Baiting the Beast (Virgin Werewolf Beast Erotic Romance) Read online

  Baiting the Beast

  Ava Lore

  Copyright 2012 Ava Lore

  Nook Edition

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  Nook Edition, License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, the please return to Barnes and Noble and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  A moment of lucidity. The dark of the moon.

  He was freezing cold. Garbage surrounded him. The stink of rotting meat and vegetables. The scratch of cardboard covering his naked body and the sour, acrid smell of spilled milk on his skin. A whiff of cleaning products scoured his nose, and he coughed. The movement caused a minor landslide somewhere in the pile of refuse, and something heavy hit thick metal.

  A dumpster. He must be in a dumpster.

  Subject Number Four had never seen a dumpster before... or had he? He couldn't remember, only knew that a large metal container filled with garbage such as this was a dumpster. Whether this was a nugget of knowledge grafted onto his brain by his captors or a memory of a life before this one he could not say. All he knew was that he was still free. Still beyond their grasp. He had eluded them for another month. Absently he lifted a hand to the stump where his ear used to be—the place where they had implanted the chip. But like a fox in a trap, he had left it behind in order to escape.

  He wanted a shower. He needed one. His human nose was far less delicate than his lupine snout, but his human stomach had issues with what he could smell. And he smelled terrible.

  Slowly, Four unfolded, stretching out his human limbs, so unfamiliar now—had they ever been familiar? was he just a wolf having a nightmare?—and peeked over the side of the dumpster.

  A lonely highway. The sun setting in the west. The empty sky above, studded with stars, brilliant away from the lights of the city. A roadside gas station. Trees stretching out all around. Middle of nowhere.

  Nowhere.

  He began to shiver.

  Nowhere to bathe. A stream wouldn't do, not in this cold. And he had nothing with which to clothe himself. He needed to find something, quickly. The nip of frost in the air nibbled at his skin.

  Swallowing bile, Four climbed over the side of the dumpster and into the shadows. Keeping to the darkness, he slipped into the trees and took off running.

  *

  Hundreds of miles away, a young woman lay on a bed, the blankets wrapped around her, and sweated through a nightmare she had endured many times before. Or, if she was going to be honest with herself, a dream she had come to regard as a nightmare.

  She ran through a primeval forest. Bare branches snagged her hair and clothes, roots rose up to trip her, leaves slapped against her face. The moonlight shone so strongly it was almost as bright as day, and the silvery light laid stark shadows out across the woods. She leaped between them, from pool of silver light to pool of silver light, her heart stopping each time the shadows touched her.

  She was running from something.

  Her heart pounded as she dodged between the trees, sprang over fallen trunks. Behind her heavy footsteps rang out, crashing, splintering, heavy breath and deep growls—

  And like always, she tripped and fell and her pursuer was upon her.

  Hot breath on her neck, teeth in her shoulder. She threw her head back and screamed as claws ripped her clothes away, scoring the flesh beneath them in long angry marks. Furred arms wrapped around her, holding her tight against a hot, hairy body far larger than that of any man, and something hard and slick probed her virgin entrance.

  And she liked it.

  As though they had fucked many times before, the creature behind her entered her in a long, swift stroke, and she shrieked with pleasure as its cock filled her aching core to the brim. Face down in the dirt, her captor fucked her tight hole, filling her over and over again, dizzily, dreamily, and she felt something inside her begin to mount, the aching prelude to the release she could only find in dreams.

  Her shrieks turned to moans turned to silence as her body tightened, her throat closing with the ecstasy of the huge cock in her pussy. She writhed with each violent thrust, gasping, struggling for breath, and then—

  —she woke up.

  Bonnie Randal lay in her bed and sobbed, her body hovering on the edge of release, but not quite there. She knew from years of experience that she would never be able to bring that release herself, but nevertheless she yanked and twisted until her arms were free of the twining blankets, and shoved her fingers into her crotch. One hand frantically worked her straining clit while the other plunged her fingertips into her pussy. A flash of familiar pain met her hands and she cried out in frustration this time. Harder and harder she rubbed her pussy, hoping and praying that tonight she would finally be able to bring herself to orgasm, but the harder she tried, the drier she became and the further the pleasure of her dream receded.

  Finally she gave up and collapsed into her pillow, tears of desperation leaking from the corners of her eyes. She would have given anything to be able to come by her own hands, or anyone else's hands, even, but her release always eluded her.

  Except in dreams. Except when her monster lover captured her and lifted her up and fucked her until she died a little death impaled on his cock.

  She was sick. Sick in the head.

  Bonnie lay awake for a long time before rubbing her face and hauling herself out of bed. Dream-haunted, she sat down in front of her computer and, for the first time, felt utterly defeated by her body. She'd searched many times for an explanation for her problem, but she'd never found one.

  Maybe it was time to just start looking for a cure?

  She put her fingers to the keys and began to type.

  Chapter One

  Bonnie Randal's first inkling that things were going to go badly for her occurred when she woke up in handcuffs and chains in the back of a moving car she didn't recognize. Her head hurt something fierce, and she couldn't quite get her eyes to focus.

