Just One Bite Volume 6 Read online

  Just One Bite

  Volume 6

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  JUST ONE BITE

  Volume 6

  Copyright © 2011 Respective Authors

  Cover art by Amanda Kelsey

  All Romance eBooks, LLC

  Palm Harbor, Florida 34684

  www.allromanceebooks.com

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First All Romance eBooks publication: November 2011

  Table of Contents

  Taste of a Werewolf by Megan Derr

  The Visitor by Rukaya Hamdi

  Bound for Death by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Bite the Dust by Sarah Madison

  Friends, Not Food by Julia Talbot

  Of Men and Mice by Mara Ismine

  I Promise by Cardeno C.

  Sitting a Feisty Stallion by ID Locke

  Taste a Werewolf by Megan Derr

  Sal had learned a long time ago that the easiest way to satisfy a craving for werewolf was to rent one. There were plenty of other ways to get laid, but they required a great deal more time and trouble with a much greater risk of running afoul of those who didn’t care for his type.

  He’d barely gotten tenure, vampires not being a popular choice for employment even in the dusty old history department of a backwater college deep in the mountains. No matter how many decades passed without real incident, vampires left people nervous.

  It was easier to buy company for a few hours than go out. Sal had used the same discreet service for the past three years, and they’d never let him down. It was only a pity he still had to do the cheap motel bit as he never trusted anyone enough to invite them into his home. It would be nice to find the sort of lover he could take out, then take home, but if he ventured down that road he would dwell on things—the person—that would never be. Best not to go there; the night’s goal was pleasure, not moping.

  He took a sip of his beer and idly watched the football game that was on, glad he had opted out of the office betting pool because his ass was getting kicked. The clock on the TV said he had fifteen more minutes, which was good, because he had an itch and wanted it scratched—

  Sal jumped when someone knocked on the door, then rolled his eyes at himself. Setting the beer aside, he strode to the door and opened it, then immediately froze. Of all the people he had expected to see in his motel room that night, the man before him had never entered his thoughts. His fantasies, maybe, but that was different. “Gregory?”

  “Professor?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Sal said, beyond mortified as he covered his face with his hand for a moment. Raking his hand through his black hair, he glared. “You’re not my student anymore.” Hadn’t been for six months, and Sal had never missed any of his other students half so much.

  He’d know Gregory was still around town, but had carefully not thought about it. That he was no longer a student did not immediately make him fair game, no matter how tempting. Shit, half—okay, all—the reason he’d had a particular craving for werewolf the past two years was Gregory. “What in the hell are you doing here, Gregory?”

  Of all things, Gregory laughed. “It’s Rory. If you keep calling me Gregory, I’ll keep calling you Professor.” Sal flinched, making Rory laugh again. “I would think what I’m doing here is obvious.” He stepped forward, and Sal stepped back reflexively. By the time he caught himself and tried belatedly to block the door, Rory had pushed into the room and closed the door behind them. He sat on the nearest bed, leaning back on his hands, and if he was attempting to make himself irresistible he was succeeding admirably. “They said a vampire wanted a werewolf for blood and fucking. Given how few vamps are around town, I was hoping it was you.”

  “Werewolves taste really good, and they can take more than humans,” Sal replied defensively, then shook himself. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Rory rolled his eyes and sat up, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it aside. He pulled off his tight-fitting black t-shirt next and sent it to join his jacket on the floor.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Stripping,” Rory replied. “It’s often, though not always, a prelude to fucking.”

  Sal shook his head and tried not to stare because Rory was a former student no matter how fit and built and beautiful— “Why are you doing this?”

  “Money, sex, safer and easier,” Rory said, standing up to push off his jeans and boxers. He was already half-hard, and the hair at his cock was just as red as the hair on his head. Sal swallowed. Rory had always been so quiet and well behaved in class, something that was especially remarkable for a werewolf. It was more than a little strange to see him acting so brazenly, but definitely not a bad strange.

  Rory walked toward him. Sal backed away and shoved his hands in his pocket, pressing his tongue to his fangs in an effort to quell the burning need to feed. He’d never felt it as acutely as he did around Rory. The damnable man was a banana split with all the trimmings put in front of a dieter limited to 1500 calories a day. “We are not doing this.”

  “Oh, we definitely are,” Rory said. “Do you know why I always sat in the back of class and took shitty notes? Three words: hot for teacher.” Sal tried to respond to that, but before he could he was wrapped in Rory, whose hot lips pressed insistently against his own.

  He tried to pull away, or at least tried to think about pulling away, but he was kissing back before the thought really processed. Rory tasted even better than he smelled: musky, spicy, warm, with that edge of wild tang that made werewolves so fucking delicious. There was very little blood Sal hadn’t tried at one time or another, but werewolf remained his favorite.

  That it was Rory made it perfect. Sal fisted a hand in Rory’s hair, tilted his head to get a better angle and ravaged his mouth, nicking Rory’s bottom lip with his fangs and moaning as blood filled his mouth. He pulled Rory closer, annoyed at his own clothes, but enthralled with the soft, warm skin over tight muscle that was his to touch for the night. He’d imagined Rory more times than he cared to count, and having the reality when he’d thought he never would—it made him dizzy with elation and hunger.

