Wild Threesome: (Paranormal MMF Menage Romance) (Wolves on the Prowl Book 2)

A
ssassin Raven has
a single mission
: kill Queen Fiona’s cousin to prevent his claim to her throne. She tracks Theo Lowder to his crappy mansion on the outskirts of a Midwestern town, and she finds him happily ensconced with his werewolf lover, March Wilmont, and their mate: a pregnant human named Victoria.

Even though Raven
isn’t a fan of the antiquated vampire court or its crazy queen, the payment for her services will be immortal life. Better to live as a bloodsucker than to die at twenty-six, all because her stupid human heart is giving out on her.

Leo and Chris are warriors
sent by their pack’s Tribunal to take out March and the woman carrying his abomination. Leo and Chris are also lovers, both looking for the female mate who will breed with them and keep their warrior lines going.

After Raven attacks them
as they try to enter the vampire’s lair, they realize they’ve found a worthy candidate—if she’s willing to become werewolf. When Raven suggests they work together to bring down the vampire and his lovers, they agree on one condition: share a night in their bed—and survive.

P
LEASE NOTE
:
This story is about the steaming hot romance between two male werewolves and a human woman with the ability to satisfy them both.
Wild Threesome
includes MMF, MFM, and MM sexual encounters.

This story is meant for mature audiences who are eighteen years and older.

R
AVEN PEERED
THROUGH
the thick branches of the pine tree that hid her presence. She was twenty feet up clinging to the trunk, her feet lightly resting on a limb not quite as thick as her arm. Below her was the dilapidated old mansion that belonged to Theo Lowder.

In the whole house, only two rooms showed evidence of occupation -- upstairs on the right, the master suite with its elaborate, leaf-strewn balcony, and downstairs on the left, the smaller space once used as a parlor. Given the fragrant smoke rising from the chimneys and the flickering colors that painted the windows, it was safe to say the only sources of heat and light were the wood-burning fireplaces.

Sheesh. You’d think a vampire could pay his electric bill. And hello? Summer was not the time for cozy fires in hearths.

The wind kicked up, the first volley from the threatening storm. The branches rattled and the top of the tree swayed. Raven readjusted her grip, inhaling the sharp sting of pine. Here in this mid-western cesspit, August meant it was unbearably hot and humid. Sweat popped out on her forehead and dribbled down her temples. Usually she wore a jacket to hide her Walther PPK snug in its shoulder holster, but she couldn’t add another layer to her long-sleeved knit shirt, jeans, and boots -- all black. Her knives were hidden in their usual spots.

The unseasonable clothing, including the gloves, was necessary for her concealment. Her skin was too pale, more a result of her declining health than lack of sunshine. Though she didn’t particularly enjoy daylight activities.

Good thing, too.

Raven continued to study the mansion for what seemed like the fiftieth time in two days. Without electricity or any obvious security system, getting into the house would be easy. Especially if she entered through the broken attic window. It was small, but even though she was tall, she was slender. She’d fit through, so long as she held her breath and sucked in her stomach.

No, the house wasn’t a prob.

The werewolves were.

She’d counted three, not including the one already in the house with Theo and the human woman. She hadn’t seen the girl with her own eyes. The audio bug she’d placed on the bedroom window yesterday confirmed her presence. Raven’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t imagine being a bloodsucker’s pet. A couple of the vampires lounging around Queen Fiona’s sumptuous throne room had humans sitting next to them like dogs on leashes. It made her sick, the way that asshole Carlos kept nibbling the neck of his female slave. She was naked, and pale from blood loss. And the look in her eyes…

Raven shuddered. She’d rather be dead.

The biggest werewolf she’d ever seen, though her paranormal education had only begun a month ago, padded through the open front door of the house. She saw shadows pass in the bottom floor window, so that wolfie was hanging out in there.

“Fuck,” she muttered. She’d had bad odds before, but dealing with four werewolves, a vampire, and a potential mental case? And even if she managed to complete her objective and live, she still had to worry about whether or not the vampire queen would keep her word.

