Changed: 2 (Wolf's Den) Page 10

  Ours.

  Tiny prickles danced over her skin at her torso, extending to her arms and legs. It felt as though feathers danced along the inside of her skin, tracing over every contour and crevice. The heat in her stomach returned, a strange haze of red coating her vision. She let go of the chair and placed her arms over her head. Resting back, she let her thighs fall apart.

  “Hell yes,” Declan rasped, licking at her sex. “Let it happen, baby. You’re so soft here, made just for me.”

  Two fingers teased her entrance, swirling outside her pussy. She tried not to tense up when Declan worked them inside her, using the wetness from his mouth and her arousal to pave the way. Running his tongue over her clit, he flexed his wrist, sending his fingers deeper. She gasped when he touched a sensitive spot inside her, bucking against his hand.

  “Declan.”

  “Easy,” he murmured and pushed his fingers all the way in. “Easy, baby.”

  Easy? Is he insane?

  It felt too good, her pussy so deliciously full. She wanted him to move those fingers and part her like a whisper. Things had progressed quickly between them, meaning it wouldn’t be long before he replaced his hand with his cock. She wasn’t sure how well she’d take him but she was already anticipating the moment, picturing the broad head stretching her wide. Declan had been considerate so far. How would he be when he ditched the tenderness? Would she be able to handle the man when he lost his carefully constructed control?

  A spark of desire speared through her, the voice in her head becoming a howl.

  He’d given her a sample of what he’d be like when she’d dropped to her knees in front of him. She’d seen the flare in his eyes, watched the tic in his jaw. Even then he’d done his best to be easy with her, keeping his own needs in check. Each time he handled her he did so as though she might break, keeping things slow and deliberate.

  That’s not what she needed. Not anymore.

  “It’s not enough.” She exhaled the words, rolling her hips. “Stop tormenting me.”

  “Rachel.”

  The way he said her name served as a warning of some kind. Too bad she didn’t have the patience to find out what he was trying to tell her. Grasping the top of the seat, she lifted her hips. His fingers slid deeper, thick and heavy inside her. She focused on her vaginal muscles, flexing down. If he wasn’t going to give her what she needed she’d take it for herself. Her body felt primed, ready to board the train to ecstasy. She pulled away, prepared to ride his hand to orgasm.

  He prevented movement, grasping her by the hip. “Damn it. Don’t challenge me. Not now.”

  Take him! The voice thundered in her head. Claim him as ours.

  The itchy sensation under her skin increased, bringing on another tidal wave of lust and need. She couldn’t think clearly, driven by pure sensation. His fingers felt amazing inside her, the heat of his breath teasing her folds. She wanted to feel his tongue caressing her flesh as he moved his fingers in and out of her pussy. Then—after she climaxed—she could roll onto her knees and present herself to him.

  He belonged to her. Once mated, no one could ever force them apart.

  A snarl crept up her throat, an odd, itchy sensation beneath her skin spreading like wildfire. She needed this more than ever. Declan was sexy as hell. Other women would want him too. She’d been bitten, not born. That could threaten everything. They had to seal their union before it was too late. The thoughts in her head tumbled together—some of the notions her own, others the impressions of the animal inside her.

  Clarity arose, a harsh realization slamming into her chest.

  The wolf.

  Shit.

  She started to tear herself away. Declan must’ve sensed the shift. In an instant his lips surrounded her clit, his tongue rubbing against the hard nub as he sucked. The breath left her lungs, her body surrendering to his touch. He wasn’t tender any longer, slamming his hand against her, pumping his fingers in and out of her sex. Warmth bloomed over her, the pressure in her belly building.

  So close… So close.

  He waggled his head, moaning as he did.

