BLOOD RED
Once Upon a Midnight Moon
Zayne Michaels
Copyright © 2013
BLOOD RED
Copyright © 2013 by Zayne Michaels
Cover art by Sloan Winters
Published by UnScripted INC.
ISBN: 978-1-940637-00-6
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and
is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons
living or dead is strictly coincidental.
DEDICATION
For those who have found their happily-ever-afters and for those still searching.
Sometimes, fairy tale endings are found in unusual places.
Chapter One
“You shouldn’t be traveling alone in these woods at night.” The old, cloaked beggar
appeared in front of him on the trail, seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s not safe for someone
so young.”
Declan Collins smiled in acknowledgement, but Trappers Grove had been his home for
twenty-four years. Of course, there were dangers in the forest, especially in the darkest
hours after midnight. He’d walked the same path to his small cottage a thousand times
without incident, though.
“Thank you for your concern, but it’s not much farther.”
Finding a stranger so deep in the woods might seem odd or even ominous to some, but
Declan had encountered much stranger during his walks. After all, a variety of paranormal
creatures called Trappers Grove home, living in secret amongst the sprinkling of humans.
Besides, he wasn’t complete without his defenses. He might rank low in the paranormal
food chain, but his powers were more than enough to protect him from some human. A
little of his magic went a long way, but thankfully, he rarely needed to use it.
Zipping his hooded sweatshirt to keep out the biting wind, he nodded once and
continued forward along the moonlit trail. He put the old man from his mind, thinking
nothing more of him until he neared his cabin by the winding stream. It was a quaint abode
filled with simple things, but to Declan, it was home.
Lifting the canvas tote higher on his arm, he settled the handle into the crook of his
elbow and sighed. He truly loved his home and the seclusion of the forest, but sometimes
after the long trek into town, he had a hard time remembering why.
He’d thought of purchasing a car, but he doubted anything larger than a motorcycle
could navigate the winding trails of the forest. Beyond that, he really couldn’t afford it. He
missed his parents, and he didn’t blame them for their deaths. Sometimes, however, he
couldn’t help but feel that they’d left him with more debt and responsibility than he could
handle.
“These woods are dangerous for one so young,” the old man called to him from the
rocking chair on Declan’s front porch.
Stopping in his tracks, Declan squinted into the darkness, but he could make out
nothing more than a shadowy figure. “How?” He glanced over his shoulder and then back
to his cottage while his lips turned down at their corners. “How did you get here so
quickly?”
“The forest is treacherous,” the man answered.
“Yes, you’ve said that.” Less afraid and more irritated, Declan huffed a disgruntled
sigh, squared his shoulders, and marched forward. “Look, I’m really not that young. I can
take care of myself. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day, and you really need to
le—”
Declan sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled backward when the stranger appear
directly in front of him. “Don’t be afraid.” His low, growling tone didn’t match his words,
though.
The hood fell away from his face, revealing not an old beggar, but an incredibly
handsome man, not much older than Declan himself. His head tilted to one side in a curious
manner as his lips parted, curling into a wicked grin that revealed long, pointed canines.
“Oh,” Declan gasped. “What—what big teeth you have.”
“Don’t be afraid,” the stranger repeated. “This won’t hurt…for long.”
* * * *
“I don’t understand. Why is this one so important?” In the four months since he’d been
turned, never once had they deviated from the plan.
Cashel chose the venue for these games, normally some biker bar or seedy pub on the
outskirts of the city limits. However, he did allow Declan to choose the targets.
Declan always chose. Drifters, ramblers, and those of questionable morals weren’t
likely to be missed, and it did ease some of the guilt he felt about his involvement. He
didn’t know what made this time special or why Cashel had chosen this particular woman,
but he doubted it would lead to anything good.
“She has something I want.” Cashel rubbed at the stained bar with a napkin and
wrinkled his nose in clear distaste. “Now, do what you’re told.”
Declan didn’t respond, though he had a slew of imaginative insults dancing on the tip
of his tongue. He’d never asked to be a vampire, and he certainly didn’t remember
volunteering to be Cashel’s slave. “I’m not a child, Cashel.”
“Then stop acting like one.” Swiveling in his seat, he slipped two fingers under
Declan’s chin and sighed. “You are spirited, little one. I haven’t decided if I like it.”
“I just don’t understand why this one.” Declan glanced around the bar, checking for
anyone close enough to eavesdrop. The other patrons appeared to be otherwise engaged in
their own conversations, though. Leaning closer to his Maker, Declan lowered his voice to
barely more than a whisper. “Are you going to kill her?”
“I told you, Declan, she has something I want.”
“Like that has ever stopped you before.” Navigating the ins and outs of being a vampire
hadn’t been easy for him. There were things he didn’t know, didn’t understand, and he still
struggled with his blood lust on occasion. However, only a few months into his new
eternity, and even he knew feeding didn’t have to result in the donor’s death. “I know you
need blood, but do you really need all of it? I mean, I don’t kill people. Maybe you don’t
need to kill people, either.”
Cashel leveled a look on him he couldn’t decipher, but if he had to guess, he’d call it
disdain. “Do you know why I turned you?”
“Because you were bored and you’re kind of an asshole?” Declan puckered his lips and
batted his lashes. “Am I close?”
Okay, maybe he was being too harsh. Cashel had a tendency to be somewhat distant,
and he didn’t exactly like to talk about his feelings, but he wasn’t all bad. Sometimes, when
he forgot to be aloof and brooding, Declan even kind of liked him.
“I wasn’t bored, little one. I was lonely.”
“Oh, well, that makes it all better. Glad I could fill that gaping hole in your undead
heart.”
“Your sarcasm is not lost on me, nor is it appreciated.” Cashel’s eyes narrowed, and
the muscles in his jaw ticked.
Declan bit his lip and folded his hands in his lap. Gods, he hated that look. It always
made him feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“I was lonely, yes, but I wasn’t the only one. Do you remember how sad you were?
You were so lost, little one. You needed me.”
“Dinner and drinks might have been nice before you ripped out my jugular.” Declan
twirled his fingers together and shrugged. “Did it ever cross your mind that you could have
just asked me?”
“No.” His Maker looked so dumbfounded by the idea that Declan actually had to drop
his head to hide his smile. “I’m nine hundred years old.”
“That’s your excuse? You’re old?” It should have infuriated him, but Declan still had
the insane urge to laugh. “Okay, fine, we’ll come back to that. You didn’t answer my
question, though.” He didn’t have to kill innocent people to survive, so he saw no reason
Cashel would need to, either.
“Don’t speak on things you don’t understand.” He looked as though he would say more,
but instead, he tilted his head to the side as a cunning grin stretched his lips. “She’s here.”
“I just have to convince her to follow me out behind the bar, right?” Declan hated this
part. He couldn’t stop Cashel from killing his victims, but he resented being used as a pawn
in the vampire’s games.
“Yes, and then you can leave. I’ll find you when I’m finished.”
At least that part of their usual plan hadn’t changed. Declan lured the targets to a
secluded venue, seducing them into a false sense of security, and then he left. He had zero
desire to witness what happened once Cashel arrived.
“Maybe I can get whatever it is you want from her. Let me help.”
“Declan?”
Declan sat up straighter and beamed. “Yes?”
“Do as you’re told.”
* * * *
“That didn’t take long.” Declan wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and stared
into the steaming contents. “You’ve only been gone for twenty minutes. Did you get what
you came for?”
“Yes,” Cashel answered as he settled into the chair across from him.
“Did you kill her?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t?”
The little gypsy woman from the bar couldn’t have been older than twenty-five with
pretty brown eyes and adorable dimples. Even more upsetting, she’d had a family, people
who would grieve when she never returned home.
“I want to believe you.” Regrettably, he’d seen firsthand the depths of his Maker’s
brutality. It had only taken one time for him to stumble upon the aftermath and lose his
lunch. After that, he made sure to disappear once he’d finished his part.
“Why must you always think the worst of me?”
“Because you give me no reason not to.” Again, not exactly true, but Declan wasn’t
feeling very charitable toward the man at the moment. “Let’s change the topic.” Arguing
about Cashel’s moral code wouldn’t get them anywhere. “What did you need from her?”
“Information.”
“What kind of information?”
“That’s not important.”
It never is. “Okay, well, what can you tell me?”
“We’re going to Canada.”
“What the hell is in Canada?” Granted, he’d never been that far north, but he imagined
all kinds of horrible things would be waiting for him this time of year—like snow, ice, and
frigid temperatures.
“A Loup-garou. This isn’t any common werewolf, Declan. The Loup-garou is a rare
vintage, aged to absolute perfection.” His left eye twitched, his nostrils flared, and his heart
beat just a little faster when he spoke.
“Try again.” He may not know the guy well, but he didn’t need to for this. Cashel was
a horrible liar. “Why are we really going to Canada?”
“To find a Loup-garou, as I said.”
Declan believed that much, just not the explanation of why they were hunting this
furball. “And when do we leave?”
The legs of the chair scraped across the tiled floor as Cashel stood, pulled a ten dollar
bill from his wallet, and dropped it on the table. “Now.”
Chapter Two
“This is never going to work.” Declan muttered a few choice words under his breath and
tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before entering the dimly lit pub.
The number of patrons gathered in the Twisted Spoke was unusual for a Tuesday night,
and under different circumstances, he might even call it ideal. Unfortunately, they’d hit the
bar every weekend for a month straight, and now, people treated him with weary suspicion
as he crossed the room.
Declan had done everything except get on his knees and beg his Maker to postpone the
hunt, or at the very least, move on to another location. Cashel wouldn’t be deterred, though.
If anything, he seemed even more determined to get his hands on the elusive Loup-garou.
The rough and tumble crowd held little appeal to Declan, but Cashel insisted on
revisiting the seedy dive week after week. Furthermore, he’d been acting very odd since
their arrival in Quebec, disappearing for days at a time only to reappear in a high state of
distress.
When he inquired about the unusual behavior, though, Cashel reacted by being surly
and defensive. Then, at other times, he became overly protective, lecturing Declan about
the dangers of wandering the city on his own. His erratic behavior was beginning to give
Declan whiplash.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he tucked his hands into his pockets and rounded
his shoulders in an attempt to appear more vulnerable. It didn’t do any good, though. Even
the humans in the place watched his every step toward the bar with open suspicion, not that
he blamed them. In the short time since his arrival, he’d developed quite the reputation.
While it might not be unusual to see a drifter or vagrant in the bar only once, there were
some things people couldn’t help but notice. For example, people noticed the fact that
Declan always arrived alone, always left with someone new, and that unlucky person was
never heard from again.
“Bottled water.” He didn’t look directly at the bartender when he spoke, but he saw the
man nod out of the corner of his eye.
While the basics of the game hadn’t changed, Declan’s instructions had. He still chose
the individuals he’d leave with at the end of the night, but only as a last resort. He was to
enter the bar and wait exactly three hours. If no one approached him, then he could choose
the next target.
Don’t look. Let fate find you. His Maker’s words played through his head for the
hundredth time, but he still couldn’t make heads or tails of the cryptic statement.
