Claimed By The Wolf (Werewolf Fever #2) Read online

  Her blood was on fire. Heat pooled inside her, sending blazing tendrils of desire out through her body. For weeks, Ciaran had haunted her dreams, and now he was here.

  She had imagined what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. The accusations. The anger. But now that he was in front of him, she only wanted one thing.

  Lucy shoved Ciaran back up against the wall and threw herself at him. She wound her fingers into his collar and pulled him down to meet her ravenous kiss.

  He kissed her back with the same reckless passion, biting her lower lip and making her groan. His strong arms wound around Lucy’s waist, holding her firmly in place. She trembled as she remembered those arms around her before, all those weeks ago…

  Without thinking, Lucy undid Ciaran’s shirt buttons, running her hands over his muscular chest and down to the smooth lines of his abs and stomach. Her eager fingers caught on his belt buckle.

  Ciaran’s cock was already hard. If she pressed herself against him, she could feel it pushing into her stomach. If she explored further with her hands…

  She moaned as she slid her hand into Ciaran’s pants and her fingers brushed his thick, hard cock. She’d never touched it with her hands before. He’d used it on her—in her—but he’d always been the aggressor. He’d pinned her down, held her hands away.

  But now…

  Ciaran gripped the back of her head, deepening the kiss as his fingernails bit into her scalp. Lucy gasped as her fingers slid around his cock, feeling how thick it was. In his wolf-man form, Ciaran had been monstrously large, but even as a human he was thick, heavy and long. And she ached for him.

  She scrambled at his belt, pulling it free and undoing his flies as fast as her lust-clumsy hands could manage. Her knees were trembling, and she let them collapse.

  Lucy fell to her knees in front of Ciaran. He was still holding her hair and with his other hand he freed his cock from his boxers. It sprang up, thick and hard, directly in front of Lucy’s open mouth.

  Oh, God. Lucy licked her lips and Ciaran’s grip on her hair tightened. She looked up and saw him gazing down at her, his black eyes heavy with lust. An answering spark of desire flared inside Lucy.

  She leaned forward and delicately, tentatively, licked the head of Ciaran’s cock. Salty pre-cum burst onto her tongue and she swirled it over Ciaran’s bulbous head, lapping up every drop.

  Above her, Ciaran groaned. “Don’t stop,” he moaned. “God—why did I ever let you go…”

  You didn’t, Lucy thought as she tasted him. I escaped. God, why did I ever run away from this?

  She latched her lips around his shaft and took it deeper into her mouth. The head of Ciaran’s cock bumped against the back of her throat and she swirled her tongue along his thick length.

  He was so thick her jaw was already beginning to ache. She pulled back and sucked him in again, slowly, savoring every inch. The head of his cock bumped the back of her throat again, harder, almost making her gag.

  “Fuck,” Ciaran grunted. He double-handed her head, winding her hair around his fists. Lucy whined as he tugged on her hair. He responded by tightening his grip and pulling her off his cock.

  Lucy looked up at him, questioning. Her mouth still hung open and she could feel the cool night air on her wet lips.

  Ciaran tipped her head further back, his eyes dark with lust. “You filthy slut,” he said, his voice rough. “I should have done this weeks ago. Open wider.”

  Lucy obeyed, her heart in her throat. Her hands were on Ciaran’s hips, but she knew how strong he was. If he took control now…

  …then she wouldn’t be able to take it back. He could do anything to her.

  “God, you’re beautiful like this. I’ll never let you out of my grasp again.”

  Ciaran positioned himself in front of Lucy and thrust his cock into her open mouth. At first he held her head steady but then he started to jerk her head forward every time he thrust into her, increasing his force and speed as he mercilessly fucked her face.

  Lucy moaned as Ciaran’s cock forced past her lips, pounding into the back of her throat with every thrust. She gagged, forcing herself to keep her mouth wide open as Ciaran used her.

