In the Shadow of the Wolf Read online

  With his knee, he pushed her legs apart. He shifted once more above her.

  She couldn't catch her breath as she took in his size and power, his strength and beauty.

  He eased his cock into her.

  Sayuri gasped in pleasure. She would never grow accustomed to the way he filled her, stretched her, the way he turned her body to liquid heat. Every deep stroke of his cock built a craving for more, had her hands urgently caressing the defined muscles of his back, had her lips moving over his neck, his chest.

  Faolan worked at maintaining dominance over his beast, called on the discipline of control that he'd taught himself for years. But her mouth and the feel of her hands on his body were driving him insane. Her pussy was so tight as the walls of her sex gripped him, like kerosene on the flames of his desire. Internally he struggled as the beast in him fought for dominion. Incensed by his animal hunger, his body began moving harder, faster, plunging his cock into her, merging their bodies, their souls.

  She moaned in pleasure as he continued to thrust into her depths. Unknowingly, she dug her fingernails into his back as wave after wave of orgasm coursed through her body.

  The need in her spurred him on. He gave in to the fire before his beast could consume him. He plunged into her pussy, her tight, hot grip bringing him to the edge. He growled his satisfaction as he pulled out and spilled his seed.

  He fell beside her slender body on the bed, momentarily sated.

  His hand stroked the length of her hair where it lay against her back. His touch melted her insides right down to her core.

  Sayuri closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him stroking her.

  Faolan ran his hand along the nape of her neck, his fingers soothing her skin.

  She ran her hands along his shoulders then through his thick dark hair.

  "Would you call this love or possession?"

  She bent her head to press her lips against the hollow of his sternum, to slip her tongue over skin above his heart.

  His body responded with fierce need, his gut clenching tightly.

  Sayuri smiled with pleasure at the feel of his hard cock burning against her skin. She no longer had any inhibitions when she lay with him, only a fierce need to burn passionately with him. The tips of her fingers brushed the head of his cock, curling around the weighty thickness of him, sending hunger coursing through him.

  She was teasing his beast, but he didn't have the will to stop her, nor did he want to stop her.

  He curled her hair around his hands, making two tight fists.

  When her mouth trailed over his stomach leaving a path of fire in its wake, he couldn't help but close his eyes. Wherever she touched him, her hot, moist mouth followed. Her mouth was driving him insane. A low, ominous growl escaped him, the beast within him roaring its pleasure, needing animal satisfaction.

  She raked her fingernails lightly along the hard column of his thighs, the sensation making his blood boil, desire coiling deep inside of him. His thoughts became a blur, a red haze of need and desire, love and hunger. He longed for her touch, her hands, her soft kisses that transformed him into a perpetual flame.

  He took possession of her mouth, their tongues dancing, entwining.

  He broke the kiss, his voice husky with desire as he spoke. "Say that you want me."

  His lips trailed over the curve of her neck, consumed an aching breast. Every hard pull of his mouth sent an answering rush of liquid heat to her core.

  She answered him without hesitation. "I do," she said, although she could barely catch her breath her need was so great. Seeking relief, she pressed herself against him, wrapping a leg around his.

  His deft fingers probed the folds of her pussy, stroking, caressing.

  Inside she suffered as she moved in rhythm against his hand. She was desperate for release, consumed by fire, hurting, aching.

  Faolan slid her ever so slowly down his taut belly until she was pressed against the head of his cock. The heat of her pussy seared the flesh of his swollen cock, beckoned for his swift possession.

  Sayuri slipped her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his hips, opening herself up to him. He pushed her body down further, impaling her on the thick length of his shaft so that she encompassed his dick with such a wet, tight sheath that he shuddered, the feeling far beyond mere pleasure.

  He felt her nails dig into his shoulders as he pushed his cock deeper, began to pump into her in a long, slow rhythm, his body laying claim to hers with long, deep, penetrating strokes.

  He continued to take them to new heights, lapping her nipples with his tongue, cupping her ass possessively with his hands. He pumped harder, deeper, turning them so that he could lay her half across the end of the bed, so that he could drive them closer and closer to the precipice. He felt the walls of her pussy quiver, tighten, pull at his cock, once, twice.

  She cried out with pleasure as her orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave until she thought she couldn't handle any more.

  He continued to bury his cock in her pussy.

  A soft growl of satisfaction rumbled deep in his throat, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

  He suddenly became aggressive, his hands lifting her hips so that he could force her harder onto his cock. He surged into her relentlessly, filling her, stretching her to her limits.

  The fire built higher and higher until she was sure they would both go up in flames.

  His lips moved over her skin, devouring her flesh as he plundered her depths. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, erotic and burning.

  She heard herself screaming his name as the pleasure rocked her, dug her nails into his back to hold on. They exploded together, disintegrating, soaring into oblivion.

  Faolan gave a throaty growl as he pulled out, spilling his seed.

  Exhausted, drowsy, he studied her face.

  He pulled her against him, cradling her in his arms.

  His breath was ragged as he lay atop her, nuzzling her neck. "Do you see what happens when you tempt a wolf, woman?"