Queen Fiona was pissed off at her cousin for missing the annual tribute in June. Not only had he dissed her by not presenting a juicy human morsel, he’d screwed up her plans to assassinate him. He was the last link to the royal family, the only vampire with any real shot of icing the queen and getting away with it.

“And that’s why I have to kill you, buddy.” Her gaze flicked to the top floor. The French doors were closed. The frosted glass on the panes prevented her from a direct look into the room, though it didn’t hide the dancing firelight. The audio bug confirmed all three were in there, the vampire, his werewolf lover, and the woman. And they were having fun.

It had been a while since she’d had that kind of fun.

Getting laid was the least of her worries right now. And besides, the human might be glamoured or too scared to protest the bedroom games. Though she giggled an awful lot. Not that Raven was opposed to a little bondage, a little forced seduction, or a little spanking.

Her panties got wet.

Snap out of it
!

She needed to survive, and that meant pulling off this job for the vampire queen. Raven didn’t belong to the antiquated world of the vampire court. Actually, she wasn’t a bloodsucker. Not yet. All she had to do was stake this Theo dude, and Fiona would change her.

She hoped that was where her obligation ended, though she suspected she’d made a deal with the devil. The queen was not the beneficent type. Either she’d sent Raven to her death because she loved to cause pain and misery, or she wanted to utilize Raven’s skills as an assassin. Screw that. No way was she gonna spend her new eternity offing the queen’s enemies. After she was changed, all she had to do was keep out of Queen Fiona’s range. She was one scary bitch and cra-azy, too.

Raven studied the area surrounding the mansion. Thickly wooded, embedded at the top of a hill with a steep drive, the place was isolated. And it wasn’t exactly well protected, which would usually make it perfect for a hit. Dealing with the werewolves would be a pain in the ass.

If she could incapacitate them, she could probably drive the oak stake through Silas’s heart, which was the only surefire way to kill vamps, and rescue the girl. She hoped this Victoria wanted to be rescued. Otherwise…

It wasn’t that Raven was opposed to killing women. Putting down any living thing because death was the better option, well, that made her stomach cramp. Hey, even she’d cried at the end of “Old Yeller.” If Victoria was broken because Theo and that werewolf of his had killed her spirit then taking the girl out would be a mercy.

Jesus. She’d thought humans were the biggest assholes on the planet. Then she’d met Queen Fiona and entered a whole new world of cruelty.

The wind was getting stronger, and in the distance, thunder cracked. The tree shook, harder this time, and Raven’s booted feet scraped against the limb.

Okay. Time to go.

As she climbed down, she solidified her plans. She’d wait for the storm, which would make good cover. So would the old manse with its many creaks and groans. No one would think twice if she hit a squeaky stair, especially with rain pounding the exterior.

Before entering the house, she’d take out the two wolves she’d spotted pacing the wooded area abutting the untamed backyard. At some point, it had been fenced, but not much was left of the wrought iron. They hadn’t come near the house, choosing to watch it from their hidden locations.

After dispatching them, she would sneak into the house and get to Theo before anyone got to her. She was good at hand-to-hand combat and knife fights; her father had made sure of that. Still, her Walther PPK with its suppressor was a far better tool for murder.

Unless the target was a vampire.

Yeah, silver hurt vampires, but not even silver bullets would kill them instantly. She’d heard about some new kind of poison mixed with silver flakes that was fatal to vamps, but she didn’t know how to get hold of it or how it was administered. She preferred more foolproof methods. Poison had too many variables, not least of which was the quality of the death. She killed people, yeah. Honestly, most of her targets deserved killing. But that didn’t mean she made them suffer. Quick. Clean. Done.

Cutting off a vampire’s head wasn’t even a surety. If the head came in contact with the neck, it could suture back together. Yeah. That info had freaked her. But whack through the neck with a pure silver blade… then the fanged one was toast.

She’d procured two pure silver daggers. Expensive as hell, and the only insurance she had for incapacitating wolves. Granted, they reacted more violently to the substance, but it took a lot of silver to kill them. And silver had to stay in contact with the wolf for a long time.