  She kept her eyes up, watching Ciaran’s face as he pleasured himself with her mouth. He was watching her, too, watching her with an animal fierceness that made her insides melt. His cock was hot and hard in her mouth, but he was moving too fast…

  “Give me more, you filthy pack-chaser. Let me in.” Ciaran shifted his hold on Lucy’s head, bringing one hand around to grip her jaw. “Just—relax—”

  He thrust into her again. This time, instead of yanking her head back again he pulled her further towards him. Lucy’s surprised yelp was muffled by his cock as she felt it press into her throat. She swallowed desperately as he forced himself deeper and deeper, cutting off her air with his thick, hot shaft.

  Lucy was completely helpless. Ciaran groaned as he buried his cock in her throat, so deep that her nose pressed up into the thick hair at the base of his shaft. She moaned, too, the vibration from her throat traveling up Ciaran’s cock to her lips as she gave in to her utter helplessness.

  “Oh, God. Lucy. Lucy, my precious little whore…” Ciaran gave a groan that shook his whole frame and pulled out Lucy’s mouth. She collapsed to the ground, sucking in breath after breath of sweet, cool air.

  Then Ciaran’s hands were on her again. He lifted her and roughly shoved her face-first against the stone wall, one hand on the back of her neck and the other pushing under her dress and pulling her panties aside.

  He thrust into her in one smooth, fierce motion, skewering her against the mansion wall. Lucy gave a juddering gasp as he filled her. She was slick with need but he didn’t give her time to adjust to his size. Her pussy walls stretched as he pounded into her, again and again. The fire that had filled her since he first whispered into her ear grew white-hot.

  It was everything she wanted. Everything her body had been waiting for since she ran away from him.

  “Oh-h-h-h,” she screamed as she came, her orgasm tearing through her body like wildfire. Ciaran came a moment later, his teeth grazing the back of her neck as he spilled his hot seed deep inside her.

  “Oh, Lucy,” Ciaran murmured. She was still panting, dizzy with orgasm, but his voice focused her attention like a knife held against her neck. “You can’t possibly think I’ll let you go after this.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The stone wall of the mansion was cold against Lucy’s cheek. She struggled, but Ciaran held her firm, his cock still buried deep inside her.

  “Still trying to run?” Ciaran laughed softly. “Isn’t it a little late for that, pack-chaser?”

  “I keep telling you, I’m not a pack-chaser,” Lucy insisted through gritted teeth. She tried to push Ciaran away, but it was no use. She was as weak as a kitten compared to him. “I’m here for work.”

  “Work?” Ciaran’s hand stroked up her arm, until he was touching her camera’s neck-strap where it hung over her collarbone. A note of surprise entered his voice. “You’re not here for…”

  “Excuse me?” Lucy shoved herself back from the wall. This time, Ciaran released her, and she spun to glare at him in shock. “Do I look like I’m one of the guests? I’m here on a job, Ciaran.”

  “Really? How… convenient.”

  Ciaran’s eyes roved over her body, and Lucy gritted her teeth. She had to ignore how good it felt when he looked at her like that. Just his eyes on her, the memory of his touch, and the wetness between her legs. It made her…

  Stop that. Don’t think about how it feels. Focus on your anger.

  He reached out for her again, and she jerked out of his grip. “Stop it. Go and find one of those girls in white, if that’s what you’re here for.”

  “There’s only one thing here I want,” Ciaran his, his voice hoarse. He grabbed hold of Lucy, shoving her back against the wall. “And you’re not getting away from me again.”

  Lucy gasped. Before
she could protest, he kissed her.

  Oh, no. Oh, no, no… yes…

  Lucy moaned as Ciaran’s tongue flickered against her lower lip. “Stop it,” she murmured as he laid burning kisses along her jaw. “Not again…”

  “Stop?” Ciaran hissed. He cupped Lucy’s jaw in one hand, twisting her head to one side so he could attack her neck with his kisses. “I thought this evening would help me escape you—and here you are. Nothing in the world could make me stop now.”

  He pushed her back against the wall and she could tell that he was hard again already. Worse, she could feel renewed desire flickering to life inside her, as well.

