Seduced by a Shifter (17 page)

“That’s it.” He praised her. “That’s so good.” His other hand curled over her other hip. “Hold on.”

That was all the warning she got before he starting taking her, hard, hot. Skin slapped against skin as he pounded into her, a dominate taking that had no comparison. Willow could do nothing but grip the blanket in both hands and hold on for the wildest ride of her life.

“Mine.” Ben snarled the word, his hand a stamp of ownership as he stroked her back from nap to butt and back again.

Her hips bucked back to meet his thrusts. “There. Don’t stop.” His next thrust went so deep she felt it echo through her very being. Her arms trembled, her head falling forward as the tension in her belly tightened, tightened. With a sudden snap it sprang free, her lips parting on a scream as she came so hard every muscle in her body spasmed and shook. Even her toes curled at the strength of her release.

As she sank to her torso, Ben crouched back over her, his mouth a fervent clamp on her shoulder as he plunged deep several more times before stiffening and shouting with his release.

Still joined, they tumbled onto the blanket together, drunk and sated from pleasure.

Willow peeled open one eye and stared into the red numbers of the clock on the nightstand. Three fifty-eight a.m. She’d been asleep less than an hour, thanks to Ben’s insatiable appetite.

Her lips curved at the memory. After they’d napped in front of the fire they made love agai
n. And again. They’d made their way to the bedroom when the fire died, where Ben proceeded to show her just how much he wanted her.

When she’d had enough and didn’t think she could ever come again, she’d begged him to stop. He’d rained tender kisses all over her face, praising her, and she’d slipped into unconsciousness.

But now she was awake, and thirsty.

Cautiously she edged to the side of the bed and slid free from the covers, not wanting to wake Ben. Thick carpet kept her feet from freezing once they hit the floor, but it didn’t do much for the rest of her naked body. Her clothes were in the other roomshe would not be embarrassed—so she unearthed her second set of sweats from the hamper, glancing at the bed as she dressed.

Ben wasn’t in it.

Brow creased, she straightened and finished tugging on the clothes. The cabin was quiet. Not a creak or groan or even the sound of steps to be heard. Chest tight with disappointment, she walked to the window and lifted the shade. Bright moonlight displayed Ben’s truck, now covered with a light dusting of new snow. He hadn’t left!

Then were is he?
She made her way into the kitchen utilizing the scenic route, checking all the other rooms for Ben. Nada.

Not bothering with overhead lights as the scattered nightlights, one in every room, illuminated her pathway well enough, she stepped to the kitchen and got out a glass from an upper cabinet. It was as she turned to open the fridge she heard something other her worried thoughts.

A voice. Then a soft male chuckle.

Thinking Ben must be outside speaking with either Scott or Joe, or both, Willow made her way to the window overlooking the porch. Instead of lifting the shade she used a finger to edge the side of the honeycombed fabric away from the wall and peeked through the little gap.

At first she didn’t see anything unusual. A portion of the outside table and two of the four chairs were visible as were the steps and the whole left side of the back yard. A long shadow moved closer, followed by two smaller shadows, and then Ben came into view.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, in profile, and she let out a small sigh. The man was breathtaking from every angle. His thick hair was beginning to curl and stood in tufts, making her smile. She knew she had a hand—two, actually—in that. In his untucked flannel button-up and jeans he stood tall, hands in his front pockets, his eyes crinkling with amusement, his sensuous lips moving as he spoke with someone.

Someone, or two someones, as she could make out the dual shadows, just not the individuals themselves, and they seemed too small to be her muscled body-boys.

She bit her lip, indecisive. Her piqued curiosity demanded she simply open the kitchen door and walk outside, but she didn’t know if that would be considered intruding or not.

Besides, it was really cold-looking out there.

Ben turned to go up the steps and, startled, Willow let go of the shade, stepping abruptly back and hoping like hell he hadn’t seen her spying on him. She moved to the fridge again, waiting to open it when he opened the door, her eyes wide and innocent.

No, I wasn’t spying, Mr. Anderson.

Ears twitching, she waited for his tread to cross the wood porch. Nothing. He should easily be at the door by now.

She edged to the door and put her ear to it, just in time to barely make out his low comment. “—only for a bit. I don’t want to leave Willow for long.”

Her head cocked. If he was going to go with his visitors somewhere, why come back up the porch?

Still listening, still no tread. Mystified, Willow made her way back to the window, once again pulling the shade aside with the tip of her finger. Her mouth dropped.