  White speckles floated before her eyes, the tension inside her detonating like a fireball. She writhed against his hand, pushing her clit into his mouth, releasing a scream of pleasure and pain. The wolf—something she finally recognized even if she didn’t want to accept it—damned her for her insecurities, wanting her to see past her doubts to embrace the future they needed. Now that she’d gained release the creature had stopped chanting in her head. She was grateful to receive at least this much from her other half.

  She went limp, boneless as she draped herself over the seat.

  This couldn’t be all she had to look forward to, could it?

  If she didn’t accept Declan’s claim would she ever find any measure of peace?

  Although she kept her eyes closed she sensed Declan’s departure. His fingers eased from her sensitive flesh, his scent drifting from her as he walked away. She heard the rustle of clothing, knew he was adjusting his jeans and putting them back in place. It dawned on her that she should show some amount of composure. She closed her legs and brought them to her chest, wanting to cry for some strange reason she didn’t understand.

  Poor Declan.

  Just by wanting her he’d drawn the short end of the stick.

  “It’s okay, sweet girl.” Her skin prickled at the endearment. She’d expected Declan to sound angry or annoyed. Instead he sounded almost sad. A hand wrapped around her wrist, followed by a firm tug. “Let’s get out of here. I’m going to take you to get your things and then we’ll go home. You need to rest.”

  Rest? The animal within her reared its ugly head. I don’t want to rest.

  She tried to fight the creature but didn’t know how. Just like that—click, click, boom—she was out of the tattoo chair. She snarled at Declan, her gums tingling. The wolf roared in her skull, the sound horrific and foreign. She brought her hands to her temples and pressed the fatty part of her palms to her face. Everything felt and looked strange, coated in that horrific shade of red. She made out Declan’s face, saw that he’d shifted from soothing to dominant.

  “Stop it,” he ordered, facing her without fear. “I know you can hear me, Rachel. You control the wolf. She doesn’t control you. Put her in her place.”

  Put her in her place how?

  She felt the winding under her skin, could sense the animal gaining control. Reaching out, she whispered hoarsely, “Help me.”

  Although he took her hand, he didn’t grant her the assistance she needed. “Only you can do that. Force her back. You can do this.”

  The rage increased. The animal’s fear and needs merged together. It wanted to claim its mate before it was too late, to rise to control and take over. It didn’t want to be denied by its human counterpart.

  “Stop. Right now,” Declan snarled.

  Calm settled over her, Declan’s order like a comforting balm. She faced the animal that threatened to control her, screaming at it to back the fuck off. It seemed to last forever—a standoff without an end in sight. Her body trembled, her heart thundering in her chest. Then she felt the shift, the slight hesitation of the wolf. She persisted, ordering it to retreat. Sweat beaded her brow, her legs quaking as they held her weight.

  Go away, she ordered. Get the hell out of my mind.

  The animal retreated, taking small steps back. With each one Rachel took control, forcing the beast into a cage built in her mind. As soon as it entered—leaving her awash in her own thoughts—her legs buckled. Declan rushed toward her but he wasn’t fast enough. She cried out when her knees hit the ground, hearing a small crack.

  “Motherfucker,” he snarled, pulling her against him.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck but she couldn’t lift them. Instead she sagged, her limbs totally useless. He swept her into his arms, cocooning her in his scent. She felt the darkness rising up to consume her and tried to fight it. The last time she’d gone und
er she’d woken to a new reality. She couldn’t face that again.

  Don’t close your eyes. Keep them open.

  Even as she thought it she felt her lashes flutter over her cheeks.

  “I’ve got you,” Declan whispered, keeping her close. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Unfortunately terror was the last thing that she felt before she surrendered, the horrible feeling permeating her soul. As she was swept into the tide of dreams she entered nightmares, each one more horrific than the next.

  Of her father’s death.

  Of her mother’s destruction.

  Of the life she’d been given as a consequence.

  Unable to do anything else, she accepted the inevitable. As always her desperation made things easy. It was a blessing in disguise, the one thing that gave her some measure of relief. That was the lesson she’d learned, having had it hammered into her head since youth. When you couldn’t fight it was best to give up, make yourself small and hope for a sliver of compassion.