Movement to the left caught his attention, and Declan held his breath while he watched
the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen settle onto the stool next to him. Raven hair as dark
as night fell down over his shoulders, pin straight and gleaming in the harsh lighting from
the neon sign over the bar. The muscles in his back rippled beneath his shirt with every
movement, and the five o’clock shadow that adorned his jaw added just a hint of danger to
an otherwise handsome visage.
The distinct scent of wet fur and something earthier, more primal, wafted from him and
saturated the air, causing Declan’s gums to tingle and his mouth to water. Electricity
crackled through the smoky atmosphere of the pub, and the sheer level of energy called to
a side of Declan not tainted by his vampire nature.
He didn’t recall seeing the guy before, and he’d definitely remember a body like that.
Judging by the weathered riding jacket draped over the back of his seat, it was more likely
that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous was simply passing through the small town of
Belleforest.
Unfortunately for him, this was where the road ended.
Pivoting in his seat, the stranger smirked while his golden gaze held Declan hypnotized.
“The Red Siren.”
His heart jumped at the accusation, but he adopted a careful expression of distain,
lifting both eyebrows as he fingered the collar of his red leather trench coat. “Red Siren?
Not exactly accurate, but it is imaginative, nonetheless.” Offering his right hand, he stood
a bit straighter and smirked. “Declan Collins.”
“Un nom aussi beau que toi.” Without flourish or grandeur, the traveler took his hand,
cradling it in both of his own, and dipped his head to brush a chaste kiss over the trembling
knuckles. “I’m Lincoln, Lincoln Chastain.”
A name as beautiful as you. While Declan’s name did mean “beautiful,” he’d always
thought it had been a cruel joke or wishful thinking on his parents’ part. Sure, he could
charm the pants off of the unsuspecting at twenty paces, but it had little to do with his
modest appearance.
He didn’t seduce with is body or pouty lips. Oh, no, his talents went much deeper. From
poets to basket weavers and everywhere in between, he collected mediocrity and
transformed it into breathtaking brilliance. He captured the mind and ensnared the heart,
offering inspiration to these misunderstood artists, and in exchange, he asked for only a
simple kiss.
“Well, Mr. Chastain, since you know who I am, I suppose you also know what I am.”
And he certainly wasn’t a damn siren.
Lincoln nodded once, but the grin on his lips never wavered. He appeared relaxed and
confident, clearly untroubled by Declan’s presence. “I’ve heard legends of Mousa, but I
didn’t think they actually existed. When I heard there was one in Belleforest, I had to see
for myself.”
“Funny you should mention that.” Declan reminded himself to play it cool, but he found
it increasingly difficult to heed his own advice. “I came here looking for a Loup-garou, but
it looks like you found me first.”
“Am I that obvious?”
Declan shrugged. “I know you’re a werewolf, but I also know you’re something more.”
Gods, he’d never felt power like that before, not even from Cashel.
“So we both came looking for each other,” Lincoln mused. “It must be fate.”
Don’t look. Let fate find you. Cashel’s words crept through Declan’s mind again, but
he refused to get himself worked up over a stupid coincidence. “You shouldn’t have come
here, pup.”
No good would come of this. Normally, he didn’t let himself feel one way or another
about the men and women he helped Cashel hunt, but there was something different about
Lincoln.
“Now that introductions are out of the way, maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink.”
Lincoln smiled a little brighter and leaned forward, completely ignoring Declan’s warning.
“Or maybe you’d like something they don’t keep on tap here.” He rubbed his bottom lip
with two fingers as he spoke, clearly unskilled in the fine art of subtlety.
Much like the way vampires required frequent feedings to survive, so did Mousa.
Unlike vampires, however, Mousa didn’t imbibe blood from their donors. Instead, they
drank of the invisible energy found in every living being, siphoning the aura through a
lingering kiss.
“You need to go. Get out of Belleforest for a couple of weeks.” Perhaps in that time he
could convince Cashel to move on to another province.
The anxiety ate away at him, causing his knees to tremble and his pulse to accelerate.
The longer Lincoln continued to stare at him as though he was one of the lost wonders of
the world, the more agitated he became until he couldn’t control his reactions any longer.
His carefully concealed canines burst through his gums, and his pupils dilated, causing
the lights in the room to become almost blinding in intensity. A low, rumbling growl
vibrated through his chest as he gripped the wolf by the elbow and jerked him out of his
seat. “Leave. Now.”
“A hybrid? No freakin’ way.” Great fuck, the guy looked like Christmas had come
twice that year.
Granted, Declan had never met another Loup-garou besides Lincoln, but honestly, he
didn’t understand the allure. The wolf acted like an eager puppy that might wet himself at
any moment out of excitement.
“To hell with this.” He murmured a string of curses under his breath as he turned on
his heels and marched toward the door. He’d never in his life met anyone as infuriating as
Lincoln Chastain, and he’d only had the displeasure of knowing the man for five whole
minutes.
“Declan, wait, just wait.” Lincoln caught up with him as he exited the building and
placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him to a stop. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I know how it
is to be treated like a freak, and I didn’t mean to treat you that way.”
“You don’t get it.” Declan chuckled darkly and shook his head. “It’s not about me, pup.
Just…just go home, Lincoln. You’ll be safe there.”
“Will he hurt you?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you.” Lincoln stepped closer as he slid his hand from
Declan’s shoulder to his wrist. “If I don’t go with you, will Cashel hurt you?”
Jerking his hand away, Declan retreated back a few steps, putting distance between
himself and the werewolf. “Who are you? How do you know about Cashel? How do you
know about me?”
Gone was the bright-eyed, enthusiastic idiot he’d met only moments ago inside the bar.
The golden glow had been replaced by a cool, gunmetal gray, and Declan recognized too
well the dead, emotionless look of a trained killer.
“Who I am isn’t important.” Lincoln held fast to his wrist, dragging him around the
side of the building and into the shadowed alley where he pressed Declan roughly against
the brick wall. “I can help you, but you’re going to have to help me first.”
“No one can help me.” That wasn’t at all what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to tell
his would-be hero that he didn’t need help. He’d meant to convey that he could take care
of himself, or perhaps that he didn’t even need rescuing.
“I can, but you’ll have to trust me.”
What he suggested sounded great, but Declan didn’t know this man, had zero reason to
trust him. Considering Cashel’s vague instructions earlier in the night, the entire meeting
could have been orchestrated by his Maker. He didn’t know to what purpose, but it was
just the type of thing Cashel would do.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this won’t end well for either of us.” He
struggled against Lincoln’s iron grip but to no avail. “Just let me go.”
“Quiet.” Lincoln tilted his head to the side, and Declan swore he actually saw the
werewolf’s ear twitch. “Someone’s coming.”
Declan’s knees threatened to buckle when the blood drained from his face. “It’s him.”
He still couldn’t find a plausible explanation for what he felt toward Lincoln, but he did
know he couldn’t allow Cashel to hurt him. “Please, go. You have to go.”
“Quiet,” Lincoln repeated, his voice harsh and raspy.
Panic seized him for only a moment before instinct and self-preservation kicked in, and
Declan did the only thing that made sense. He jerked his head to the side, opened his mouth,
and sank his fangs into the fleshy part of Lincoln’s hand where forefinger met thumb.
“Fuck!” With a feral snarl, Lincoln ripped his hand away and nursed his wound.
“Knock it off, asshole. I’m trying to help you.”
Declan wasn’t listening any longer, though. Electricity rocketed down his spine, racing
straight to his balls where the pressure built to unbearable levels. His dick hardened in the
span of seconds, throbbing madly behind his zipper. His head started to spin, his muscles
felt weak, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of his companion’s lips.
The Loup-garou may be no ordinary werewolf, but this was no ordinary Loup-garou,
either. The blood that lingered on his tongue was heavenly, far beyond anything he’d ever
tasted before. His entire body tingled, each cell exploding with a vitality he’d never
experienced in his life.
“Mhianaigh.” Mine. Only mine. Always mine. The words spun through his mind on a
perpetual loop, leaving him unable to think about anything else.
He could feel Cashel creeping closer, but he no longer remembered why it was
important. He needed to leave, to get Lincoln far away, but again, he couldn’t remember
why.
“That’s good,” Lincoln commented, “but we don’t have time right now.”
With a determined effort, Declan shook off the disorientation, and did his best to focus
on the task at hand. “You knew? How could you know?”
“I didn’t.” Lincoln shook his head as he dragged Declan deeper into the alleyway. “I
suspected, but I wasn’t sure until now. Look, I know finding your mate is supposed to be
all sunshine and hallelujah chorus, but right now, we need to focus on getting out of here.”
“Cashel. I can feel him.” A slow, steady vibration began in his chest and rolled outward
through his limbs. The closer he was to his Maker in proximity, the more intense the
sensation became. “He’s almost here.”
Lincoln glanced toward the mouth of the alley and back to Declan. “We’re going to
have to split up, just for now. You can find me, right?”
“Y–Yes, I can, but I don’t understand.” Just because he could find Lincoln didn’t mean
it was a good idea, though. In fact, the best thing he could do for his new mate was stay as
far away as possible.
“I know, but there’s no time to explain right now.” Without warning, he shoved Declan
against the side of the bar once again, pinning him there with his much larger body. “One
kiss, right?”
Licking his dry lips, Declan swallowed hard while he struggled to control his breathing.
It would take only a simple brush of lips, not even a real kiss, and he’d always be able to
find Lincoln, no matter how much distance stretched between them. “Right.” He nodded
once. “One kiss.”
Chapter Three
For six weeks, he’d spent every free moment learning all he could about Cashel del Sarto.
Once he’d heard rumors that the Red Siren had been haunting Belleforest, he’d waited and
watched, fine tuning his plan until the time was right.
Lincoln never imagined that the devil’s sidekick would end up being his mate, though.
Declan had made quite the name for himself, likely at Cashel’s bidding. Still, where the
Red Siren went, Cashel del Sarto followed—and drifters mysteriously disappeared.
Fair skin, red hair, and just a sprinkling of freckles, Declan didn’t look like the monster
Lincoln had pictured. Five minutes into their conversation, and he knew there was
something more than loyalty binding Declan to Cashel. Not until the Mousa had revealed
his hybrid nature did he understand just how deep that bond reached, though.
Well, his dear foe was in for a rude awakening, because not even the union between a
Maker and his protégé could withstand the all-consuming bond between a mated pair. At
first, he’d only wanted to convince Declan to help him take down Cashel. Once he’d
realized the Mousa was more than just a possible ally, his focus shifted, putting Declan’s
safety at the top of his priority list.
It had sickened him to walk away, slinking into the shadows like a lowly coward, but
getting himself killed wouldn’t help either of them. Eight days had passed since that
meeting, however, and he hadn’t seen nor heard from Declan. His imagination spun with
all types of horrible and gruesome scenarios until he felt he’d go insane.
“Where are you?” Seeking retribution was never far from his mind, and Declan Collins
presented a complication he didn’t need. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as skipping
town and pretending the guy didn’t exist.