  The wooziness of whatever drug she'd been slipped covered her like a down blanket, soft and soothing, but underneath it lurked a cold, bitter fear. The fear was happening far away, to someone else it seemed, but it was there. And when she sobered up fully it was going to hit her like a sledgehammer to the brain.

  Well, she thought. Better sort some things out now, while I'm not yet crazed with panic. She closed her eyes again and forced her breathing into a slow, deep rhythm, hoping her captors hadn't noticed her waking up. Then she let her mind clear, as if she were in her dojo, and cast back in her memory.

  A nice room. Somewhat dim. Terrible paintings on the walls. Five month old magazines on the tables. Chairs upholstered in granny florals. Warmth. A cool glass in her hand...

  Ah, yes. That was right. The last thing she remembered was gladly gulping down a glass of orange juice in the waiting room at a doctor's office. Not her regular doctor, of course, but a gynecologist she'd never met before who liked to keep the office at about eighty-five degrees. Bonnie recalled actually sweating, even though it was the middle of January, and feeling extremely grateful for the drink.

  Obviously that drink had been spiked. In fact, she had to suspect that the whole reason the offi
ce was so hot in the first place was so she would happily slurp down whatever they gave her, and if it tasted weird she wouldn't even notice.

  Fuck, she thought. I never should have volunteered for that medical trial.

  Yeah. Understatement of the year.

  In hindsight, she should have seen the red flags right away. What kind of fucking medical trial paid three thousand dollars for participation? She'd rationalized it was because the only requirement was to be a female virgin above the age of eighteen who had never achieved orgasm through manual stimulation, and those ladies were in short supply. Three thousand dollars was hard to turn down, especially if you were a broke med student scraping by on loans. And she'd checked through her contacts at school. The company had been legit. One of her instructors had even heard of one of people running the study, though she hadn't been able to recall off the top of her head why that name should sound familiar to her.

  Bonnie knew she should have protested at the gynecological exam, the one they insisted on to make certain she was a virgin. Everyone knew that the hymen could be worn away over time, without even any penetration of anything. It was ridiculous. And yet she still had hers, apparently. The doctor had smiled at her when he found it.

  "Are you staying pure for religious reasons?" he'd asked her, which she'd thought was a creepy question, but she'd shaken her head.

  "Nope," she'd said. "Just haven't found the right guy yet."

  And now she and her intact hymen were trussed up by god-knew-who in a moving vehicle going god-knew-where. Should have stopped being frigid, she thought to herself. Wouldn't be in this position if you'd just fucking relax and let some guy stick it in you. Not that she hadn't tried...

  No. Focus. Here and now.

  Still breathing deeply, Bonnie squirmed very, very slowly, testing her bonds. Cold steel bit into her wrists, circled her ankles and calves, and with each unyielding direction she felt a prick of fear spear through the warm, fuzzy drugged up haze. Trussed up like a turkey. And stripped down. Her tights were missing, as were her boots. And her underwear. Her heavy wool skirt seemed intact, though now it scratched against her bare skin, and her undershirt and sweater still wrapped her upper body, but her bra was missing.

  All in all, she decided woozily, not good signs.

  "I know you're awake."

  The voice cut through her fuzzy thoughts. The jig was up. Bonnie opened her eyes and tried to focus on the person sitting next to her.

  A man. A tall man. That was all she could see in the darkness of the car. They were not on a road with many lights, and the dulled illumination of the dashboard didn't reach to the back seat. She sat in near total darkness with a man she didn't know.

  Another prick of fear. Larger. A stab. She was going to get raped, or sold on the black market and then raped, or raped and murdered and there was nothing she could do about it...

  The peace of her meditative breathing shattered, and Bonnie sat up and scooted as far away from the dark figure as she could, smashing herself against the door. The door... if she could open it, if she could somehow tuck and roll with her hands bound and her feet chained...

  No. That was stupid. Even if she didn't smash her head open somehow, where would she go? A glance out the windows revealed they were far out in the wilderness, far from the city lights. The nearest big city was Dallas, and its incandescence could be seen for miles. Twenty miles, fifty miles... In the glow of the headlights, trees raced past them, shadowy figures arching over the roadway. East Texas, maybe, or perhaps all the way over to Arkansas...

  Shit. Her pulse picked up the pace and her muscles coiled in anticipation of a fight. She turned back to the man sitting next to her in the back seat.

  He leaned against the other door, staring at her. She could see in the slant of his shoulders that he found her curious. Interesting. But not in any way a threat. And of course she wasn't a threat. She was drugged and bound. No amount of Aikido training would help her now, except to calm herself, center herself. Find the tranquility in the chaos. Which was ironic, since she'd taken up martial arts to give herself some kind of physical outlet since she was apparently incapable of receiving orgasms or having sex. Just a pale substitute for the real thing, and in this case no substitute at all.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Where are you taking me?" she said, and she was pleased to hear her voice steady and cool.

