Rock Hard (38 page)
The computer god paused for a moment.
“And Enlil, it was Sarah Littlesky who helped start these bloodlines with you.”
Enlil’s mind suddenly seemed lost in the past. “I remember. She was the daughter of a Native American cooper and a woman from…Spain,” Enlil supplied. “Her mother wasn’t originally from England, but joined one of the earlier English expeditions to the colonies.”
Tess approached where he perched on the couch and laid a hand on Enlil’s arm.
“Someday soon, we’ll have to sit down, and you can tell me all about her.”
Enlil smiled up at Tess, who he now realized had Sarah’s gray eyes.
“She was a wonderful woman. You would have liked her a lot.”
“A toast! To Sarah Littlesky, Anna Kensilton, and our newest couple—Marduk and Tess!”
“Here, here!” The cries, both heard and unheard, were heartfelt.
The rest of evening passed in a blissful haze.
Epilogue
“Mated!” Dagon roared. By the gods he hated to taste defeat!
“I don’t know what ‘mated’ means. They used the word ceremony.” Lenore looked unsure of herself. Dagon was in a snit, and she watched closely for signs that he might change into something as the god, Enlil, had intimated.
“What else did you find out?” he demanded.
“Why were you ready to kill the girl?” she countered. Having survived the den of the gods, it looked like she wasn’t about to be intimidated in her own camp.
Dagon softened. With the new information he had about Lenore, he needed to tread carefully. No need to alarm her with his latest plans.
“It was a bluff, my dear.” Dagon looked sincere. “That animal was charging and I feared for our lives. I regret having hurt you, but had you stayed still, my blade would have harmed no one. Only threatened.”
Lenore seemed skeptical of his sincerity, but cautiously accepted his answer.
“And will you speak to Matthew?” she prodded. “He took it upon himself to stab the girl and jeopardized all of us.”
“Oh, I’ll speak to him,” Dagon agreed and Lenore nodded. “Now go home and get some rest.” Dagon sounded solicitous. “In the morning, you’ll be headed back to the Blue Hills to be my eyes there. From now on, that will be your assignment.”
Lenore looked like she wanted to argue, but Dagon interrupted.
“That’s my final word,” he cautioned.
Lenore knew when to hold her peace. She picked up her purse with a sigh and walked out.
Dagon watched her go with mixed feelings. She was no longer in charge, but didn’t yet know it. He’d promoted Matthew to his top position. Considering what he now knew, Dagon had other, more important plans for Lenore. He was sure they wouldn’t make her happy.
****
Deep in the underworld, Ereshkigal drew a sharp nail down Nergal’s chest. She was very happy indeed.
“Round one, to me.”
About the Author
LJ Vickery began writing when the muses in her antique farmhouse wouldn’t let her be. She had success writing historical fiction before finding the band of immortals who led her into paranormal romance.
When she’s not writing she practices Chinese medicine, keeps books for a contracting firm, and grows organic vegetables.
LJ lives in a charming seacoast town, south of Boston, with her husband, two children, a dog, two cats and one intrepid fish who keeps the fish-tank from being retired.
Visit LJ at
To chat with LJ Vickery and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewilderroses.
Also Available
The Mating Game
by
Melissa Snark
Two males…two friends…a competition for the right to claim The Heart of the Iron Stone Pack.
An alpha female at her core, Theresa Sanchez struggles to protect her young daughter, but rivalries and politics create volatility in the pack. As Theresa comes into heat, lust and need rule her body. Her pack demands only the most virile male have her. How can she choose only one mate when her body craves two—the virile beta and the man she loves?
Zachary Hunter will do anything to take Theresa as his mate, even if it means killing his best friend. However, Robert Blane is just as determined to ascend to Alpha. Both their beasts howl to mark her flesh, but only one can survive to claim her.
But with enemies circling, they must fight…for the pack, for Theresa, and for a future together.
Chapter One
Bright and early Saturday morning, Theresa Sanchez opened her front door to discover Zachary Hunter clad in a bright orange dress on her porch. The loose bodice fell low on his chest, displaying dark blond curls and showcasing his broad shoulders and powerful torso. The neon hemline stopped above the knees, revealing muscular calves, strong ankles, and shapely feet.