  THE END

  Read an excerpt of an upcoming book by Mandy Monroe:

  PALE MOON RISING

  By

  Mandy Monroe

  Chapter One

  Bronwyn's breath came in short gasps as she struggled up the castle steps, clenching the wadded layers of dress in her hands tightly. She stopped short at the first window overlooking the courtyard and the front gate. Taking very deep breaths, she tried to regain a measure of normal breath and heartbeat long enough to hear what she could while the rowdy party of men below was still in the courtyard, before their horses galloped past the main gate and into the wooded area of the estate that lay beyond beneath the pale moon rising.

  Two servants carrying linens to prepare bedrooms for the unexpected guests startled Bronwyn as they rounded the curve of the stairs.

  "I'll feel a might bit safer knowing they have killed the last of those devil cats tonight . . . ."

  Bronwyn didn't catch the rest of what the woman was saying. It felt like her heart had gotten lodged into her throat. The last . . . . The duke had set out with her father to kill the last tiger. Outrage at the injustice of it all surged through her, empowering her limbs, speeding the adrenaline she needed to make it down the stairs faster and out of the main hall of the castle. She threw the castle door wide, not bothering to close it. She couldn't spare a moment. She had to catch up with them. She had to stop them.

  The light from the moon made it possible for her to find her pony in the barn quickly enough. She grabbed her saddle and threw it on Beauty, cinching the belt around her belly tight before putting a booted foot in the stirrup and hoisting herself up and onto the pony's back. With a swift kick, they were off. The pony was no match for the fine bred horses that the duke and her father had taken, and the others had a good lead. If she was fortunate, they wouldn't locate the tiger at all. If she was not . . . .

  Bronwyn tried not to think abou
t it. She had been horrified when her father had told her today on her tenth birthday that she would some day wed the duke. He had been so full of pride at his announcement that he hadn't seen her total look of horror. She hadn't just been filled with dismay but disgust. She would never have suspected that when the duke had invited them to tour his estate weeks earlier that he was serenading her father, trying to win his fancy for the future investment of her and her dowry. The duke had delighted in taking them through a detailed account of how he had brutally murdered each and every decapitated head in his dining hall. She had been so eaten with sickness at his callousness and arrogant disregard for life that she had had to excuse herself, running as far away from the terrifying images as she could. And now he was out to add one more to his collection. But not if she could help it.

  Her pony whinied in complaint as she encouraged it to gallop faster through the glade before the thickening forest.

  "Please, ole girl. Tonight we need your speed."

  Just before they reached the treeline, Bronwyn heard a strange sound. She pulled the pony to a stop and turned it around, looking around for the source of the noise. It came again, like a baby crying in the night. A chill crept up her spine as she dismounted, letting the reins trail in the grass as her gaze became absorbed in a small copse of trees just outside the main thicket of the forest. Slight movement at the base of the trees caught her attention, and she heard what sounded like animals scuffling. She wasn't sure what drew her, but she couldn't stop herself. Something commanded her to discover what was in those bushes. Fear stabbed into her though. There was no telling what lay in wait, but she moved on still, watching as the moonlight danced over the leaves of the bushes like water. And then, she shrieked as two small orange fur balls rolled out of the bushes and landed on her boots. They hit her boots with a thud, landing perfectly on their backs, looking up at her with wide blue eyes.

  Bronwyn had never seen anything more beautiful, more precious, in her life. The tiger had cubs. She didn't have time to think, she just acted on impulse. She grabbed the cubs up in her arms and ran to her pony. Clicking her tongue at the pony as it danced away a little, smelling the scent of the baby tigers.

  "Hush girl. It's alright," Bronwyn assured her.

  Opening each flap of her saddlebags, Bronwyn deposited one cub in each bag, laying the flaps over their heads and tying them so they couldn't escape but could still breathe. Hopefully, if nothing else, she could rescue the babies.

  A shout rang out through the night just as she had fastened the second bag, it wasn't far, and Bronwyn could just make out the words, "We have her now!"

  Fear clutched at Bronwyn's heart. The mother! They were going to kill her! Leaving the pony and the cubs at a safe distance from the hunting party, Bronwyn dashed into the forest. The men were only a stone's throw away, she could see them through the thick ferns of the forest. She could see several men thrusting sticks and fire at the tiger. She hissed and clawed at them, drawing blood on one man's arm that got too close. The man screamed in agony and fell to the ground, gripping his arm and looking at it in total shock and horror. The tiger slapped at his head with her claws extended, sending him to the ground never to get up again. The crowd of men visibly jumped back at that and created just enough room for Bronwyn to dash through their lines. She stood in front of the tiger, her arms outspread, hoping that the tiger wouldn't eat her while she tried to defend it.

  "Please! Stop! Don't kill her! You can't!" Bronwyn screamed at the men. "Father . . . ."

  Before she could finish, a man dragged her away from in front of the tiger and the duke stepped forward, his blade extended. He briefly looked over at Bronwyn with a feral grin on his face before he slashed the tiger's throat.

  Bronwyn screamed in horror, tears filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. "No!"

  But it was too late. The duke had delivered the death blow.