  In a blink, madness consumed her.

  Suffocating pain, bringing her under.

  She welcomed the dark tides, letting them do as they wished. She thought she heard Declan speaking softly to her but she couldn’t be certain. A wolf howled. The sound echoed through her head, searing into her soul. Bit by bit she sank into oblivion, lost to all reason.

  A mouth skimmed over her temple.

  Arms pulled her close.

  She tried to hold on to the feelings, wanting to lose herself in them.

  Before she could gain a hold blackness swirled, making the world dark.

  Then there was nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  Did he take them all? What would Rachel need?

  Declan studied the contents of the drawer, trying to decide what to do.

  She hadn’t woken since she’d passed out in his arms at the shop. He didn’t want to bother her, so he’d entered her home to retrieve her things. Her clothes weren’t difficult to sort. He’d left her work things in the drawers and collected her stain-free jeans and shirts. But when it was time to get her panties and bras he was at a loss.

  Maybe I should buy her new things. His mood lifted. The idea appealed to him. If I took her shopping I could choose everything that touches her body.

  Deciding that would be best, he snatched a handful of undergarments and stuffed them into the duffel he’d brought into the house. Done and ready to go, he lifted his head and gazed at his surroundings, scowling. Rachel kept things clean but the house was falling to pieces. The ceiling leaked in several places, the walls barely covered with peeling wallpaper. Her furniture was obviously secondhand, the dresser and nightstand barely holding together. As a werewolf he didn’t get cold but he did notice the temperature didn’t change when he entered the residence.

  He studied Rachel’s bed, taking in the thick but threadbare quilts over the top.

  His mate had suffered.

  Thinking of her living like this made him see red. She deserved to live in a home that was always warm and safe, surrounded by the pretty things women liked. If he’d known how bad things were he’d have stepped in and claimed her sooner. One thing was certain. She’d never live like this again. He’d see to that. But even if he cared for her would she ever share her past with him? Would she open the door to her emotions and let him in?

  Pushing the thoughts aside, he shook his head and strode from the room. She had a new home and he’d make sure she was provided for. He might not be a millionaire but he’d saved more than enough money to support her. She’d never suffer again. She sure as fuck wouldn’t have to worry about leaky ceilings, shoddy wallpaper and stinky fucking carpet.

  When he made it to the living room, he paused.

  A cushion on the couch remained torn, pieces of foam on the ground. Dark brown smears stained the carpets, the evidence of Rachel’s attack vividly clear. A growl traveled to his throat, his fingers going tight around the handles of the duffel.

  Rachel could have died.

  He could have lost her before he ever knew her.

  Don’t go there. Walk out the door and never look back.

  Determined to heed his own warning, he started for the door. He stopped short, freezing when he saw the woman standing in the hallway. She halted her progress, taking him in.

  It didn’t take long for Declan to recognize who she was.

  Her nose, hair color and eyes reminded him of Rachel but this woman was far older. Years of hard living had obviously taken their toll. She’d pulled her strawberry blonde hair into a low ponytail, the strands lackluster and stringy. Her eyes, unlike Rachel’s, were dull and lifeless. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her clothing looked dirty and slept in. The oversized shirt covering her body was wrinkled, her jeans worn at the knees and stained.

  “Who the hell are you?” The woman’s words were slurred and uneven.

  “I’m Declan. And you are?”

  “Cindy Gentry. Rachel’s mother.” Staring him up and down, she asked, “What are you doing here? Where’s Rach?”

  “She’s with friends.” Even across the distance he could smell the booze wafting from her. The female was drinking herself to an early grave. He hiked the duffel up, resting the back of his hand on his shoulder. “I came to get her a few things.”

  “Are you the flavor of the month?” She tottered toward him. “If you know what’s good for you, don’t get comfortable. My girl isn’t the settling type. She knows the score when it comes to men. I made sure I raised her right.”