All week he’d paced the floors of his second-floor apartment, stopping occasionally to
listen for footsteps on the stairs or to glance out the window. “I shouldn’t have left.” He
made another pass through the living room and kicked the coffee table for good measure,
shattering one of the legs. “I didn’t have a choice.”
We always have a choice, and those choices define us.
His brother’s voice rang in his head, adding a layer of melancholy to his already sour
mood. Confronting Cashel at the bar wouldn’t have ended in justice or vengeance. Still, he
should have done more. His fight didn’t belong to Declan, and he shouldn’t have placed so
much responsibility on his mate’s narrow shoulders.
“Screw it.” Sitting around and doing nothing wouldn’t get him the answers he needed,
and the longer he waited, the more the danger escalated for Declan.
Grabbing his keys from the end table near the sofa, he stomped to his front door, yanked
it open, and froze in his tracks.
“Oh, umm, hello.” Declan fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot while he
fumbled with the buttons on his trench coat. Oversized sunglasses covered the majority of
his face, but Lincoln could see his eyes darting left and right, scanning the area as though
he expected someone to leap out and attack him. “Can I…uh…can I come in?”
Instead of answering, Lincoln grabbed his mate by the collar and hauled him into the
apartment. “What took you so long?”
“I got delayed.” He didn’t elaborate, but the dejected tone spoke louder than anything
he could have said.
“Declan?” Now that the shock had worn off, Lincoln looked at his mate, really looked
at him, and what he saw caused his muscles to tense and his blood pressure to rise.
Though the polarized lenses of the sunglasses hid most of the damage, swelling and
bruising was still visible around both eyes. His bottom lip appeared puffy, and several
scratches ran the length of his neck, as well as across his right cheek.
“Did he do this to you?” Of course he did, stupid. Add it to the list of reasons to kill the
son of a bitch. Slowly, so as not to startle his frightened mate, he reached up and gently
removed the glasses from Declan’s face—and immediately wished he hadn’t. “I’m so sorry
this happened to you.”
Placing the frames on the arm of the sofa, he cradled Declan’s cheeks in both hands,
careful not to cause him further pain, and then kissed each and every one of his injuries.
When he’d finished, he brushed one last kiss across the muse’s lips and sighed. “I’m so
sorry,” he repeated.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but I couldn’t stop myself. Cashel is going
to know I’m missing. He’s going to come for me.” His voice cracked when he spoke of his
Maker, but he didn’t need to be afraid anymore.
“Quiet, mon bel ange. One thing at a time.”
“I’m hardly beautiful or an angel.”
Lincoln grinned and dipped his head to place another kiss on Declan’s brow. “You are
to me.”
He wouldn’t be able to explain it to a human if he tried, and he doubted the unmated of
his kind would even understand. It was more simplistic than love at first sight, yet more
complex than chemical attraction.
In short, Declan was his life now. He breathed because Declan breathed. All the things
in his life that had mattered now only registered in his peripheral. Even his hatred for
Cashel, his thirst for vengeance, dimmed in comparison to the driving need to defend,
protect, honor, and cherish Declan at all costs. And those feelings would only intensify
once they cemented their union.
“He’ll find me.” Declan trembled violently, and Lincoln could hear his heart thundering
inside his chest. “I can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”
Lincoln understood better than most, but saying so wouldn’t stop the hysteria he could
sense building in his mate. How could every story he’d heard about the Red Siren be so off
the mark? Instead of offering platitudes and false assurances Declan likely wouldn’t
believe anyway, he made a promise instead. “I swear I’m not going to let him hurt you
again.”
A dark, slightly manic chuckle bubbled up through Declan’s lips, and he shook his head
mechanically as he began backing toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come here.” Those
crystal blue eyes that had captivated Lincoln from the start took on a dead, hollow glaze.
“I shouldn’t have come here. I have to go.”
“Is that really what you want to do?”
“Yes.” Declan shook his head as he spoke. “No.” He nodded. “I don’t know,” he
whimpered. “None of this makes any sense.”
The bond between an intended pair hit swift, hard, and relentless. Some called it fate,
others believed it to be divine application, but it all meant the same thing—magic. Like the
full moon, that seductive enchantress, the magnetism couldn’t be refused or denied.
Therein lay the problem. The situation might not make sense to Declan, but only
because he still maintained a healthy dose of denial. If he’d stop fighting so damn hard and
just give in, he’d realize that neither he nor Lincoln could stop what was happening between
them.
“Come here.”
Declan’s eyebrows drew together, and he shook his head again. “This was a mistake.”
“Declan, come here.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice rose an octave, and his tone took on that same
frantic edge again. “He won’t stop. This.” Declan pointed to his bruised and swollen face.
“This wasn’t a punishment. A couple of assholes jumped me outside of a coffee shop. This
was a warning.”
“I know,” Lincoln whispered, wincing as his chest constricted with guilt. “I should
have never left you alone.”
“I wasn’t blaming you.” His shoulder’s sagged, and his eyes drifted closed as he heaved
a huge sigh. “What is it with you hero types?”
“I don’t know what…” The end of his sentence trailed away when Declan opened his
eyes, pinning him with a determined gaze.
A storm raged in those cobalt eyes, and though it wasn’t as bright as the night they’d
met, the spark—the fight—he’d seen in Declan during their first meeting smoldered just
below the surface. He could still sense the fear in his mate, but Lincoln had to admit that
perhaps he didn’t have all the pieces to this complicated puzzle.
“He’s never done anything like this before,” Declan continued distractedly as he
skimmed his fingertips over his left cheek. Then he refocused, letting his hand fall to his
side. “If you’d just listen for five minutes instead of trying to play Atlas, maybe you’d
understand what I’m trying to tell you.”
The reference wasn’t lost on Lincoln, but neither did he feel it was an accurate
assessment. He didn’t shoulder the weight of the world, only the burdens that personally
affected him. An attack on his mate was something he took very personal, especially when
he was the catalyst that had set things in motion.
“You’re not listening,” Declan accused.
“Just because I don’t agree doesn’t mean I haven’t been listening.” They could continue
to argue until both fell over from exhaustion, but it wouldn’t change anything. “You came
here to warn me. You’re scared but not for yourself.” Lincoln crooked one side of his
mouth up in a smirk as he took a step toward his mate. “You’re here because you couldn’t
stop yourself, but now, you’re afraid of what it’ll mean if you stay. Am I getting warm?”
“Then you also know why I can’t stay.”
“All I know is that I’m tired of talking in circles with you.” Closing the distance
between them, Lincoln scooped his mate into his arms and cradled him against his chest.
“I don’t doubt your courage, angel, but how about I take it from here?”
Lowering his head, he carefully pressed his lips to Declan’s, exhaling as he did so,
breathing his own vitality into the weakened muse. “Was that really so hard?” He knew
very little about Mousa, but he understood Declan needed a living energy source to
maintain his strength. It wouldn’t heal him completely, but at least it would take away some
of his pain.
“You are a stubborn man, Lincoln Chastain.”
“No, I’m just always right. Now, be quiet and let me get on with my hero complex so
I can heal you.” Three…two… “There’s that smile.” It was small, barely tilting the corners
of his lips, and Declan appeared more resigned than anything. Still, it was a smile, and
Lincoln would take whatever he could get at that point.
Carrying his mate to the sofa, he settled onto the middle cushion and tilted his head
back, exposing the vein that snaked along the side of his throat. “Take what you need.”
Silky lips glided up the column of his neck, but the sharp sting of teeth never came.
Instead, Declan rose up on his knees and traced Lincoln’s bottom lip with the pad of his
thumb. “This. This is what I want.”
“Are you still in pain?” The bruises on his face were already fading, but he’d heal much
faster if he’d just take a few drops of blood from Lincoln.
“No.” Declan snorted and shook his head. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I need
you to kiss me.”
Then he slanted their mouths together, taking advantage of Lincoln’s momentary
surprise to thrust his tongue inside. Though the initiation had been bold, the kiss held a
degree of hesitation and an undercurrent of caution.
Lincoln, however, possessed no such reservations. Wrapping his arms around Declan’s
waist like a steel cage, he flipped his mate beneath him and pinned his slim shoulders to
the sofa. Raw and primal, the growl that rumbled through his chest had been building for
days, and he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.
The smile he received this time looked far less tenuous, and Declan’s hand was steady
when he reached up to touch the side of Lincoln’s face. “I know. Growl all you want, big
guy. I think it’s kind of sweet.”
Sweet? He was a Loup-garou, a fearsome monster of the night. People had called him
many things, but never sweet. “I’m not sweet. Or cute,” he added, anticipating Declan’s
next words. “In fact…” He knew just how to put the conversation to rest.
Bracing one hand on the arm of the couch, he slid the other up Declan’s chest and
gripped the collar of his crimson, button-down shirt. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he slit
the fabric right down the middle, popping off each button as he went. His mate’s surprised
gasp spiked his desire to near unbearable levels, and the sexy whimper that followed nearly
snapped his self-control.
“I–I don’t know…I’ve n–never…” Declan tugged at a lock of hair as he stuttered, and
he wouldn’t look at Lincoln.
“Wait.” The news cooled his ardor in a hurry, and Lincoln sat back on his knees, putting
ample space between himself and Declan. “Never?” He’d heard all the legends of the Red
Siren and his seductive charms.
“I’m not some blushing virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” Declan answered with a
defiant glare.
Well, at least he’s looking at me. “Okay, I’m lost. Care to elaborate?”
“No.” He captured his bottom lip between his teeth and worried it for a long time. When
Lincoln refused to say more, Declan sagged deeper into the cushions with a resigned sigh.
“Fine. This is just the first time I’ve been into it. I don’t have a lot of experience, and I
guess I’m just nervous.” He released a long sigh and ducked his head. “I don’t want to
mess it up.”
Sweet fuck, the truth was worse than his assumption, not to mention it came with a lot
of pressure. Tenderness wasn’t in his nature, and Declan had already been through more
than any person should have to endure. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
The crestfallen look that covered Declan’s face lanced his heart and left him bleeding.
In theory, he knew what he should do and how he should act as a mate. In practice, it was
so much harder than he’d anticipated.
“What I mean—”
“It’s okay,” Declan interrupted. “I understand.”
No, it wasn’t okay, but it would be. Lincoln would make sure of it. Gentleness may not
come naturally to him, but for Declan, he’d try his damnedest to be the man his mate
deserved.
Chapter Four
Three days passed after their disastrous incident on the sofa, and Lincoln hadn’t tried to
make any further advances. Hell, he practically ran in the opposite direction each time
Declan entered the room. Life with his mate wasn’t all bad, but that didn’t make it the
fairytale he’d imagined, either.
On top of that, he felt constantly on edge, waiting for Cashel to show up on Lincoln’s
doorstep at any moment. A smart man would walk out that door, go straight back to Cashel,
and bargain for Lincoln’s safety. A good mate would leave and never turn back, because
staying meant putting someone he cared about in danger.
Unfortunately, Declan had never purported to be either of those things. He’d spent his
entire life taking orders and being told where to go, what to do, and how to do it. Making
his own choices didn’t come naturally, and at the end of the day, he was nothing more than
a coward.