  This is all his fault.

  “No,” she mumbled, and then more strongly: “No! Stop it!” She shoved him away and, to her surprise, he stepped back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I know it’s your fault. If you’ve given me some sort of, of werewolf fever…”

  Ciaran’s eyes gleamed. “So you keep claiming,” he said in a low voice. “That’s what you said after you burned me, wasn’t it? As though I was your first—”

  “Because it’s true!” Lucy groaned and rubbed one hand over her face. “You know what? Screw you. I left you behind once, and I’ll do it again.”

  “And do what?”

  Lucy spread her hands wide. “Hell, I don’t know! Apparently the cure to this goddamn werewolf fever is to fuck your way around the local Packs. Maybe I should try that!”

  She almost spat the last sentence, just to taunt some sort of reaction out of Ciaran. She didn’t know what she wanted to see—anger? Betrayal? Or just anything but the cold, controlled expression that came down like a blind over his face?

  “Perhaps you should,” he said coldly, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. “This would be the perfect opportunity, after all.”

  “I…” Lucy searched his eyes, still not sure what she was looking for. Whatever it was, she didn’t find it. “Fine!”

  Lucy stalked away, head held high, heels clicking against the stone path. She couldn’t face going back to the party and taking photos, not now. She needed to pull herself together first.

  Instead of turning back to the candle-lit pavilion, Lucy headed farther into the garden. The stone path wound through flowerbeds and low hedges. The farther away from the mansion she walked, the taller the hedges, until Lucy felt as though she was walking through a maze.

  Only then, when she was sure she was out of Ciaran’s sight, did she let out a ragged sigh, almost a sob. Her confident stride faltered and she half-ran, half-stumbled until she found herself in a small courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and a stone seat in front of it. Lucy collapsed on the bench with a cry of unhappiness.

  She sat with her head in her hands, swearing under her breath. What was she doing? She must have imagined a thousand times what she would do if she ever saw Ciaran in the flesh again, and none of the scenarios she’d played out in her head had gone like—like that.

  The chill of the stone bench seeped through her dress, but the contrast between the cold stone and the heat of her body only made her heart race faster. Color rose in her cheeks and she covered them with her hands, groaning.

  What was I thinking? “Screw you for having sex with me! Hey, I know what’ll show you! More sex!” Really? That’s the tactic you chose? “Fuck you! Want a blow job?” Ugh!

  Lucy slid sideways and banged the side of her head against the bench. Stupid. Stupid. And what was she meant to do now? Waltz around the party, taking photos and knowing Ciaran was probably watching her the whole time?

  She sure as hell wasn’t going to go and throw herself at any other werewolves. One werewolf was more than enough trouble. Besides, although even thinking about Ciaran made her hot and bothered, none of the other werewolves here stirred her interest in the slightest.

  Lucy sighed and wriggled around until she was lying with her back flat against the bench. At least now he knows what he did, she told herself.

  She’d never intended to cross paths with him, not at the castle, and certainly not here. Ciaran might not have believed her the last time they met, but there had been a moment, before, when she was almost sure she’d finally gotten through to him…

  Lucy groaned. Sure. In between sucking his cock, and writhing on the end of it. He—

  She sat up. That’s enough, she told herself firmly. She was not going to spend any more time thinking about Ciaran Mallory. If he regretted what he’d done, or still thought she’d got herself into this mess deliberately—fine. Whatever. That was his business. She didn’t want anything more to do with him.

  She had work to do. And then she would go home, have a shower—a cold shower—and ask Sibby what the hell she was meant to do about this werewolf fever.

  And never waste another thought on Ciaran Mallory again.

  Lucy stood up. How long have I been sitting here, moping? she wondered, rubbing her arms to get some warmth back into them. Her whole body was chilly from the stone bench.

  She looked around. This small courtyard was in a quiet corner of the garden, and the tall hedges muffled the noise from the rest of the grounds. She could barely hear a murmur of conversation from beyond the hedges. Or any noises that weren’t conversation, for which she gave a sigh of relief.