  “That’s more like it,” Rory said. “Never knew a vampire to deny himself what he wanted.”

  “Some of us do retain a bit of old world honor,” Sal muttered, then conceded, “Not much, though.” He shoved, sending Rory stumbling back to bump against the bed. He tumbled, falling back to sprawl across the ugly coverlet. Sal followed him down, crawling on top of him and bending to lick the traces of blood from Rory’s lip.

  Rory snickered and kissed him properly, hands slipping beneath Sal’s t-shirt to tease across his skin. His cock was hard and leaking between them, and Sal was heartily sick of his own clothes. Levering himself up and off, he made short work of them and quickly resumed his place, baring his fangs as Rory teasingly gripped his cock. “If you want to bite, professor, bite.”

  “Stop calling me that!” Sal said with a groan, hot with mortification because he really had tried to behave, and Rory had been his student six months ago, and he was going to get staked if someone caught them. But he couldn’t make himself pull away either and instead bent to bite into Rory’s shoulder, sucking at the blood that welled up from the shallow wound.

  He moaned long and deep, eyes sliding shut as
he simply reveled in the taste of Rory’s blood, the hand slowly stroking him off. Pulling away, he nuzzled Rory’s throat, but resisted that temptation for the moment, settling for another kiss as Rory abruptly released his cock. “You stopped,” he complained.

  Rory laughed again, then abruptly grabbed and flipped them, pressing Sal down into the bedding. “Going to let me fuck you, professor?”

  “Only if you stop calling me that,” Sal snapped. “My name is Sal, and you know that, so stop calling me professor!”

  “Can’t a man have a naughty student fantasy?” Rory asked, though he winked. He looked around then smirked as he saw what he needed on the nightstand. “Sure I can’t bend you over a desk some time?”

  “Not for all the blood in the world.”

  Rory pouted. Sal quirked one brow. “If you are hoping that will get me to say ‘bad boy’ and offer to punish you, forget it. Are you going to fuck me or sulk all night?”

  “Decisions, decisions,” Rory replied dryly, bending to take another kiss before opening the lube and slicking his fingers. He spread Sal’s legs wide and settled between them, and Sal grunted as one cool, slick finger pushed inside him. It had been more than a few years since he’d let anyone fuck him—easier and safer to be the one in charge.

  But the way those green, green eyes blazed when they looked at him—hell, he’d probably do whatever Rory wanted. Something about him had always gotten far too deep beneath Sal’s skin. “How the hell have we never stumbled across each other this way before?”

  “The company is very careful about who it rents out students to,” Rory replied, smirking at the way Sal writhed as he added a second finger. “They’d never send me to you if I were still in school. But I’m not, and I had a feeling it would be you, and it seemed the best way to finally get you to see me as more than a student.”

  Sal tried to say something, but Rory added a third finger, crooked his fingers just so, and all he could do was moan his pleasure and reach greedily for Rory. The fingers slid free, and Rory slid a condom on his cock, and then finally he was pushing inside, slowly at first as Sal hissed. When Sal nodded, though, and dug his nails into Rory’s skin, eager for more, he thrust in hard, rocking them both. Fully seated, he bent to give Sal a deep, hungry kiss.

  Pulling back, he pulled Sal’s legs up onto his shoulders and began to move, slowly at first, but the pace quickened until he was pounding into Sal with everything he had, driving him into the mattress, slamming the mattress into the wall, and Sal thought briefly of neighbors, but then stopped caring. Rory bent to kiss him again, and Sal took it greedily. When Rory shifted, offering his neck, Sal immediately accepted the offer. He sank his fangs into Rory’s throat and drank as Rory shuddered in his arms and the hand around his cock finished him off.

  When they eventually collapsed in a tangled, sweaty pile on the bed, it was several minutes before Sal could bring his brain back around to functioning properly. All he could smell was Rory and sex, and he was almost too hot from the combination of exertion and the heat pouring off Rory. True to wolf form, Rory was clingy, and whenever Sal shifted just the slightest bit, he only got held that much tighter for his trouble.

  “If I had known it was this easy—”

  “Shut up,” Sal cut in. “I’m not easy, and six months ago I would have sent you packing. I can’t believe you turn tricks.” Rory shrugged, and said nothing, but Sal could feel him all but vibrating with tension. Sal kissed his brow. “I don’t care that you do, just surprised. I’m the one who bought your services for the next few hours; it would be pretty rich if I took issue with it.”

  Rory nodded, shifting so he could touch fingers to his neck. “You’ve got a nice bite.”

  “Did I hurt you?” Sal asked, guilt washing through him even as his mouth watered for another taste.

  Laughing, Rory dropped his hand and snuggled close again, lapping at Sal’s chest. “Not even. I feel great. So worth suffering through two semesters of history.”

  Sal rolled his eyes. “Speaking of, I am fairly certain you should not still be in town. Why are you still here?”