“You hungry, angel?”
Looking up from the contemplation of his hands, Declan inched to the edge of the
armchair and nodded. “I could eat.”
“The fridge is empty, and I’m a shitty cook anyway.”
Declan wouldn’t debate the fact. They’d eaten mostly sandwiches for the past three
days, and the one time Lincoln had tried to cook—macaroni and cheese—he’d nearly
burned down the apartment.
“I could put something together.” The contents of the kitchen were sparse, but Declan
figured there had to be something edible in the cabinets.
“Nah.” Lincoln pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tipped it toward Declan. “Are
you in the mood for Chinese or pizza?”
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you want.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Declan had bigger decisions to make beyond what they ate for dinner, but he didn’t to
start a fight. “Chinese.”
“Okay, I’ll order pizza.”
Choking back his frustrated growl, Declan bobbed his head in agreement. “Sounds
good.”
He didn’t know what had crawled up Lincoln’s ass, but he supposed he couldn’t blame
the guy for being a little distant. If a virtual stranger had appeared at his door acting like a
total spaz, he’d probably have reservations as well. Some might think because the majority
of his conversations consisted of small talk and pickup lines, he would be good at social
interactions. In truth, however, he sucked at relationships, no matter how casual.
“Declan, I’m messing with you. Chinese is good with me.”
“Oh, okay.”
Maybe Lincoln wasn’t the problem. His smile and casual tone didn’t come off as
combative. He’d even called Declan by that cute pet name. Every night, he checked the
locks on the doors and windows, and twice, he’d even snuck into the living room to check
on Declan in the dark. On the other hand, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid physical
contact, and he spent a lot of time locked up in his bedroom alone.
After ordering more food than Declan figured he could eat in a week, Lincoln
disconnected the call and placed his phone on the end table near the sofa. He didn’t say
anything, just standing there, staring at Declan as though he couldn’t figure out what to do
next. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lincoln mumbled a string of curses and
stomped over to stand directly in front of him.
“Look at me.”
Declan entertained the idea of simply ignoring his mate for all of a heart beat before
deciding that would be juvenile. So he clasped his hands together between his knees until
the knuckles turned white, trying to rein in the frustration he could feel bubbling inside
him. Lifting his head, he looked up at Lincoln through his lashes, but to his surprise, the
guy didn’t appear angry. In fact, he looked like someone had just kicked his puppy—in the
head.
“I really don’t mind pizza.” Brilliant. Why couldn’t he say something meaningful or at
the very least, appropriate? Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t have the first clue
about being someone’s mate.
Lowering himself to the floor, Lincoln took both of Declan’s hands and brought them
to his lips with a quiet sigh. “I don’t know how to do this, angel.”
Maybe it shouldn’t have made him feel better, but it did. Logically, one of them should
know what they hell they were doing, but the confession allowed Declan to release the
breath he’d been holding since that first kiss in the alleyway.
Then doubt and insecurity crept in, and Declan began to worry that perhaps he’d
misinterpreted Lincoln’s words. Instead of admitting their shortcomings and working
toward something better, maybe Lincoln wanted to throw in the towel.
On the flip side of that, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions and be presumptuous.
There should be a rule book for these situations. Declan would take the Cliff’s Notes
version. Hell, he’d settle for a pamphlet right then.
If Lincoln was attempting to let him down easy and he didn’t get the hint, he looked
like a clingy idiot. If he assumed he was no longer welcome and ended up being wrong, he
looked like an uncaring ass. Either way, he lost. Why the hell couldn’t the werewolf just
pick an emotion and stick with it?
“Fuck!” Jerking his hands out of Lincoln’s hold, he pushed his fingers through the hair
at his temples and pulled. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the right answer is. None of
this makes any sense, and you don’t make it any easier. One minute, you’re salivating to
get in my pants, and the next, you’re acting like a total ass.”
“I know.”
Declan ignored him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. If I don’t say
anything, you get pissed, but if I do say something, I’m wrong.”
“I never said tha—”
“You check on me when you think I’m sleeping, but during the day, you act like I have
some communicable disease.” Now that the dam had broken, Declan couldn’t stop the
flood that burst through. “You’re hot one minute and cold the next. Like now.” He
interrupted his own meltdown long enough to look into Lincoln’s eyes. “Why are you doing
this to me?”
“Because I’m scared!” Lincoln snapped. Any anger he held faded instantly, however,
replaced not by fear, but an emotion that looked curiously like insecurity. “I’ve never had
a relationship that lasted beyond breakfast.” Pushing to his feet, he began to pace the living
room, waving his hands about in animated gestures. “I follow my instincts, Declan. I
always have. Only, this time…”
“What’s different about this time?” Declan asked, keeping his voice quiet and soothing,
hoping to calm some of his mate’s agitation.
“This time…” Lincoln halted in his pacing and looked over his shoulder with narrowed
eyes. “I don’t trust my instincts, angel, and neither should you.”
“So you do like me.” On some level, he’d known things weren’t as black and white as
they appeared. He had his own problems, though, like trying to figure out how to keep his
Maker and his mate from massacring each other.
“I like—what? Are you even listening to me?”
Declan bit down on his bottom lip, but he couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “You
like me. Admit it.” Using the arms of the chair for leverage, he heaved himself out of his
seat and tilted his head to the side.
If there was a prize for being a first class, selfish prick, he’d definitely be in the running
for it. He’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself and blaming Lincoln for everything
going wrong, he hadn’t stopped to consider that perhaps the guy was stumbling around in
the dark as well.
At first, he’d been hurt by Lincoln’s rejection, but the more he’d thought about it, the
more that hurt had morphed into anger. It shouldn’t have mattered that he didn’t have a ton
of experience in the bedroom. Hell, he imagined most men would be thrilled to find out
their intended wasn’t a raging slut.
As he replayed the day of his arrival in his mind, however, he began to understand
where everything had gone wrong. From the moment Lincoln had answered the door,
Declan had been completely spastic, but it hadn’t been fear for himself. If Cashel wanted
Lincoln, he’d find him, and by going to the wolf, Declan had only made the hunt easier.
“That’s what this is all about.” Gods, he didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before.
“You like me, but you’re afraid you can’t protect me.”
“Cashel won’t hurt you again,” Lincoln vowed. “You don’t have to be afraid of him
anymore.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Bedding a virgin came with a lot of pressure, but at the same
time, that scenario held little expectation. Taking an inexperienced mate to bed, especially
one who admitted to being less than enthralled by the entire sexual process, could crush
any man under a mountain of anxiety. “You’re afraid you can’t protect me from the big
bad wolf.”
He didn’t need protection from Cashel. Knowing his Maker had sent those men to
rough him up outside the coffee shop had hurt and shocked him, but he wasn’t afraid.
Furthermore, he certainly didn’t need protection from Lincoln. He felt a hell of a lot less
discouraged and a damn sight more confident now that he understood where Lincoln’s
anxiety stemmed from, though.
Lincoln didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation that he’d been attempting to protect
Declan from himself, but the lost look in his golden eyes said everything Declan needed to
know. “Don’t.” Lincoln held one hand up and shook his head. “Don’t pretend like you
know me.”
“Do you want me to leave?” It was really a rhetorical question since he already knew
the answer. However, he felt perhaps his mate needed a little nudge in the right direction.
“What?” Spinning to face him, Lincoln furrowed his brow as though he didn’t
understand the question. “Of course I don’t want you to leave.” He rested his hands on his
hips, his expression growing more confused by the second. “I mean, unless you want to
leave.”
Gods, he was freaking adorable, and he didn’t even know it. “I don’t want to leave.”
Relaxing his posture, Declan slinked toward his mate with a seductive grin. “You won’t
hurt me.”
Lincoln, big badass he professed to be, actually stumbled backward. “What are you
doing? Are you…are you seducing me?”
“Depends.” Declan shrugged. “Is it working?”
“Are you doing that siren thing you do?”
“Lincoln, I’m not actually a siren. I’m a muse.” Adding a little extra sway to his hips,
he gripped the hem of his oversized sweater—Lincoln’s sweater to be exact—and slid the
fabric up his torso. “Are you inspired yet, or should I keep going?”
Unlike a siren, a muse didn’t seduce with his voice. When Declan amped up the juju,
he secreted pheromones through the exhalation of each breath. These pheromones didn’t
create obsessive behaviors but had more of an influential effect, creating a sense of calm,
tranquility, and enlightenment. Hence, his ability to inspire creative minds.
In Lincoln’s case, though, he really was just seducing him. Sue me.
“I think it’s working.” Lincoln’s voice dropped an octave and took on a husky quality
that sent a shiver of desire down Declan’s spine. “Maybe you should keep going.”
Almost there. Stripping the soft cotton shirt off over his head, he tossed it behind him
and smoothed one palm down his flexing abs. “How about now?” Abandoning his powers
as a muse, he simply allowed his body to do the talking. “Come on, Lincoln. I’m not so
fragile. I promise I won’t break.”
“I think I’m starting to feel something.” His hand went to his groin to cup his swelling
cock. “Yeah, definitely feeling something in this general region.”
Declan tugged the string on his sleep pants, loosening the waistband so that the fabric
slid down his hips. “And now?”
Lincoln’s control finally snapped, and he took two long strides to close the gap between
them, wrapping Declan in his strong, capable arms. Game over, cowboy. Oh, Declan did
love winning.
“You make me crazy, angel.”
The heat pouring from his mate scorched him, but he reveled in the burn. No one had
ever wanted him like Lincoln wanted him—pure, true, and without reservation. Okay,
maybe with a little reservation, but he felt they were moving past that.
Fisting one hand in Declan’s hair, Lincoln jerked his head back on his shoulders and
laid siege to his mouth, coming up long minutes later to gasp for breath. “This probably
won’t end well.”
“Probably not,” Declan agreed.
Sure, the idea of a real relationship scared the hell out of him. He could crawl back to
Cashel if things didn’t work out with Lincoln, but frankly, the idea held no appeal. He
didn’t hate Cashel necessarily, but nor did he want to continue to be someone’s puppet.
Things weren’t like that with Lincoln. Declan never had to worry that the next order would
be the one that finally broke him.
The silence stretched on while Lincoln considered him, clearly warring with himself
over how to proceed. “Be sure, mon bel ange. Be very sure.”
Yes, he understood the risks, but from where he stood, the benefits far outweighed the
potential consequences. “I am.”
A fierce, possessive growl was his only warning before Lincoln lifted him off the floor
and encouraged Declan’s legs around his waist. One hand tangled in his hair while the
other held a firm grip on his ass, and Lincoln attacked his mouth with an urgency that left
Declan’s head spinning.
Their tongues tangled and twined, sliding together in a passionate duel, and Declan
moaned in wanton delight as he rocked against his lover. Raw, untainted desire possessed
him, and he dug his fingers into Lincoln’s shoulders, desperate to be closer.
The response surprised him, even startled him a bit. He couldn’t catch his breath, but
the scary part was he didn’t care. No one had ever elicited this kind of response from him.