  Bronwyn ran to the tiger, dropping to her knees before it, cradling its head in her arms. She had failed. She was too late. Tears of anger and sadness coated the tiger's head.

  Before the mother was gone, though, she wiggled a little and Bronwyn's embrace, struggling for something, until she finally cut Bronwyn's arm with her teeth, just slightly.

  The blood trickled down her arm, unheeded.

  And then, the mother tiger was gone. Bronwyn could feel her give up the struggle.

  She kept the cubs without detection for a year, just long enough to make sure they would survive on their own. On her eleventh birthday, she snuck out of the castle and, guided by moonlight, took the cubs to an estate away from her own and her neighbor, the duke. She cried when she released them, as she had grown so fond of them, but she knew she couldn't keep them with her forever. And besides, they didn't belong caged up in the castle. They were wild, and they belonged in the wild. So it was with a sad heart that she said farewell and then returned to her castle, sure she would never see them again, hoping in her heart that they would live out their lives happy and free and away from the evil clutches of the Duke of Craigmore.

  Chapter Two

  Years Later

  Demetrius and Lisander Tremaine examined the small village just outside of the Craigmore estate, their polished horses pawing at the filthy dirt street that accounted for the main road.

  "Why, Lisander, I do believe our horses don't approve of the state of our surroundings," Demetrius deduced, a half-smile pulling at his mouth.

  Lisander's dark brow furrowed as he stopped examining the village and took in the horses' snobbish behavior.

  "You are right, brother, but it is not for them to decide."

  In all the years the years integrating into human society and building a name, reputation, and wealth, Lisander had never lost sight of their goal . . . to rescue Bronwyn. Now that the humans would take them seriously, it was finally time to find her, to court her, for one of them to woo and marry her. He eyed his brother warily, wondering if he was having the same thoughts. Demetrius was going to be tough competition. He was still just as enamored with Bronwyn as he was. They had both had their fair share of debutantes and their stonewall mothers try to entangle them in matrimony. They had been called rakes, among many other things, but eventually society had decided that the Tremaine brothers were just not the marrying type. What the rest of the world couldn't know or understand was that their hearts were already taken and had been for many years.

  A filthy boy in raggedy clothing broke into Lisander's train of thought. "Can I take your horse, fine sir?" the boy asked quietly, bowing his head respectfully and wringing his hands nervously before the pair.

  Dismounting, Lisander didn't glance at the boy as he handed him the reins to his steed, looking at his brother as he flipped back his black coat and delved his forefinger and thumb into a small pocket on the front of his fine vest. "There is only one inn," he said, stating the obvious. Fishing out two gold coins, he turned toward the inn and set a determined pace for it, tossing the coins over his shoulder at the boy.

  The boy scrambled to catch the coins with both hands, still grasping the reins that had been thrust at him. "Thank you kindly sire!" he exclaimed.

  Lisander scowled at the boy's enthusiasm. It was likely the boy wouldn't keep the money long. If he had any family, they would probably take it from him. And if he had no family, then someone in the village would likely thrash him and take it once they discovered he had it. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Demetrius led the way into the inn. They discovered as they entered that the front was a bar.

  Deciding he needed a pint, more to steady his nerves than to relax his muscles from the long ride, Lisander made his way over to one of the three tables that occupied the bar, sitting on an unsteady looking rotten chair. He eased cautiously into the seat, testing his weight little by little until he was sure that it would indeed hold him.

  Demetrius showed no such concern for his own well-being. He flopped onto the chair opposite Lisander with nonchalance. His chair groaned
in protest but held just the same.

  Lisander scowled darkly at Demetrius. He had no tact, no common sense. The older by minutes, he had always tried to beat some sense into him, but it was hard when they had had to raise themselves. The world was no place for the young to be alone. And it had been particularly hard on their kind.

  "Drought of ale for you fine sirs?" a comely bar wench with missing teeth cooed as she batted her lashes and swayed her hips provocatively in front of Lisander and Demetrius.

  Demetrius smiled in amusement at her blatant overture, fishing a gold silver coin out of a small pocket in his tailored suit. "This should cover us," he said, placing the coin in her palm with one hand while he held her wrist in the other, letting his fingers slide off the coin and skim her palm.

  The bar wench visibly trembled all over, and her eyes became wide when she looked at the coin he had given her. "Well . . . oh my," she stammered, her cheeks flaming at his attention.

  The dark somber thundercloud that was Lisander glared threateningly at Demetrius, but he was pointedly ignored.

  Demetrius released the woman, and she teetered for a moment, her legs having become slightly wobbly in her excitement.

  Lisander groaned inwardly at the display Demetrius was making. He had always been a terrible flirt. He knew he couldn't help it, but it still bothered him. And what was worse, was that he just enjoyed flirting, he didn't want anything more. But you couldn't convince the women of that. Of course, Lisander had never given any of the women that had fawned on the two of them scarcely a glance, and they had taken after him as well. He theorized it was the wealth. They were young and wealthy and eligible, that was all it took for society to desire you.

  "We have come to visit a friend, Bronwyn of Argyll."