Ben was naked!

What. The. Hell?

Even as she stood there gaping at him, a shower of light encased his body. Her eyes snapped shut and when she opened them again, she immediately closed them. She shook her head and looked back out at the spot that Ben had stood not two seconds ago.

Where a tan wolf now stood.

The same tan wolf Willow saw her first two nights here. The same two nights Ben was stationed outside to watch over the cabin until his relief showed.

The same tan wolf pictured in Ben’s apartment.

Willow sagged against the wall as the wolf—Ben?—loped down the stairs, taking off into the forest, followed by two other wolves, their much darker fur gleaming under the moon.

Part of her brain immediately said Scott and Joe while another part went into meltdown.

“There is no way I just saw what I saw, or think what I think. Nope. Not at all.” She turned to the kitchen, looked around for help. “Too unreal. Too fantastical. Too, too....”

Groping around like a blind woman, she found the back of a kitchen chair and sank onto the cushioned seat before she slid in a boneless heap onto the cold linoleum floor.

“Full moon. Wolves. Werewolves. Oh God. I had sex with a werewolf.” Several times, in fact. Recalling those times and what they’d done, the hand pressed against her pounding heart flew to her neck. “He bit me!” Several times, in fact.

Jumping to her feet, she raced into the bathroom, flicking the florescent light on with an impatient jerk. Leaning over the vanity, she yanked aside the collar of her sweatshirt and probed at the bruise riding low on her neck, at her shoulder.

It looked just like a hickey. Desperate for a closer look, she climbed onto the vanity and all but shoved her face in the mirror. Were those teeth marks?

“Oh God. I’m gonna turn into a wolf.” She didn’t want to turn furry. And according to every werewolf legend spinning through her mind, it was every single month during the full moon. . Hormonal changes with her monthly period was enough for her, thank you very much. Drawing her lips back, she checked her teeth, then her eyes, recalling those times Ben’s had rimmed with amber.

No fangs, no amber, just normal teeth and clear blue eyes. Now she frowned at her reflection. “Why am I not turning?”

Groaning at herself, she hopped off the sink and into her bedroom, where she picked up her phone and dialed Scott. No answer. Joe. Again, no answer. When she rang Ben, the
Music Box Dancer
melody went off on the table next to the bed.

Oh, she was going to murder their furry asses.

She put on underwear and several layers of clothes, plus her boots, before heading into the foyer closet for her coat and gloves. Ben had stated he wouldn’t be long and when he returned, she would be there. The liar. The hypocrite.

She all but stomped onto the porch, pacing as she waited for his return.

Getting all up in my face about not telling him I was a virgin when he’s a freaking werewolf! How dare he? And Joe and Scott?

Oh God. And Rome?
Rome knew these people. Trusted them with her life.
Had he known?
He’d called Ben a pup, both as Ben the human and Ben the wolf. Rome had to have known!

She put a shaking hand to her temple.
Was Rome a werewolf as well?

Backing up, she dropped into the nearest chair, letting her mind process all the strange things she’d encountered and filed away.

It started that first night in Kaylie’s home when Willow had heard growls and looked around for a dog. Then the weird tingling she’d felt when Dean had basically gotten in Ben’s and Rome’s faces.

Was Dean a wolfman too? Then what about Kaylie? Oh God. And Tess? Uploading the time in Tess’s truck on the day of their shopping expedition, Willow recalled Tess’s strange reaction to Willow’s comment about being sick. Tess had
sniffed
her.

Was Tess a wolfman, too? Er, wolfwoman? Was Tess even now wandering the forest? Hunting?

Oh God. The hunting lodge. Now that all made a kind of weird sense.

Now her mind went crazy, zipping down the list of people she’d met and seen, wondering if they were all wolf people.

A prickling sensation crawled up her spine and she looked up to see three wolves staring at her, all breathing hard as if they’d been out running at breakneck speeds. Two were dark brown and one a burnished tan, the latter nearly the color of Ben’s hair, minus the sun streaks.

The three of them stood still as statues at the base of the steps, staring up at Willow, almost as if in—what? Fear? Amusement? Were they off laughing behind her back?

Could wolves laugh?

And why she wasn’t locking herself inside or running away screaming didn’t even cross her mind. Willow settled back, arms crossed tight over her vulnerable middle. Her eyes narrowed. She was simply too pissed to be scared, much less think rationally as she began to chide a two-hundred-pound predator. “Well. You got anything to say for yourself?” The tan wolf cocked his head, a human gesture that only made her angrier. “Ben.” She said his name like it was dog poo. Or wolf poo, in this case.