No one had pushed him so close to the brink with nothing more than a kiss.
“Lincoln, please.” His plea came as a breathy whimper while his mate kissed along the
column of his neck. “I can’t wait.” His insides burned like molten lava, and his nerve
endings sizzled with every touch.
“Patience, angel,” Lincoln rasped before nipping at his earlobe.
A knock at the door pulled an uncharacteristic growl from Declan’s lips, and Lincoln’s
answering chuckle did nothing to improve his mood. “Who the hell is that?”
“My guess would be the delivery guy.”
“Tell him to go away.” Declan was starving, but not for fried rice or egg rolls.
Lincoln scraped his teeth over Declan’s shoulder and laughed again as he spun them
toward the door. “Grab my wallet.” He nodded toward the end table beside them.
With a grumbling sigh, Declan leaned to the side to retrieve the wallet, but once upright,
he couldn’t resist another taste of his lover’s lips. Lincoln didn’t protest, even sliding his
fingers into the waistband of Declan’s cotton pants to skim along his crease as he stumbled
toward the front door.
With their mouths still fused together, Lincoln secured Declan with one hand and
reached behind him with the other to turn the knob. “Pay the man,” he ordered, grabbing
both bags and dropping them to the floor inside the foyer.
Declan threw the wallet at the delivery man’s head, reached over Lincoln’s shoulder,
and slammed the door before returning to his task with a needy groan. Threading his fingers
through his lover’s hair, he delved between Lincoln’s lips, leaving no crevice unexplored.
“Now?” he begged. His dick ached, throbbing painfully between his thighs as he rocked
against his mate’s cobblestone abs like a bitch in heat.
“Now,” Lincoln rumbled in response, tripping toward the sofa and virtually throwing
Declan down on the cushions.
Rummaging through the drawer of the end table while he attempted to undress himself
one-handed, Lincoln proved to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Though distracted by the sight
of his lover’s long, thick cock, Declan still had enough sense about him to question the
availability of the lube Lincoln tossed onto the couch beside him.
“You keep lube in the living room?” He held up the clear, plastic bottle and arched an
eyebrow.
“I live alone,” Lincoln answered as he dove on top of him, insinuating himself between
Declan’s legs. “Where else do you think I watch porn?”
Then his mouth crashed down on Declan’s once more, silencing any response he might
have given while the wolf finished divesting him of his clothing. When their naked flesh
pressed together, Declan’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he arched upward, seeking
more of the delicious friction against his pulsing cock.
The snick of a bottle cap cut through the white noise of their grunting, groaning, and
heavy breathing. Lincoln didn’t waste time with preliminaries, either. Only seconds passed
before Declan felt the brush of slippery fingers along the crease of his ass. Lifting his hips
from the cushions, he offered himself freely, eager to be filled, to experience the burn as
his lover stretched and prepared him.
One lubed digit pressed between his cheeks and ringed the clenching muscles of his
entrance. It didn’t take long for him to relax under Lincoln’s skillful caress, and Declan
sucked in a deep breath as his mate’s finger sunk into his quivering channel.
One finger soon became two while they pawed and groped at one another, writhing
together in a tangle of limbs. Lightning bolts ricocheted through Declan’s body, and the
smoldering embers of lust erupted into a raging, all-consuming inferno.
“You’ll be the death of me,” Lincoln murmured, his voice muffled against the side of
Declan’s neck. “Gods, you’re so responsive.”
Too lost in his own desire, Declan couldn’t make heads or tails of the statement, but
his mate sounded happy so he didn’t think too hard on it. “Lincoln, please!” He’d beg,
plead, steal, or whore himself out at that point to get the release he needed.
“Okay, okay,” his lover soothed. Slipping his fingers from Declan’s hole, he rose up
on his knees and gripped the base of his cock, pressing the dripping crown against Declan’s
opening. “Last chance.”
“Shut up and fuck me already!” Wrapping both legs around Lincoln’s narrow waist, he
tightened his grip, jerking his lover forward.
They both groaned as Lincoln filled him, sliding into his hungry ass until he was fully
encased. From there, primal instinct ruled. Declan had only one heartbeat of pause to gather
his bearings before Lincoln began an all-out assault against his senses.
Sight, smell, touch, taste—nothing registered except the man above him. Every hard,
driving thrust pushed him closer to the edge, and guttural sound that vibrated Lincoln’s
chest entranced him. If he’d ever met a sexier man, he couldn’t remember it. Hell, he
couldn’t remember any of those nameless faces that came before.
The further his control slipped, the more bruising Lincoln’s hold became, but Declan
didn’t mind. He’d wear each mark with pride. “More,” he demanded, though he couldn’t
say exactly what “more” involved.
Sitting back on his heels, Lincoln jerked him into his lap as he thrust up into him. Then,
with a gentleness that didn’t match the frenzied nature of their union, his mate brushed the
hair back from his shoulder and slipped one knuckle beneath his chin, urging his head to
the side.
Declan knew instinctively what his lover wanted, and after only a brief moment of
hesitation, he complied to the unspoken request. Leaning his head to the left, he craned his
neck, exposing the delicate flesh of his throat. “Be sure,” he whispered, repeating Lincoln’s
earlier words. Once completed, the bond couldn’t be undone—no second thoughts or
uncertainties.
“I need you to be mine.”
Nodding once to indicate his approval, Declan palmed the back of his wolf’s head and
applied pressure, encouraging his mate to take what he needed. Of all the assurances
Lincoln could have given, Declan doubted any would have been more perfect than the
confession spoken.
Thick arms surrounded his waist, holding him motionless as Lincoln struck, embedding
his sharp canines at the apex of Declan’s neck and shoulder. One jerky swivel of his lover’s
hips tipped the scales, sending Declan headlong into the euphoric bliss he’d been chasing.
Ropes of creamy seed jetted from his engorged cock, filling the minimal space between
them. “Mine,” he breathed.
Extracting his fangs, Lincoln licked his mating mark and nuzzled behind Declan’s ear.
“Mine,” he echoed. Two hard snaps of his hips resulted in a long, strangled groan, and he
crushed Declan to him as he shuddered through his own orgasm. “Mine,” he repeated in a
trembling whisper. “My angel.”
Chapter Five
Mated bliss turned out to not be quite the, well, bliss, Declan had expected. Only two days
had passed since they’d sealed their union, but those two days had been a test in patience.
Logically, Declan understood that Lincoln’s protective—bordering on overbearing—
behavior resulted from the intensity of the mating bond. Being joined with a Mousa added
an extra layer to those already consuming emotions, provoking feelings that toed the line
of paranoia. In time, those elevated emotions would decrease, settling into a more natural
balance. Unfortunately, Declan would probably lose his damn mind before that happened.
For fuck sakes, he couldn’t even take a leak without Lincoln demanding to know where
he was going, why, and how long he’d be there. The guy had actually stood outside the
door with a surly scowl and his arms crossed over his chest while Declan had showered
that morning.
“Where are you going?”
Declan closed his eyes and counted to ten, biting down on his tongue to hold back his
withering retort. “I’m just getting a drink.” He’d literally leaned two inches to the left in
his chair to reach for the soda can on the end table.
“Oh, okay.” Lincoln smiled that devastating smile that always left Declan feeling like
putty. Then he propped his feet up on the coffee table, sunk back into the couch, and
resumed his marathon channel surfing.
The level of charm he exuded should be illegal, especially when Declan was trying to
be mad at him. “I’m going to make some lunch. Do you want anything?”
“A sandwich would be good, if you don’t mind.” As he spoke, Lincoln moved to the
other end of the sofa, likely to have a clearer view into the kitchen.
“I really don’t need a babysitter to slap some mayo on a few pieces of bread.”
“I know,” Lincoln acknowledged, though he didn’t budge from his new position. “This
is for me, not you. Indulge me.”
He spoke so casually, so matter-of-fact, Declan actually found himself nodding in
agreement. More annoyed with himself than with Lincoln, he exhaled sharply, puffing his
cheeks out in the process, and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want pickles?”
“Is that a real question?”
“Ass.”
“You like my ass.”
The byplay lifted Declan’s spirits some, and he chuckled as he retrieved the pickles
from the refrigerator. Once all the ingredients were spread out on the counter, he proceeded
to build his masterpieces, even cutting the cheese slices into silly little faces before placing
them on top of the turkey.
Everything seemed fine until he attempted to remove the lid from the jar of pickles.
The stubborn thing wouldn’t move, but by adding a little extra torque, he finally managed
to dislodge it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been paying attention to the cutting knife he still
gripped in his left hand.
The blade cut through the flesh just below his sternum as though it was nothing more
substantial than softened butter. The searing pain radiated through his body, and Declan
yelled as he wrenched the knife from his chest. The pickles forgotten in light of his injury,
the glass jar slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, shattering against the tiles and
nicking his bare feet.
“Declan!” Lincoln appeared in the kitchen, his face pale and his eyes wide. “What…”
“I stabbed myself,” Declan answered calmly. There seemed to be a lot of blood soaking
into his grey sweater. Maybe shock had set in.
“Why? I mean, how the hell did you stab yourself?” Lincoln rushed forward, ignoring
the broken glass surrounding them, and stripped Declan’s sweatshirt off over his head.
“I was opening the pickles.”
“You were…” Lincoln trailed off, and his eyebrows drew together in obvious confusion
as he examined the gash. Then, he shook his head, rounded Declan to stand behind him,
and lifted his wrist to Declan’s mouth. “Drink.”
Too stunned by the pain and scared by the amount of blood oozing from his body, he
hadn’t realized his fangs had elongated. Closing his eyes, he sank his canines into the meaty
part of Lincoln’s forearm—less painful than the wrist—and took several long swallows
before removing his fangs. “Thank you.”
The opening in his chest itched as the skin knitted together, but it still hurt like the ten
shades of hell. It would take a few more hours before the tiredness left him, but considering
the amount of blood he’d lost, he expected no less.
He tried to turn, intending to thank his mate properly, but Lincoln’s hand on his
shoulder held him immobile. “There’s glass everywhere, angel. Don’t move.” Scooping
Declan into his arms, he carried him out of the kitchen, ignoring his own advice as his
naked feet crunch over the shards of glass.
Alpha types, I’ll never get it. Still, he enjoyed being cradled in his lover’s arms, so he
didn’t voice the argument on the tip of his tongue. “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.” He really
did need to buy some of his own clothes, but he’d have to find a way to gather the funds
first.
“I don’t give a damn about my shirt,” Lincoln grumbled. Easing down into the armchair
in the living room, he positioned Declan securely in his lap and pinched his chin to tilt his
head up. “How about a kiss?”
He knew what Lincoln wanted. While the man had proven on more than one occasion
that he thoroughly enjoyed kissing Declan, this had nothing to do with desire or passion.
His mate’s intentions were far more honorable.
“I’m okay, maybe a little tired, but it’ll fade.”
“You’re hurting. I can tell. Let me do this for you.”
“Fine,” Declan sighed, though he secretly adored the level of attention and caring
Lincoln bestowed on him. “One little kiss.”