It was unusual attire for a dominant male werewolf.
She stepped closer and sniffed, seeking to satisfy the impulses of her she-wolf. The earthy scent of him flooded her nostrils—masculine and potent—inciting the heated ache of arousal between her thighs. She licked her lips, hoping that drool hadn’t dribbled down her chin. The man made her mouth water.
“My eyes are up here, love,” Zach quipped in a crisp British accent. His hand lifted and a long, elegant finger tapped her chin.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She forced her roaming eyes upward, away from his buff chest, striving to remember that she and Zach didn’t play like that. The man was many things to her: best friend, confidant, and protector. He fixed leaky faucets and kept her ancient car running. But of all the roles he played, he remained “lover” only in her dreams.
“Good morning, Theresa,” he said, voice rife with amusement. No doubt, the irony of his predicament had not escaped him.
“Good morning, Zach.” Smothering laughter, Theresa held a hand to her mouth to hide an irrepressible smile.
“Are you laughing at me, pet?” Zach cocked his head so that silken bangs fell across his forehead. His blue eyes twinkled and the corners of his sensuous mouth quirked in a smirk.
“Oh, yes. God, I’m so sorry.” The compulsion to laugh overwhelmed her until she felt ready to burst. Her abdominal muscles ached. She flipped long, curly black hair forward around her face to conceal her expression.
“Go on. Look your fill.” Zachary spread his arms in a display of self-mockery, causing that ludicrous skirt to rise, revealing masculine knees and athletic thighs. “Get it out of your system once and for all.”
Theresa accepted the invitation and ogled him, belatedly noticing his disheveled appearance. A full day’s worth of scruff covered his square jaw and throat. Shoulder length golden-blond hair formed a tangled mess about his striking features. He had an aristocratic brow, an angular nose, and high cheekbones set in an oblong face.
Her gaze tracked downward, irresistibly drawn to his spectacular physique, admiring everything
but
his choice of attire. The dress was hideous—a shapeless polyester sack, the most awful shade of burnished ochre.
“Wow. That’s just…Wow.” Theresa struggled to keep a straight face. She wanted to laugh out loud but remained circumspect out of respect for Zach’s status. He far outranked her within the pack’s hierarchy.
“Isn’t it, though?” He grinned, inviting her to laugh.
“Oh, yes.” A smile blossomed on her lips and she giggled at long last. “Are you going to tell me how you wound up on my front porch in a dress?”
Zach cocked his head and sighed. “I went running in the woods last night to clear my head.”
Theresa stared with an arched brow. “Writer’s block again?”
“I haven’t written a word in days.”
The man had a talent for gross exaggeration, so Theresa mentally revised the time frame to twenty-four hours and the word count to less than a page. She cooed her sympathy. “You poor thing. It must be so hard on you.”
He snorted. “You’ve no idea.”
“Zach, you’re a bestselling author. Can’t you afford to take a break from cranking out the murder mysteries? At least until you get your mojo back?”
“I’ve got a deadline, love. My editor is an absolute slave driver. That’s why I’m in this state.” He indicated the odious apparel with a flourish.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Your editor made you run through the forest in an orange dress. Makes perfect sense. I’m sorry I asked.”
He frowned. “I was running on four legs, love, not two. You know that.”
“Of course I do, but you didn’t expect anything but a hard time—showing up here in
that.”
Grinning, she gave him a quick up-down.
Zach chuckled. “Not really. To make a long story short, I left my clothes in a hunter’s blind but when I returned, my clothing was gone.”
“Did someone find your clothes?” she asked with a worried frown. Such a minor thing might result in unforeseen troubles for the pack. As a rule, the local werewolves went to great lengths to conceal their presence from the human population. Normal people in the small Nevada town of Iron Stone remained blithely unaware of the wolves living amongst them.
“Not someone—
something
,” Zach said. “Raccoons: three of the scrotty little sods. They ripped my clothes to shreds and dredged the creek with my shoes.”
“Oh, no!” Laughter again threatened to split her sides. She pressed her hands to her ribcage and gasped for breath. “Did you eat them?”
“No.” Zach looked miserable for the admission. “It was a mum and two babes. I didn’t have the heart.”