  Rory abruptly flushed. Sal stared, surprised. Rory had once fallen asleep in class, and Sal had woken him up by slamming a hand on his desk. Rory had yelped and fallen out of his seat, but even then he had not flushed. He’d just laughed, apologized, and sat back down. So why was he embarrassed now? “I was thinking of joining the local pack, staying around. I’ve already got an internship with the local paper, and this e-zine bought one of my short stories. I, uh … I thought it would be nice to stay.”

  “Stay,” Sal repeated, thinking of all the places Rory should have been going, as bright and hardworking as he was. “You’re staying in this little town, writing for a small time paper and turning tricks for fun because …”

  Instead of replying, Rory just tried to burrow into Sal’s chest to hide. Sal was having none of that. He shifted and pushed Rory down into the bedding, then straddled him. He really needed to shower, they both did, but right now Rory and whatever was going on in his pretty head was more important than the fact they were sticky with drying come. “Why are you still here, Rory?”

  Rory’s eyes slid away, but he muttered, “Because you smell right.”

  Sal blew out an irritated breath, refusing to acknowledge the way his heart kicked up a notch at those words. “Ridiculous. I’m a vampire; we don’t smell right to werewolves, and all that mate nonsense is precisely that, anyway. It’s been proven.”

  “I don’t fucking care who has proven what!” Rory snapped, green eyes suddenly blazing. “You smell right! I don’t want to leave and never smell you again, never see you! Do you know how many times I walked to your house and stood on your porch trying to work up the nerve to knock on your door? But I knew you’d turn me away. You smell right, and I don’t care if even you laugh at me for saying it.”

  For a moment, Sal couldn’t think what to say, too blown away by the words and the vehemence behind them to even think straight. Finally, he just shook his head and said, “Idiot. You should have knocked. I clearly have no self-control where you’re concerned. You’re half the reason my craving for werewolf has become so out of control.”

  The tension bled from Rory’s body, and his smile made it impossible to do anything, but smile back.

  “You should still be doing something more—”

  “Oh, to hell with that,” Rory said. “I don’t want to be some big something. I’ve seen what that does to my parents. I like being a small time reporter with the exciting job of writing up the high school science fair, taking pictures of the flower club’s donation to the city park, and going home to my boyfriend at night to listen to him bitch about freshmen papers.”

  Sal smiled softly. “Do you? Even if said boyfriend is a vampire on the fringe of everything and several decades older than you?”

  Rory yanked him down, making Sal grunt as their heads knocked together. Shifting, he kissed Sal’s forehead, then took his mouth, and Sal supposed that was all the answer he needed. “I hope you realize you’re quitting your side job.”

  “Obviously,” Rory said, rolling his eyes, smiling as he took another kiss.

  The Visitor by Rukaya Hamdi

  Connell sat on the ground with his back pressed against the folds of the double bed, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his favourite double-barreled rifle clutched in the other.

  Just like before, the beast would come for him and this time when it did he would splatter its brains across the back wall of his cabin.

  He took a swig of the hard liquor, swallowing it down and relishing the harsh burn as it trailed down the back of his throat. The pain felt dulled already from when he had first propped himself onto the hard wood floor hours before, but it wasn’t dull enough.

  When he could feel nothing at all, then he would stop.

  Without realizing what he was doing, Connell’s eyes fixed on the picture frame sitting above the mantle. He looked away quickly, but it didn’t matter
, he had already seen.

  “Damn it, Brennan,” he whispered.

  He knew the ginger wasn’t here. He couldn’t feel him here the way that people always said they could when someone they loved died. He could feel nothing but gaping, agonizing emptiness and he knew that wherever Brennan had gone to when that monster had torn him up, he sure as hell hadn’t come here.

  “Bastard,” Connell muttered.

  The thought had him bringing the wet tip of the glass bottle to his trembling lips and taking another long swallow. His eyes landed on the picture again, fixing on the bright green eyes and pale skin, and the freckles--god how he’d hated them at first.

  His throat closed over the fluid and he bent double, coughing and fighting for breath.

  When finally he could breathe again, tears were stinging his eyes hard. For a strained moment he was sure it was the result of choking and then they started to spill from his eyes and he couldn’t deny the truth.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he cursed. If only his grandmother could hear all this. She would love his colorful language almost as much as she’d approve of the man he was using it for. In her eyes it was probably too late for him to redeem his masculinity anyway but he didn’t care. All he’d really cared about for a long time was Brennan. And the bastard was gone now.

  “You know I don’t miss you,” he choked.

  There he went again. Talking to a dead boy who didn’t even have the grace to haunt him like a proper lover should.

  “I don’t miss you and your damned freckles!” he insisted. His voice sounded different. Why did he sound like such a damned pansy? He was suddenly glad that Brennan couldn’t hear him. “I don’t miss you, it’s just the drink talking.”

  He held up the alcohol as if to prove it to himself, but all it proved was what a fool he was, sitting alone in the cabin arguing to himself.

  Fine, he could admit it if he had to. The sight of Brennan’s body ravaged and lifeless in the grass had forced him to replace his lover with alcohol in the short months since his death.