The smile that lit Lincoln’s face could have melted the coldest heart, and Declan felt
the corners of his mouth tug up in a mirroring grin. With a carefulness that bordered on
hesitancy, Lincoln leaned closer and brushed their lips together in a featherlight caress. He
placed little kisses along Declan’s jawline, against his cheeks, and over his closed eyes
lids, finally making his way back to Declan’s lips.
The next kiss came hard and fast, and Lincoln took advantage of Declan’s gasp to thrust
his tongue between his lips and explore. Lost in the melding of their lips, it took Declan a
moment to remember the kiss contained a purpose beyond how it ignited his body and
made his dick ache. Holding his lover’s face in both hands, he took what he needed,
breathing in just enough of Lincoln’s essence to ease the pain.
As the kiss deepened, however, he found he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t break the
connection, couldn’t stop the flow of magic between them. His ability to siphon energy
from another living being didn’t lie in his subconscious. He had complete control over the
action, choosing when to employ it and how much of their life force to take. The only time
he’d ever lost control had been when his actions were choreographed by…
“Did you really think I’d let you wander off on your own?” His Maker’s voice
whispered through his mind, sending a chill across the nape of his neck. “You should be
more careful, little one. We wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”
“Don’t,” Declan begged through his telepathic bond with Cashel. “Please, I’ll do
anything. We’ll find another Loup-garou. Just don’t hurt him.”
“My sweet muse, you are so stubborn.” Amused laughter followed the thinly veiled
insult. “Do you not remember what I told you about werewolves? They can’t be trusted.”
“I trust him,” Declan argued. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He couldn’t. He’s my mate.
Cashel, please.”
“Did he tell you that? Did he convince you that he loves you? Poor, sweet, naïve
Declan. If he’s really your mate, then prove it.”
This sounded more like the Cashel he had come to know over the past several months.
Though he didn’t approve of Cashel’s methods and resented the vampire using him as bait,
he’d yet to see his Maker come to a decision on a whim or out of anger.
“Anything,” Declan agreed.
“Drain him. If he really is your intended, your bond won’t allow it. If he’s not…well,
problem solved.”
A command from his Maker couldn’t be refused. He wasn’t afraid. Okay, he might be
a little afraid, but mostly for Lincoln. Still, that didn’t play into his helplessness against
Cashel. Like a manipulator and his marionette, Cashel pulled the strings and Declan
danced. He had no control over his behavior or his actions once his Maker made his decree.
Panic seized his heart, but outwardly, he could do nothing but attack Lincoln’s mouth,
gradually bleeding the life from him one glide of his tongue at a time. His only solace came
from the knowledge that Lincoln wouldn’t know what was happening to him. He might
feel a little tired, maybe a little weak, and then he’d simply fall to sleep, never to awake.
While the thought gave him some measure of comfort, it also gave him an idea. He
couldn’t stop the kiss, but he could control how quickly he siphoned energy from his mate.
If he wanted, he could make the experience quite uncomfortable, and that was exactly what
he intended to do.
Only a heartbeat later, Lincoln face paled and he began to choke, jerking away from
Declan to gasp for breath. “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Declan chanted, petting Lincoln’s hair back from his
brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I guess things got a little out of control, huh?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t fret, angel. You didn’t mean it.”
“I did,” Declan confessed. “I didn’t want to, but it wasn’t an accident.” The Sire bond
prevented him from saying it straight out, forcing him to keep Cashel’s secret, but he
circled around the explanation, hoping Lincoln would fill in the blanks.
Thankfully, his mate proved to be as intuitive as he’d hoped. “Cashel.”
“Yes,” Declan breathed while anxiety flooded him. Cashel didn’t lose. He would
pursue his interests until he acquired them, and in the process, someone usually got hurt.
“How close is he?”
Declan didn’t know for sure. His Maker was like an extension of himself, always with
him, but not exactly a direct part of him. He could think of no better way to explain it. The
closer they were in proximity, the more forcefully he felt Cashel’s influence. For the
vampire to take possession of his mind and body so thoroughly, however, he had to be very
near.
“Lincoln, I’m sorry.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to apologize enough.
“Hush now.” Lincoln pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. “It may not be
much, but we have a little time. What we really need is a plan.”
“We can’t beat him.” He’d watched men try, and each of them had failed.
“How strong is the bond between you?” The subtle growl in his tone said he didn’t
appreciate sharing his mate, but there wasn’t much Declan could do about it. “I mean, does
he know what we’re saying right now?”
“No.” Declan shook his head adamantly. “He can get into my head, plant suggestions
or give commands—those sorts of things. It doesn’t work in reverse, though. Cashel can’t
extract anything from my mind.”
“Good. There’s half the battle. Now…” Trailing off, Lincoln sucked in a deep breath
and let it out on a dejected sigh. “Well, now, we just have to walk into hell and face the
devil.” He slammed his fist down on the cushioned arm of the chair and snarled. “He’s not
invincible, dammit! Everyone has a weakness, something that makes them vulnerable. We
just have to find out what Cashel’s is.”
“Why is this so important to you?” He appreciated the man’s dedication to his safety,
but he sensed this was much more personal. Lincoln had been hunting for the Red Siren—
and by extension, Cashel—long before the startling discovery of their fated status.
“Let’s just say I have a score to settle with Cashel del Sarto.”
“He took something from you,” Declan deduced. “What did he take?”
Lincoln’s arms tightened around him painfully, but it lasted for only a moment before
he relaxed once more. “My brother,” he whispered, and the hollowness in his voice nearly
broke Declan’s heart. “He killed my brother.”
Declan went rigid, his throat burned, and hot tears stung the corners of his eyes. He
didn’t doubt Lincoln’s claim, but he didn’t want to believe it, either. If Cashel had taken
the life of Lincoln’s brother, that meant…
“I killed your brother.”
* * * *
He’d known Declan would see it that way. Hell, he’d been prepared to hold the Red
Siren just as accountable as Cashel for the death of his brother. Upon discovering Declan
was his intended, his plans had been slightly altered. Once he’d really gotten to know the
sweet, soft-spoken muse, everything had changed.
“You didn’t kill him, angel.” For the love of the gods, Declan couldn’t hurt a fly.
“Maybe not, but I’m just as responsible for this death. Gods, Lincoln, why don’t you
hate me?”
“I did at first,” Lincoln confessed. “I had convinced myself that you were just as evil,
just as sadistic as Cashel. I told myself you were a remorseless killer, practically giddy to
do that asshole’s bidding.”
“Cashel isn’t…never mind.” Declan scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I
know I shouldn’t defend him, especially after he just ordered me to kill you, but…”
“But?”
“Nothing.” Declan’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “I know what he’s done,
and I can’t defend that. I hate what I’ve helped him do.”
“I know, angel, I know.” Cuddling his mate closer, Lincoln swayed him from side to
side. “I knew it from the moment I met you in that bar.” Declan carried so much guilt and
resentment around in his tightly-packed little body Lincoln didn’t know how he even
functioned.
“Don’t do that,” Declan challenged. “Don’t make this okay.” Struggling against
Lincoln’s hold, he managed to extract himself and jump to his feet where he began pacing.
“I think you did what was necessary to survive.” He’d experienced firsthand the power
Cashel exuded over his mate. Part of him wondered how much lucidity Declan actually
had during those hunts.
He knew very little about vampires, and even less about Mousa. However, Lincoln
fancied himself an excellent judge of character. He could sense a fraud coming from a mile
away, and so far, he’d yet to be wrong. When he looked into Declan’s eyes, he saw a noble
heart full of pure intentions.
“I never wanted to hurt anyone.” Declan flopped down on the sofa and buried his
face in his hands. “I never wanted any of this.” His head snapped up suddenly, and he
looked at Lincoln as though he’d never seen him before. “You’re a Loup-garou.”
Lincoln nodded. “You know I am.”
“No, no, no.” Declan rose to his feet and resumed his pacing, his strides stilted and his
movements jerky. “I mean, yes, I knew that. If you’re a Loup-garou, though, that means
your brother was as well.”
“Right.” The conversation seemed to be twisting itself into circles as far as Lincoln
could see, but he trusted Declan had a reason for bringing it up.
“Lincoln, when did your brother die?”
“Six weeks ago.” He’d been searching for Cashel ever since.
Declan whipped around to face him, his expression a strange mixture of joy and
sympathy. “That’s around the time we arrived in Quebec, but Lincoln, you’re the first
Loup-garou I’ve met.”
Though he believed Declan had been as much a victim as his brother, Lincoln hadn’t
realized he still harbored resentment toward his mate until that moment. Relief flooded
him, warming him from the inside out, and his entire being softened toward the muse. The
mating bond wouldn’t allow him to walk away, but he felt better knowing their relationship
wouldn’t always have such a dark cloud hanging over it.
Declan’s lack of involvement didn’t exonerate Cashel, however. “I believe you
weren’t there, angel, but Cashel took my brother. I saw him drag Sebastian off with my
own eyes.”
“Could he…” Declan swallowed hard as he tugged at the ends of his fiery red locks.
“It all makes sense now. Gods, I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“What? Why?” Jumping up from his chair, Lincoln moved to sit beside his lover, barely
resisting the urge to shake him for more information. “What do you know, Declan?”
“Cashel started acting really strange after we got here.” He crinkled his nose and tilted
his head to the side. “Well, stranger than usual. Anyway.” He waved his hand as though
clearing a chalkboard. “I don’t know why, but well, could Cashel be keeping your brother
alive?”
The thought had crossed Lincoln’s mind more than once, but he didn’t want to get his
hopes up for a happy reunion. He also didn’t want to think about his brother being the
vampire’s play toy for the past several months. In some ways, that might be considered a
fate worse than death.
“Did Cashel ever tell you why you were hunting Loup-garous?”
“Not really.” Declan laced his fingers together and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
“He basically just said you taste really good.” He cheeks flushed, and he dropped his head
to stare down at his hands. “You really do, by the way.”
Despite his fury toward Cashel, Lincoln could help but laugh. “I believe you, angel.
It’s more complicated than that, though.” Dropping his head, he rubbed the tense muscles
at his nape and groaned. They should have had this conversation much earlier. “My blood,
the blood of a Loup-garou, can reverse the effects of vampirism.”
“You mean, I could be mortal? Why are you just now telling me this?”
“I’m sorry, Declan.” On the bright side, Declan had only taken blood from him once,
and that little amount wouldn’t be enough to change his immortal status. “It takes a lot of
blood drained over the course of weeks for it to be effective.” Which explained why Cashel
would kidnap his brother instead of simply killing him.
“Are you kidding me?” Declan yelped. “There’s a cure for this shit, and you didn’t tell
me? Have you lost your mind? Will you do it? Tell me you’ll do it. It won’t hurt you, right?
I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lincoln chuckled again and petted Declan’s hair back from his face. “No, it won’t hurt
me.” He’d guessed that Declan would be open to the cure, but it had to be his mate’s
decision. Thankfully, it would appear they were on the same page. “One thing at a time,
though. Right now, we need to stop Cashel.”