  I just bet you did.

  For weeks he’d wondered about his mate—her past, her family, her upbringing. His worst imaginings hadn’t come close. This woman—Rachel’s fucking mother—was a total lush. More than likely she woke to alcohol and not coffee each morning. He tamped down his temper, telling himself not to judge. He didn’t know the woman and his mate hadn’t told him enough about her history for him to make assumptions.

  “I’d better go,” he said, making a rush to get the hell out of the woman’s path.

  “Hey, don’t run,” she said, grasping his biceps. “Damn. I bet you’re in the gym all the time. Is that a farmer’s tan or does your skin look that good all over? I can see why Rachel took an interest.” She squeezed his arm, inspecting his muscles, giving him a grin. “Why don’t we sit down and have a drink? I’m always happy to meet Rachel’s friends.”

  “Her husband,” he snarled, ripping away from the disgusting press of her hand. The retort had come to him naturally. Wolves declared partners as mates. Humans declared them as husbands and wives. “I’m not just a friend.”

  “Husband?” She blinked, staring at him. Then she started laughing. “Rachel? Married? Give me a break.” She guffawed, her stained teeth gaining his attention. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. My girl ain’t the marrying kind.”

  “Apparently you don’t know her very well,” he replied briskly and tried to leave again.

  “Hold up, you son of a bitch,” she snapped, grabbing his arm again. “Don’t tell me I don’t know my own child. I had her. I raised her. I know her better than anyone. Do you hear me?”

  Rachel was asleep in his backseat. The wolf inside him wanted to return to her. Fighting off the beast had drained her physically but she’d wake soon. He didn’t want her to come to awareness alone. She needed him there to anchor her, offering her any and all of the support she needed.

  Enough of this shit.

  “Believe me.” Staring at the woman, he let the beast peer through his eyes. He knew his irises would shift color, clueing her in on what he was. “I know her. Very well.”

  She paled as she gazed into his eyes, releasing him immediately. “What the fuck!” Backing toward the couch, she grasped a glass paperweight on a nearby table and lifted it into the air. “Where’s my daughter? What the hell have you done with her?”

  “I’ll tell her to call you.” He avoided the questions, preparing to get the fuck out of the decrepit home. Trying to
be courteous, he dipped his head in a display of respect. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Gentry.”

  “I’m calling the police.” She rushed to the phone on the table next to the couch. Her jaw dropped when she saw the carpet, staring at the bloodstains covering the floor. Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, fear evident in her face. “If you’ve hurt her I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you. I’ve seen your car. I know what you look like. And I know what you are. Tell me where she is or I’ll make sure they hunt you down.”

  It was a bluff and they both knew it. The human police would investigate but once they learned what Declan was they’d turn everything over to the packs. They knew not to get involved with supernatural creatures. It was a give and take that had allowed everyone in the area to coexist in peace.

  “Rachel’s fine,” he replied, keeping his composure. “But if you want to call the police, feel free.”

  “You son of a bitch!” She threw the paperweight at him. He moved aside, easily avoiding the object. As soon as it hit the wall the glass made a loud crack and broke into several pieces.

  The female has lost her mind. Get the hell out.

  Declan’s nose picked up Rachel’s scent. He turned in time to see her standing in the hallway, her blue eyes haunted. He didn’t like how sad she looked, seeming almost broken. Her shoulders were hunched, her posture radiating pain and misery.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Rachel wanted to crawl beneath a rock and die in shame.

  Her enhanced sense of smell told her that Mommy Dearest had been drinking. She picked up traces of tequila and beer. The horrible stench of sweat and cigarettes clung to Cindy Gentry’s unkempt and dirty clothing. Her mother hadn’t showered in days. No doubt she’d been on a binge. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid Rachel a visit after a few days of heavy drinking, asking for money to buy food and more booze.