Theresa reached out and touched his hand. “You’re a good man, Zachary Hunter.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be a clothed man,” Zach said. “I stole this getup off a laundry line in the Widow Crawley’s yard.”
“For shame! Stealing from a little old lady.”
Zach rolled his shoulders to add emphasis to the voluminous dress. “Not so little.”
She poked him in the ribs. “You’re so bad.”
“Can I come in or are you going to force me to beg?” Zach asked, sounding mildly exasperated.
“I don’t know. What if Isabel sees you looking like this? Whatever will my daughter think?” Grinning, she stepped back to allow him entry.
“Then I’ll have two of you laughing at me,” Zach said tartly. He entered the foyer of her small two-bedroom bungalow. He moved with primal grace, befitting his long limbs and muscular physique. Poetry had never seen a lovelier motion.
“Boy, you can say that again. Orange is all wrong for your complexion. Makes your calves look fat.” Theresa glanced outside just to be sure that something weirder wasn’t following on his heels.
“Never mind my calves.” Zach stopped near the base of the staircase and rested an arm on the railing. He twisted his hips, causing the billowing skirt to flare. “I’m convinced this monstrosity makes my arse look fat. What do you think?”
Following his invitation, Theresa had no other choice than to look. Her gaze swept all six foot plus of him, lingering over his strong shoulder blades. Unfortunately, the monstrosity of a dress concealed his tight backside. Fortunately, Theresa knew his body well enough to fill in the blanks. “Oh, absolutely, your ass has never looked bigger.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor and she noticed the tracks his muddy feet had left on the tile. A growl of displeasure erupted from her throat. Her wolf surfaced, eyes flashing with red glimmer, teeth bared. “Zachary Hunter, your feet are filthy. Don’t you dare walk another step!”
Zach swung back to Theresa with an unrepentant grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stay put.” Theresa rushed from the room and returned in a flash with a bar of soap, a tub of warm water, and towels. She placed her palm against Zach’s chest and pushed him toward the stairs. “Sit.”
Obedient, he planted his backside on a step. Theresa sank to her knees before him and placed the tub on the floor.
“Theresa?” His deep voice contained a distinct note of confusion.
“Yes, Zach?” Theresa infused her reply with innocence, pretending not to understand. It didn’t hurt to remind Zach every now and then that she was a woman as well as being his friend. He might regard her with nothing more than brotherly affection, but that wasn’t how she felt about him at all.
“Nothing.” His gruff tone said the exact opposite.
Theresa glanced down to hide her smile. She leaned forward and sniffed, drinking in his earthy scent composed of a variety of aromas—his arousal, the forest,
virile
male wolf.
“It’s bad enough my neighbors might have seen you prancing down the street in that eyesore, but I’m not going to have you tracking mud through my house.” Theresa took his left ankle between her hands. “Lift.”
He complied and she lowered his foot into the warm water. He remained still but alert as Theresa set about scrubbing his filthy toes with a small bar of soap. She felt the tension thrumming through his body, and it worried her a little. The silence was uncharacteristic. Normally, the vivacious Brit cracked jokes a mile a minute.
His calves were lean but heavily muscled, and covered in a layer of blond hair. Theresa ran her fingernails across his instep and his foot jerked. He stifled a sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt, and cleared his throat at the end.
Theresa looked up with amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Zach, are you ticklish?”
“Don’t be absurd.” In his denial, Zach sounded more the proper Brit than usual.
His foot jumped again when Theresa ran her fingernails across his instep, tickling sensitive skin. Her smile called him
liar
.
“Stop that.” Chuckling, Zach leaned back against the stairs, exposing the strong column of his throat, and used his elbows for support. A guttural groan escaped him when she ran her hands over his ankle to lift it from the water. He indulged in physical pleasure with a hedonism she envied.
Theresa hid behind a curtain of black hair, hoping to disguise the intense pleasure she took from the simple act of touching him. Being on her knees before him left a good amount of bare flesh exposed to her roving eyes. Naughty thoughts filled her head. More than anything, she longed to shove that ridiculous skirt up his legs and discover whether the man had the equipment to match the rest of his masculine glory.