To his surprise, Declan lowered himself to the floor to kneel between his legs. Placing
both hands on Lincoln’s knees, he craned his neck, smiling seductively as he rubbed their
mouths together. “I’m scared, but I’ll do what I can to help.” He nipped at Lincoln’s bottom
lip and purred. “Tell me what you need from me.”
Lincoln needed time to work out a plan, and the last thing he wanted was to put his
mate in danger. For the time being, however, he could think of several things Declan could
do that didn’t put him in harm’s way. “I could use a distraction.”
“Then I guess you’re in luck.” Scraping his fingernail down the zipper of Lincoln’s
jeans, Declan lifted his eyebrows and smirked. “I’m really good at distractions.”
Chapter Six
“This isn’t going to work. How the hell did I let you talk me into this? Oh, gods. I can’t do
this.”
“Angel, breathe.” Lincoln didn’t mean to laugh, but he found his mate adorable when
he babbled. “We’ve gone over it a dozen times. You know what to do. Trust me, okay?
You can do this.”
“What if it doesn’t work? I’m a hybrid now.” Declan wrung his hands together while
he fretted and cast nervous glances around the parking lot of the Twisted Spoke. “My
powers aren’t as strong as they were when I was just a Mousa. I’m not a particularly
awesome vampire, either. Crap, I suck.”
“I love the way you suck,” Lincoln joked—sort of. When those sweet lips were
wrapped around his—
“Pervert.”
“Tease.”
“It’s not teasing if you follow through.”
Lincoln pulled his angel close and kissed his forehead. “Feel better?”
Declan sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before giving a quick bob of his
head. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Remember, I won’t be far away.” Crowding his mate against the door of his SUV,
Lincoln pressed both palms to the window and leaned in until their lips were only a breath
apart. “I promise nothing will happen to you.”
“I know.”
Gods, Lincoln had never seen anything sexier than his mate, especially when his eyes
glazed over with lust like they were right then. “You’re kind of special, Declan Collins.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Giving them both what they craved, he pressed their lips together with a
contented sigh. “Time to get your head in the game.”
“Huh?”
Yep, absolutely beautiful. “Stay calm and remember what we talked about. You can do
this.” With one last kiss, he turned Declan toward the bar and swatted his ass. “Do me
proud, angel.”
* * * *
For the past week, they’d spent the majority of their waking hours developing a plan to
take down Cashel. This will work. Don’t be a pussy. You can do this. Declan kept up the
mental pep talk all the way to the mouth of the alleyway, right back to where it had all
began.
A part of him, the part that recognized Cashel as his Maker, felt sick at the betrayal.
They said blood flowed thicker than water, and Declan could think of no better cliché for
the situation. Cashel’s blood had turned him and now ran through his veins. To turn his
back on his Sire felt like leaving behind a part of himself.
Shoving the feeling down into a deep, dark pit of his stomach, Declan watched as a
black Tahoe rolled into the parking lot, coming to a stop only a few yards from where he
stood.
“You have good news, I hope,” Cashel called to him as he exited the vehicle and
strolled toward the alley. “You know how I hate disappointment.”
He did. His presence proved that. While he didn’t know the guarded vampire well, he
knew him better than anyone else. Lincoln had spent days racking his brain for Cashel’s
weakness, and the answer had been staring him in the face all along—Declan.
Fisting his hands at his sides to stop their trembling, Declan took several deep breaths,
trying to steady his racing pulse. Lincoln had told him his fear would play a big role in
selling the lie and not to hide it. Thank fuck, because no matter how he tried, his heart
thundered inside his chest loud enough for any vampire within a three mile radius to hear
it.
“I have the Loup-garou.” His voice cracked twice, and his legs felt weak and wobbly.
As always, though, his anxiety was for Lincoln, not himself.
Strangely, Cashel didn’t appear upset. He should have been furious. Declan had
disobeyed a direct order, after all. The fact that Lincoln still lived was a testament to his
insubordination.
Cashel smoothed the front of his crisp, black button-down while he stared unspeaking
into the dark shadows of the alley. Then he pushed a strand of golden blond hair out of his
eyes and sighed. “Declan, how long have we been together?”
“I…uh…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”
“It’s really a simple question, little one. How long have you been with me?”
Declan understood the question. He just didn’t understand why he’d been asked it.
“Almost six months.” When in doubt, tell the truth.
“And this wolf,” Cashel mused, offering Declan a coy grin. “Do you love him?”
“I–I barely know him.” He felt something for Lincoln beyond friendship and mere
physical attraction. If it was love, well, that he couldn’t answer. His heart told him it felt
right, but his brain screamed it was too soon. How could he explain that to his Maker when
he didn’t fully comprehend it himself?
“He is your intended, though, is he not?” Cashel tilted his head to the side, still smiling
as though he knew a secret he wasn’t ready to share. “I mean, why else would you go to
such lengths to defy me?”
A protectiveness he’d never felt for anyone swelled inside Declan, preventing him from
creating a plausible excuse. Instead, what came out of his mouth fluctuated between a
growl and a shriek, a sound so full of venom even the hair on his own neck stood on end.
“I won’t let you hurt him. I may not be as old or as powerful as you, but I will fight to
defend what’s mine.”
“And I would expect nothing less.” Cashel studied his fingernails as he spoke, clearly
unperturbed by Declan’s threats.
“Lincoln is a good man, and he—wait.” His ire deflated as quickly as it had come,
leaving Declan wary and uncertain once more. “You knew?”
“I suspected as much when you disappeared, but I needed to be certain. If your furry
comrade is still alive and well, then he must be someone very special.”
“You were testing me?” Declan barely resisted the urge to scream the accusation.
Cashel shrugged. “No, Declan, I was testing him.”
“What if he wasn’t my mate? Then what? You’d have let me murder an innocent man
to satisfy your curiosity?”
“Calm yourself. I simply needed to be sure I could trust him.”
“Trust him with what?” The conversation had veered into uncharted territory. Not once
since meeting Cashel had Declan witnessed this side of his Maker. It had to be a trick, one
of the vampire’s games.
Unfortunately, it was working.
“That is my business and unimportant.” Cashel dismissed the inquiry with a flick of his
wrist. “Now, where is this knight in wolf’s fur? I’d like to meet him.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Declan crossed his arms over his chest and squared his shoulders. He’d already
deviated so far from the plan that he couldn’t hope to get back on track. If he was going to
die, if this grimy, lonely alley was where he made his last stand, he’d do so with courage
and commitment.
“You aren’t going anywhere near him. I’m not stupid, Cashel. I know I’m going to die
in this alley, but I’ll die protecting my mate.” He uncrossed his arms and smoothed the
wrinkles from the sleeves of his trench coat. Hopefully, he appeared calmer than he felt,
because perception meant everything. “So, go ahead and get it over with, because I won’t
give you what you want.”
“I’ve lived a very long life, more than nine hundred years, but you, little one, are my
greatest achievement.” Reaching forward, he tucked a strand of hair behind Declan’s ear
and caressed his cheek. “You have my word that no harm will come to you or your mate.
I’d simply like to make his acquaintance.”
Declan didn’t believe the humble act for a moment, but it did give him an opening to
turn the tables. “I’ll trade you.” He slinked forward, pressing himself to the vampire’s
chest, and pushed up on his toes. “I’ll give you Lincoln if you give me something in return.”
“And what would you like, little one?”
Tracing his top lip with his tongue, Declan let arousal seep into his voice and the
pheromones drench his breath. “A kiss. Just. One. Kiss.”
Though ancient, powerful, and cunning, not even Cashel could resist the allure when
Declan unleashed his full abilities. If his powers weren’t muted by his hybrid nature, he
would have attempted the deception long ago. Alone, however, he stood no chance against
his Maker. He could weaken Cashel to a point, but he couldn’t siphon enough energy to
truly incapacitate him.
No, he couldn’t do it alone, but he trusted Lincoln to have his back. Declan’s role was
simple—distract Cashel and weaken him just enough for Lincoln to have a fighting chance
against him.
Easy. Only a million things could go wrong. No big deal. He couldn’t think about that,
though. The time had passed for cold feet and second guesses.
“A kiss?” Cashel sounded intrigued, but unconvinced.
“Just one?” Pouting his bottom lip out, Declan increased the production of pheromones
and rubbed a little more insistently against his Maker.
Cashel swayed, and finally, a smile tilted the corner of his lips. “I guess there’s no
harm.”
Channeling his concentration, Declan held perfectly still, his eyes locked on Cashel’s
as the vampire leaned closer. He had one chance to get it right, only one shot to make this
happen. So when their lips finally met, he lifted up on his toes and grabbed Cashel’s face
in both hands, taking full possession of his mouth.
As their bodies melded together and their tongues parried, he inhaled, keeping the flow
of energy steady but slow. If he siphoned too slowly, Cashel wouldn’t be impaired enough
when Lincoln attacked. If he pushed too hard, drained too quickly, he’d alert the vampire
to his intentions. He walked a precarious tightrope, making an already stressful situation
that much more taxing.
After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality couldn’t have been more than a few
seconds, loud, ominous growling ripped through the night. The chilling sound echoed off
the stone walls of the pub, and reverberated down into Declan’s bones.
As vicious and fierce as the sounds were, however, they didn’t come from his mate.
Unfortunately, by the time he realized his mistake, the time to flee had already passed. He
glimpsed a shadowy figure from the corner of his eyes, but before he could make his
escape, Declan found himself on the alley floor, staring up at the glistening fangs of one
seriously pissed off werewolf.
* * * *
Sometimes, supernatural hearing didn’t measure up to the hype. As Lincoln listened to
the byplay between his mate and Cashel from the darkness of a nearby park, he decided
this would be one of those times.
When Declan had put his head on the proverbial chopping block to protect him, Lincoln
had heard enough. Though the plan had originally been his idea, when he’d heard Declan
ask for a kiss from his Maker, a red fog had clouded his mind, pressing him to increase his
pace. Cashel’s long, contented sigh had both enraged and nauseated him, and his
imagination had no trouble producing depictions of his sweet angel locked in a passionate
kiss with the devil.
So, by the time the first series of growls erupted into the night, he’d already reached
the parking lot of The Twisted Spoke. “Declan!” Falling into an all-out sprint, he
practically flew across the asphalt, tearing his shirt off as he went in preparation for his
shift. What he found when he arrived at the entrance of the backstreet, however, had him
fighting back inappropriate laughter.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Declan demanded, waving his pointer finger at the
intruding werewolf. He’d somehow managed to wedge himself between one of the trash
bins and the wall of the pub for protection, and his button nose wrinkled in irritation as he
dressed down his attacker. “You can’t just go around biting people. That’s how this whole
mess got started in the first place.”
The stranger paced in front of the receptacle, snarling occasionally and waving his
hands around like a lunatic. “Oh, shut it, Sally Sunshine. Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s
not good manners to go around kissing other men’s mates? He’s mine!”
“Sebastian?” No one had noticed his arrival, and Lincoln hadn’t meant to announce his
presence yet. Hearing his brother’s voice after so long of believing him to be dead had
overridden all good sense, though. “Sebastian!”
