles of the moon, and she hadn't been able to resist it. She just had to go out for a run: to get the living, breathing beast out of her system. But she couldn't tell him that, of course, so she stared dumbly at her feet as he screamed at her: calling her "stupid slut", because, obviously, she was going out at night to meet boys.

He never hit her, but it might have been easier if he had. Instead, he denigrated her until she saw herself as worthless, hopeless. Every moment spent at home was filled with tortuous arguments and agonizing emotions. Worse than that were the dark things she sensed under his anger, hot-blooded jealousy, lecherous desires. The things no one talked about, but they made her shiver at night.

She couldn't wait to get out of that house. To get away from those thoughts that stretched her sensitivities thin. That made the frantic beast claw at her mind. She set out to prove that her parents couldn't control her.

Then on her eighteenth birthday, they changed the locks. Which was fine at first; she needed to get away from them, those malignant emotions, eating away at her. Then reality set in, and with nowhere to go, her dreams of college were over.

Now she was just happy for the chance to look through some books. At the very least, maybe Austin would let her check a few out so she could spend more time reading at the old mansion.

"I'll only be a few minutes," he said before turning to hike up the wide spiral staircase.

She flitted from bookcase to bookcase, glancing at subjects with aimless mania. Computer science, chemistry, philosophy, English lit; she wanted to learn them all. But there were so many and she only had two arms.

She froze as she was plucking her fourth book from the stacks: a compendium of early American history that looked nothing like what she'd studied back in high school. But suddenly that didn't matter. She let the books slip from her arms to the floor.

Blood
. The scent cut through her senses, sharp, glaring. She hissed out a long breath. Surely, it was nothing. Someone must have a bloody nose. Or they'd pricked a finger on something. She was just being jumpy, and unused to being around so many people.
Good thing Austin isn't here.

She ducked down the aisle and rounded a corner following the acute scent of copper. And as she closed in, there were other smells as well. Hot metal, gasoline, liquor, and…

Her eyes widened and her legs froze as she spotted a man with unruly dark hair, sitting at one of the study desks. He wore a dusty leather jacket and a shallow scrape decorated his brow. A frown tightened his angular jaw as he stared down at the papers spread out before him. His posture was neutral, if not a bit tense, but his emotions assaulted her with the force of a raging inferno. Anger and despair swirled off him, thrashing like a storm over an endless void.

She clutched her throat as she recognized who he was. Or rather
what
he was. Fear stretched her lips back, exposing her teeth.

Then he looked up and turned in her direction, slowly, with the grace of a predator, zeroing in on her as if he smelled her.
Fuck
, she thought with horror. Of course his senses would be as sharp as her own.

With a quick turn, she strode down another aisle. Thorns of panic constricted her, biting into her chest. She'd never seen him before, nor anyone like him—like her. But she recognized him immediately.
Trouble
. There was no getting around it. Her only hope was to escape and never see him again.

Her steps quickened and before long, she was running.

She raced down the rows and up random aisles until she reached a dark corner of the library that was thankfully empty. But his hot emotions trailed in her mind like fading scars, lingering with his musky scent. Sweat over freshly turned earth. Blood mired in shadow. Guarded. Fierce.

Seconds stretched, and then minutes. Her heart pounded and her breath heaved in her chest, but there were no footsteps behind her.

Trying to regain her focus, to think of something other than him, she looked up at the shelves. The books were unfamiliar here, their spines all bearing letters she didn't recognize: maybe Russian or Greek. She slid one out and flipped it open.

It was musty and the pages were yellow but the artwork was interesting. In one panel, a brilliant sunset framed a rider who struggled to control his panicking horse, with a whip raised to the wolf loping next to him.

A chill crawled up her spine as the sense of raw desire welled in her chest. She held her breath as it intensified within her. Her eyes dilated, her pulse raced. It was the hand of a survivor on the edge of a cliff. The hunter's finger pressed to the trigger. Saliva dripping from the mouth of a ravenous beast. And it was not her own.

"I know what you are."

She gasped and took a step back from the bookcase. Dark eyes stared back at her from the adjacent aisle, through the hole where the book had been.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She turned on her heel, looking for the quickest way out, but a hand snaked between the bookshelves and caught her wrist.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered.

"Let me go," she snarled. Then she yanked back and his body slammed against the bookcase. But he held on while cursing with annoyance.

"Get away from me," she spat.

"Easy!" he hissed. "I just want to talk."

"You need to go, now. Before it's too late." She twisted her arm, straining his fingers.

"Wait a second." He gritted his teeth. "What are you af—"

Her teeth scraped over his knuckles before sinking into the soft flesh in between.

"Shit!" His hand recoiled through the shelf and books tumbled to the floor.

She sprinted down the row. If she made it back to the busy common area of the library, where there were people around, he would have to leave her alone.

But as she rounded a corner, his solid form flashed in front of her. She crashed against his hard chest and his firm fingers caught her arms. The musty old book tumbled to the ground, forgotten.

Frustration seethed from him like dense plumes of smoke. "Give me a second to—"

She twisted in his grasp and her knee shot up, striking him between his legs. He grunted as they struggled but he pinned her arm around, turning her so he held her from behind. His breath blew against her ear, his chest unyielding against her back. Panting, she relented to his restraint.

"Damn, you're strong." He leaned against her, one arm holding her hand pinned over her stomach, the other bending her elbow behind her.

"Is this how you normally pick up women?"

"What?" He swallowed. "No. I just wanted to ask who changed you."

She glanced over her shoulder, squinting back at him. "No one."

He cocked his head. "What?"

"I was born like this."

A monsoon of emotion spilled from him: confusion, fear, jealousy. She closed her eyes as she braced against the torrent. Then she glanced up.

Austin stood at the other end of the aisle, his face contorted in disbelief.

"Oh, my God." She struggled against the stranger and he quickly released her. "Austin. This wasn't my fault. I wasn't—"

He raised his hand. Then his expression softened and a subtle smile curved his lips. "You met a new friend," he said cheerfully.

As Austin casually approached the two, the man in the leather jacket ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were—" He coughed into his hand, embarrassment wafting off him. "Is he your boyfriend?"

She opened her mouth. But she hesitated as she glanced between the men.

"She wishes." Austin chuckled and extended his hand. "My name's Austin Laurent."

"Scott. Scott Blackwood."

As the two men shook, Austin's tongue passed over his lips, his pale green eyes focused on Scott's knuckles, where bright droplets of blood oozed from her bite.

She cleared her throat. "He's gay."

Austin raised his eyebrow. "And you've already met my awkward friend, Amber."

Scott rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Amber giggled despite her anxiety. "I'm not afraid of you. I didn't know if…" Her eyes flicked to Austin.