  After all, most of the party guests were probably still up at the pavilion. Where she should be, doing her goddamn job.

  A few strands of her hair had escaped from their pins, so she carefully smoothed them back. A quick glance in the mirrored lens of her camera told her that her makeup had survived her—activities—intact. Her dress wasn’t ripped, but…

  This wasn’t a human cocktail party. These were werewolves.

  Oh, God. They’ll all be able to smell him on me, won’t they?

  Lucy clenched her legs together. She was still wet, her own juices mixed with Ciaran’s hot seed. But there was nothing she could do about that. Maybe find a bathroom, and—

  “Well, hello. What have we got here?”

  The voice was male and oily with self-satisfaction. It wasn’t Ciaran’s voice—but Lucy did recognize it. She turned around.

  “Delauncey, was it?”

  The slab-faced man who’d leered at her earlier in the evening stepped into the courtyard. Lucy could just see two large shapes in the shadows behind him: his two friends from earlier, she guessed.

  Lucy steeled herself and raised her camera. “Here for another photo, sirs?”

  Delauncey didn’t reply. He walked slowly towards her, heavy arms swinging at his sides. Lucy’s skin crawled. He was eyeing her with the same entitled arrogance as before, as though she wasn’t a person at all, just something there for his convenience.

  Or pleasure.

  Lucy shivered, but it wasn’t the delicious, thrilling shiver she got when Ciaran looked at her. This shiver started as ice in her stomach and rose up like bile up into the back of her throat.

  Nevertheless, she plastered a customer-service smile on her face and held her ground. “Just you, or a group shot?”

  “Oh, I think we’ll all have a go,” said the werewolf, licking his lips. He circled behind Lucy. She turned, following him. She knew she was probably being ridiculous, but something about him made her not want to let him get behind her.

  “Well, if you’ll all stand together over there…” she suggested, eyeing up the distance to the nearest exit. She really didn’t like the look in Delauncey’s eye.

  Lucy’s heels scraped in the gravel as she tried to keep an eye on Delauncey and his two friends at the same time. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. As the slab-faced werewolf circled her again, she started to back away, edging slowly towards the archway that led back to the main garden and the busy pavilion.

  “Look, if you’re not interested in a picture, I really have to get back to work,” she said firmly.

  “So soon?” Before she could blink, Delauncey was right in front of her, blocking her way out. He leaned close to
her, sniffing long and slow. “You don’t smell like you’ve been working. Someone’s been enjoying you already tonight.”

  Lucy’s skin crawled. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

  She tried to side-step the werewolf, but he darted in front of her again.

  “Please, I really have to go—”

  Delauncey laughed as he heard the rising note of fear in her voice. “I don’t think so, little girl. I was willing to overlook you before, but if someone else has already had his fun with you, that means you’re fair game.”

  He reached for her, leering. Lucy turned and ran—straight into the arms of Delauncey’s two friends. They grabbed her, one holding each of her arms, and led her back in front of their leader.

  Lucy kicked and dragged her heels, but it was no use. Like Ciaran, these werewolves were much stronger than she was. She was helpless.

  Delauncey ran his wet, red tongue over his lips as he looked her over. Lucy’s stomach recoiled.

  “You’d better let me go,” she snapped. “If the Blackpaws hear of this—”

  The werewolf laughed. “What do you expect them to do? You’re not the first employee to slack off on the job. Like I said,” he sneered, reaching out and ripping her dress open, “you’re fair game to us and any other werewolf who wants to take you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Lucy bucked back against her captors, but it was no use. The ripped remains of her dress hung open, exposing her breasts and stomach to the cold night air.

  Delauncey ran his hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully through her bra.

  “Crothers, Gyre, get that off her,” he told the other two, waving at her underwear. “Then bring her over here.”

  He walked over to the stone bench, undoing his fly. Lucy fought as hard as she could as the two werewolves stripped the remains of her dress off her, but there was nothing she could do. One of them—Gyre—grabbed her camera and twisted the strap around her neck.