At least that’s what her sources had told her. She’d never killed vampires or werewolves, so she didn’t have firsthand knowledge of the weaknesses, much less the death knells, of either species. She wasn’t exactly feeling her best, not with her ticker failing, and going into a new situation with this much risk… well, it was no wonder she felt foreboding lining her guts like lead.

She stopped lollygagging on the last limb, and jumped to the ground. Her arsenal included her usual weaponry, along with the silver daggers, and the bullets Carlos had given her.

She grimaced. He was Queen Fiona’s consort, but it was easier to get out of the queen’s favor than to gain it. The fact that Carlos had held Fiona’s attention for more than a month was impressive -- at least according to the gossips at court. Her last lover had been stupid enough to take another woman into his bed. The pair had been dismembered with a silver sword, their heads stuck on pikes and kept in the queen’s bedroom.

Yuck.

It was one thing to kill, and another to bask in the aftermath of murder. That was the difference between Raven and a serial killer. That, and the money. She never did a hit for free. And never, ever for jollies. Some people were just sick.

So, yeah. Carlos had given her the silver bullets, not because the queen told him to, but because he wanted Raven to owe him. She leaned against the tree, and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Instead, her mind opened the door to the night she’d left New Orleans. She’d been in her hotel room, packing, and Carlos had just… appeared.

There was something off about the vampire. He was creepily charismatic. He was good-looking, even if he was soulless. Definitely a drink-the-Kool-Aid kind of guy. That made him dangerous, and not only to her.

He wore leather gloves to protect his skin from the effects of the silver. He dropped the bullets into her open palm. “Bring me back six,” he said, “and you’ll owe me nothing.”

“And if I use them?”

He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, his eyes going black. “For every bullet used, I will ask one favor. It’s a fair trade.”

Raven had thought about handing them back, and maybe even putting the oak stake into the bastard’s heart, but tamped down the impulse. If her father had taught her nothing else, it was to think before she acted.

“You think you can buy real silver bullets?” His voice had gone soft, seductive. “Who do you think cornered the silver market? Werewolves. They control silver because it’s the one substance that can harm them.” He let her go and stepped back. “It doesn’t stop peddlers from selling fakes. Sometimes, there’s actual silver in them, but that hardly matters. Only pure silver rounds will affect werewolves… or vampires.”

He knew she’d purchased silver rounds. Or thought she had. He’d either followed her to the specialty shop, or had her followed, and she didn’t know why. Other than he was a nosy bastard. “You want me to owe you?” she’d asked.

“I want everyone to owe me,” he said. “That’s how you survive in this world. Remember that.” He’d flickered like an image on a bad film reel, and disappeared.

Raven had packed the bullets.

Maybe it wasn’t weird that Carlos had the rounds. But it was mondo weird that they were .320 caliber, which fit her PPK perfectly. It could be a coincidence. Or he could’ve had them specially made. And if he had, that begged all sorts of questions she didn’t want to answer.

Eight bullets, which were usually six more than she needed. Firing the one in the chamber was enough to kill, especially when it hit the forehead or the temple. But she always put another round in the heart.

One round in the chamber, and seven more in the magazine. The first two were her own bullets, the other six were the silver. She hoped to hell she didn’t use them because she didn’t want to owe Carlos.

Although the fact she’d even borrowed them probably constituted a favor. She shuddered.

Humph. She could always stake him.

Oh, what was she worried about? He could be a fleshy Popsicle in Fiona’s room by now, as far as she knew. Even if the queen was besotted by Carlos’s looks and charms, Fiona wasn’t stupid. She hadn’t reigned for the last four centuries by sheer luck. She had to know he was angling for more than just sitting at her right hand. Raven had killed enough dictators to know a power monger when she saw one. She bet the queen did, too.

Raven shook off thoughts of Carlos.

She inhaled a cleansing breath then blew it out slowly. After a minute of deep breathing and focusing on the first task of the job, she used the trees for cover and started walking around to the back of the house.