  Her backseat partner chuckled. "Does it matter?"

  Bonnie shrugged, tried to be nonchalant. "I just want to know if we'll be there soon," she said. "I'd like to stretch my legs."

  "I'm sure you would," her shadowy companion said. "Well, then, don't worry. We are nearly there."

  She waited to see if he would volunteer any more information, but he didn't. And why would he? If ignorance kept her more pliable than knowledge would, she was certain he would keep her ignorant. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.

  "What do you want with me?" she asked.

  "Nothing that concerns you," he said. "You will be asked to play a part. That is all."

  "And you couldn't have simply asked me to play this part, because...?"

  "Because no sane person would," he replied.

  She licked her lips. "What part do you want me to play?"

  In the dimness, she saw his face change. A smile. "You are already playing it beautifully," he said. "Just relax. It will all be over soon."

  Bonnie closed her eyes. She wanted to ask him if he was going to rape her, or kill her, but she found that she didn't have the courage, and the fear, though sharper now, was still swaddled in the blanket of drugs. Her thoughts were dull, and her fear was dull. There wasn't the urgency she knew she should have, and so she was not spurred to press him for details.

  Very well, she thought. Knowing what he wanted from her wasn't going to help her. What she needed to do was get away. That was all she needed to focus on. Knowledge would only increase her fear, and fear would get in the way. So Bonnie sat placidly and ran her fingers over her restraints.

  Handcuffs. Fine. She knew handcuffs could be picked, but she didn't have anything to pick them with, and even if she did she didn't know the first thing about picking locks. The chains around her ankles were a different story. She might be able to work her feet from them, though she doubted it. She'd probably have better luck breaking a hand and slipping it from the cuffs.

  And where would that leave you? she wondered. A broken hand. Bound feet. Nothing. She'd be a sitting duck, even more so than she was now. What else, what else?

  She wracked her brain, but by the time the car slowed down, she had come up with nothing. Faking a seizure was out for now, but she kept it in the back of her mind for later. Other than that, she had to wait. Wait and see.

  Leaning against the window, Bonnie looked up at the sky, hoping for something with which to orient herself, but all she saw was a sliver of the waxing moon, dancing in and out of the bare tree branches above.

  No lights. No road signs.

  The middle of nowhere.

  *

  Before the door even opened, her backseat companion placed a bag over her head, like a prisoner going forth to execution. The drugs were almost completely gone from her system by this time, and the fear and panic bubbled up beneath her tongue, a vile, acrid taste, and she reached up to rip it away, but a grip of iron closed around her arms.

  “I wouldn't,” he said, and the threat of violence in his voice was enough to still her hands.

  Next to her the door opened, and she nearly spilled out of it, but more strong masculine hands caught her and dragged her out into the chilly night. Bonnie staggered, trying to gain her footing, but the chains around her ankles precluded any kind of balance, and as she stumbled and fell still more hands grabbed her. On her body they were like parasites, horrible things that had latched onto her and sought only to take and take and take. The wild thought ran through her like electricity and she thrashed, a flash of pure dread obliterating what little calm she
had found.

  Pain bloomed over her cheek. The world reeled. Someone had struck her across the face.

  Shocked, Bonnie sagged in her captors' grip, dazed and in pain. The strong hands lifted her up and then laid her down on something firm, but yielding. She knew what it was immediately.

  They'd placed her on a stretcher. As though she were a corpse or someone gravely ill. Already an object. Already dead. The darkness inside the bag over her head was total and complete. Even the feeble light of the moon would have been welcome now.

  Bonnie held her breath as the stretcher bobbed up. Her hands, still cuffed, wove together in front of her stomach, and she willed the knot of fear inside it to dissolve. It remained.

  The world tipped and swayed. Footsteps crunched through leaves. The chill of the night and the coming winter soaked into her bones and she began to shiver.

  Her captors spoke quietly as they carried her. She recognized the voice of her backseat companion, and he spoke in monosyllables to other people. Bonnie couldn't tell how many there were, but they were all men.

  In the back of her head, at the base of her brain, the little lizard part of her, the part concerned only with survival, the part that had kept her ancestors alive in the dim prehistory of the world, flashed to life. Fight or flight, fight or flight—

  She could do neither. Her panic grew, and only her martial arts training kept her from screaming. But perhaps she should scream. Perhaps someone would hear her?

  No. That would get her gagged as well as bound. She needed to remain as free as possible, searching for the opportune moment. If it hadn't already passed her by. That was the trouble with opportune moments. They seemed to slip by quickly, with hardly a peep sometimes, and you never knew until days or years later.

  Now she needed to figure out where her opportune moment was, or she might not have any days left.

  Think, she commanded herself. Think. They must want her alive, or they would have killed her by now. That meant they needed her to be warm and living. Though that wasn't much to go on, it ruled out any sort of cannibalism or feeding her to lions. She would be a lot easier to transport if she were simply cold lumps of meat and bone rather than a living breathing person.