The two dark wolves started yipping, clearly unhappy as they danced about. She glared at them. “Shut up. Some bodyguards you are, running off and leaving me all alone. Don’t think I’m not going to strip the fur off you two as well. Scott. Joe.”

At her words, or maybe her tone, they lowered their heads, as if saying they were sorry.

Oh, how one’s life could change in a mere week. She’d made new friends, learned to ski, lost her virginity—and possibly her heart—and now she’d been confronted with the reality of a myth.

Her deadly glare shot back to Ben. “I’d better not turn into a wolf.” The tan creature shook its massive head and took a step towards her. Wariness rather than fear caused her to point a finger at the advancing wolf. “Do not get any closer.”

On the heels of the beast’s hearty sigh came another light show. Willow blinked in rapid succession as Ben, in all his two-legged naked glory, appeared. For once he seemed at a loss for words.

Good. Maybe that means he feels bad. The jerk.

But damn, he still looked good. The broad shoulders, the rippled torso, the muscled thighs that only a few hours ago had been cradled between her own. She could feel her interest rekindle and crossed her restless legs.

Stupid physical reaction.

His nose flared, eyelids dropping into that sleepy, sexy look that made her melt, as if he could scent her arousal. He took a purposeful step forward. Then another.

Oh God. He could smell her arousal, couldn’t he? Wolves, like dogs, could smell better than humans.

Oh hell. Dogs. Men. Pheromones. Now she remembered the whole conversation at Tess’s wedding shower.

She narrowed her eyes into little slits of pure fury, hoping he read the death threat glowing in her eyes as easily as he read her carnal reaction to him. Evidently he could, since he came to a halt at the top of the steps. He glanced away, his hands opening and closing into fists at his side. After a moment he cleared his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind. While I enjoy the cool weather, it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

“What?” His chin jutted at her chair and she shifted up, pulling his jeans and shirt from under her. He wanted his clothes? Fine. He could have them. She threw them at him, wide, but he caught them deftly in his big hands. After he was dressed he looked at her. “I’m afraid to say it, but, boots too, please?”

Reaching down, she hurled one boot after the other right at his face. Again he caught them easily.

She should have thrown them over the rail and into the snow.

“Why don’t we go inside for this?” Willow held back a nasty response when Ben looked pointedly at the two other wolves, obviously eavesdropping.

“Fine,” she snarled. Look at her, acting all wolfy. Besides, she
was
cold.

She bolted inside before Ben could open the door and sat stiffly on a kitchen chair, closest to the living room. Ben eased down on her left, running a hand through his hair. He looked, uneasy. Pained, even. She refused to be concerned.

Finally he leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “At least you’re not running away from me.” He studied the tabletop with his thumb, the sensual rubbing making her nipples poke out for the same touch.

Stupid nipples.
“I’m too angry to run.”

His brow creased. “Because I didn’t tell you or because of who I am?”

“Both.”

“Will.” He looked at her, his voice low as he appealed to her logical side. “You have to understand why we don’t go around announcing what we are to everyone.”

Logic be damned. “So I’m considered everyone?”

A flash of temper rose in his eyes before he squashed it. “No. You’re special.”

Bastard. “Oh, really?”

When he reached across the table she shoved her chair back. Interestingly, Ben squeezed his eyes shut and the hands on the table fisted again. It was obvious he wanted to touch her, but she would not capitulate. She’d given enough of herself.

“We’re called shifters. Like the fabled werewolves, we heal fa
ster than humans, but not immediately. We’re also stronger, faster, have a much higher metabolism rate, and possess keener senses. Unlike the fictional werewolf, we are not allergic to silver or live for hundreds of years, and we don’t make others through our bite. While it’s rare one of our kind contracts a disease, we still age and can die as easily as a human, or a timber wolf, for that matter.”

So she wasn’t going to turn furry next full moon. Good to know. “Is everyone in this town a...shifter?”

A definite shake of his head. “No. Only about one-fourth of the male population. Dean is not only the mayor, he’s the pack alpha.” From there he proceeded to explain the pack structure, looking proud when he claimed he was one of the eight leaders and also one of a handful of his kind strong enough to rein in their beast on the full moon. These few held enough control they could shift forms outside of the magical pull, which was why he was able to come to her on all fours those first two nights.