The werewolf spun to face him, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open like a guppy.
Then his expression hardened, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Declan.
“Does he belong to you?”
“Yes.” Okay, so it wasn’t going to be a happy reunion. Lincoln could live with that.
His brother had always been a bit…difficult. “Would you like to explain to me how you’re
not dead?”
“Why the hell would you think I’m dead?”
Lincoln nodded toward Cashel and narrowed his eyes. “I saw that asshole carry you
off.”
Sebastian snorted and shook his head. “Right. So you’re telling me you’ve never gone
a little caveman on your mate before?”
“Mate,” Declan yelped. “Seriously? I thought you were joking!”
“No.” Lincoln refused to allow it. “You are not his…his…” Gods, he couldn’t even say
the word with his stomach twisting into violent knots.
“Maybe we should take this somewhere less public,” Cashel suggested.
“Shut it, bloodsucker,” Lincoln growled.
“Hey!” Declan extracted himself from behind the trash can and fisted his hands on his
hips. “I’m part bloodsucker, ya know.”
“Not now, angel.”
“Fucking hypocrite,” Sebastian mumbled under his breath.
Marching up to his baby brother, Lincoln didn’t know whether to hug him or punch
him. In the end, he did neither. Instead, he poked the guy in the chest and huffed. “I’ll deal
with you later. Get in the car.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are!” Lincoln roared. “Why, Seb? Why would you let me think you were
dead all this time? Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through? Do you even care?”
Sebastian wouldn’t back down, though. Hell, the little shit didn’t look the least bit
repentant for his actions. Straightening his spine, he pulled himself up to his full height and
pushed against Lincoln’s chest with both hands. “Why the hell would you think I was
dead?”
“You fucking disappeared for six weeks!”
“Yes, and this would be the first time?”
Sebastian had him there. His brother didn’t put down roots, and he rarely stayed in one
place longer than a few months at a time. “This is different.”
“Really?” Sebastian arched one eyebrow and stepped forward in challenge. “How is
this different?”
“How can you be with him knowing what he’s done?” He hadn’t expected to find
Sebastian alive, not until recently anyway. Once he’d allowed himself the possibility of
hope, however, he kind of imagined the reunion would play out with a lot less hostility
between them.
“Do you even know him?” Backing away from Lincoln, Sebastian moved to stand
beside Cashel and hooked an arm around the vampire’s waist.
“I know he’s a killer.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Declan added, stepping forward to take his place at Lincoln’s
side. “I know. I’ve helped him.”
Sebastian just rolled his eyes. “Were you actually there for any of these supposed
murders?”
“I…well, I mean…he always…I just know, okay!” If Declan’s face turned any redder,
Lincoln worried the guy would stroke out right there amongst the broken bottles and
cigarette butts.
“Feeding is a biological necessity.” Cashel sidestepped, clearly trying to dislodge
himself from Sebastian’s embrace, not that it did any good. The werewolf held on fast, and
Cashel simply sighed before speaking again. “You were always so sensitive, though. I
could tell it hurt you to feed, or to even watch me feed. I just wanted to prevent your
suffering, little one.”
“You didn’t kill them?” Declan looked as confused as Lincoln felt. “Never?”
“I’ve killed,” Cashel confessed, “but only to defend myself or someone else. I know
my reputation would lead you to believe otherwise, but I don’t enjoy unnecessary slaughter.
After I feed, I simply compel the donor to forget me and leave town. We chose drifters and
the lot to avoid…awkward questions. That type isn’t expected to stay in one place for
long.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his brow. “Have I taught you nothing, Declan?”
Cashel took a short nip and sent these men and women on their merry way? Lincoln
didn’t buy it. “What about Declan?” He placed a protective arm around his mate, easing
the muse behind him. “You’re telling me you didn’t have anything to do with him getting
his ass handed to him a couple of weeks ago?”
“I can take care of myself,” Declan mumbled defensively. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You were hurt?” Cashel’s concern seemed genuine, but when he stepped toward
Declan and lifted his hand, Lincoln’s hold on his self-control finally snapped.
Instinct rode him, driving every thought from his mind except defending his mate. The
wolf within him howled and gnashed his teeth, clawing his way to the surface. Sharp,
curved talons extended from his fingertips, his canines elongated, and his pupils dilated,
bleeding out to the corners of his eyes.
Grabbing Cashel’s extended arm, he swung the vampire around, lifting him off his feet
before slamming him into the adjacent wall. Two distinct voices called his name, but they
sounded distant, muffled, and they were easily forgotten. Cashel retaliated with an elbow
to Lincoln’s face, snapping his head back and making his ears rings.
Stumbling apart, they circled each other, both baring their fangs and breathing heavily.
“I’m not your enemy, Lincoln.” Cashel held up both hands, palms out in surrender.
Lincoln didn’t want his surrender, though.
He wanted blood.
* * * *
“Who’s winning?”
Declan glanced at Sebastian and shrugged. “Both of them? Neither of them?” Lincoln
and Cashel had been going at it for nearly twenty minutes, exchanging blows and just all
around acting like a couple of alpha douchebags.
“Should we do something?”
“What can we do? It’s not like they listen to us.” They’d tried to stop the two
Neanderthals, only to be brushed aside, encouraged to stand in the corner like unruly
children.
“Lincoln’s your mate.”
“And he’s your brother,” Declan countered. “What’s your point? Cashel’s your mate.
Why don’t you do something?”
“He’s your Maker.” Settling against the bumper of Cashel’s SUV, Sebastian rubbed
the back of his neck and groaned. “Do you think they’d notice if we started making out?”
“Probably not.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned to the side to bump his
shoulder against Sebastian’s. “You’re not so bad, and I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“I can’t believe this whole mess started because I wanted to get laid.”
“Do you believe Cashel?” Declan wanted to trust his Maker. He wanted to believe
Cashel hadn’t done all the horrible things he’d been accused of, but he’d seen some of
those murders with his own eyes, innocent people who hadn’t been hurting anyone.
“I do,” Sebastian confirmed.
“I’ve seen him, though.” Glancing toward the fight, Declan winced when Cashel landed
a particularly vicious blow, splitting Lincoln’s eyebrow open and splattering blood over
the nearby receptacle. “I’ve seen him kill innocent people.”
“Are you sure they were so innocent?”
Honestly, he had no idea who those people were or why Cashel had gone after them.
Everything he thought he knew no longer made any sense. “What do we do now?”
“Well…” Sebastian trailed off and nodded toward their brawling mates. “Cashel came
here tonight to release you. He just wanted to be sure he could trust your new boyfriend.”
Smiling indulgently, his eyes softened as he watched his mate deliver a roundhouse kick
to Lincoln’s midsection. “He really does care about you, Declan.”
Declan didn’t have an argument for that, so he ignored it. “He wanted me to kill
Lincoln.” Pushing away from the bumper, he rounded on his new brother-in-law. “Why
would you let him do that? Why would you risk your own brother like that?”
“Calm down, sweet cheeks. I didn’t know your boy toy was Lincoln until he showed
up here tonight, and I already told you why Cashel did that. He needed to be sure he could
trust Lincoln with your safety.” A quiet chuckle rolled through his chest, and he ducked
his head to look up at Declan through his lashes. “Besides, you wouldn’t have killed him.
No offense, but you’re not strong enough as a hybrid.”
“Then what about those guys he sent to rough me up?” It couldn’t all be a lie. Declan
needed one thing, just one, to actually add up. Otherwise, everything he thought he knew
was just an illusion.
“Did you see his face?” Sebastian asked. “He had no idea about that.” He wrinkled his
nose and chuckled. “C’mon, he’s a terrible liar.”
Declan couldn’t debate that, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d even said so
himself on several occasions. “Fine. One more question?”
“Sure.” Sebastian nodded. “I’ll answer if I can.”
“Does he really want to be human? Is that why we were chasing Loup-garous across
Canada?”
“Yes and no.” Sebastian sat motionless, saying nothing for several agonizing seconds.
“He told me a seer said his protégé’s mate would be a Loup-garou. The wanting-to-be-
human part came after, but he wouldn’t do that to you, Declan. He wouldn’t leave you
defenseless, which is why—”
“He wanted to be sure Lincoln could protect me,” Declan interrupted.
Sebastian smirked. “You got it.”
His temples throbbed with all the conflicting information, but he couldn’t find it in
himself to care about the truth any longer. Either Cashel had murdered hundreds of
innocent people or he hadn’t. Maybe he actually cared about Declan, and maybe he didn’t.
None of it mattered to him anymore.
Marching down the dimly lit alley, he positioned himself between his mate and his
Maker and growled at them both. “I’m taking my mate and going home.” He looked from
Cashel to Sebastian. “Maybe you should do the same.” Then he took Lincoln’s hand and
rubbed his thumb over the bruised and bloodied knuckles before pulling him toward the
parking lot. “Come on, big guy. We’re finished here.”
Epilogue
Six months later…
Pulling his favorite red cloak tighter around his shoulders, Declan hurried along the moonlit
trail, searching left and right for any danger. He didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anything,
but he could feel eyes on him, watching…waiting.
He knew better than to traverse the woods at night, but he’d been down by the stream,
picking fresh herbs, and time had gotten away from him. The lights from his back porch
gleamed through the trees, leading him home to the safety of the small cabin he shared with
his mate.
“Run,” a voice whispered in his ear, but when he turned to investigate, he saw only the
emptiness of the forest.
Chills traveled down his spine, his gut clenched, pushing him to increase his pace. Not
until he’d reach the circle of light near the porch steps did he finally release the breath he’d
been holding, though. Get it together. Even if something did roam the forest, Lincoln
wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
Jogging toward the back porch, he leapt the last few feet, intending to land on the
bottom step. Something caught him in midair, though, wrapping around his waist and
tackling him to the ground. A heavy weight landed on top of him, rolling him through the
grass and dirt.
Shoving and kicking, he managed to extract himself from his attacker and scramble
backward, using the porch steps to lever into a standing position. “You idiot.” He lifted the
hem of his cloak to examine the small tear. “You ripped it.”
“I’m sorry, angel.” Lincoln didn’t sound repentant as he laughed, though. “I’ll buy you
a new one next time we go into town.”
“I got this from a specialty shop on the internet.”
Lincoln stalked forward, prowling closer as a needy growl rumbled through his chest.
“I’ll buy you a hundred of them, whatever you want.”
“My, my,” Declan teased as he let his cloak fall to the grass, revealing only naked flesh
beneath, “what big eyes you have.”
“The better to see you with, angel.” He took a step closer, pulling his shirt off as he
went and tossing it to the side.
Gods, the rough, gravelly quality of his voice sent blood flowing straight to Declan’s
cock, and he almost forgot his next line. “Oh, my big bad wolf, what big ears you have.”
Walking backward up the porch steps, he eased toward the door, never taking his eyes off
Lincoln.
“The better to hear you scream my name, angel.” Popping open the button fly on his
jeans, he slid the denim down his thighs, revealing his perfectly toned and deliciously nude
body.
Declan’s dick swelled and throbbed, leaking generous amounts of pre-cum from the
slit. Since his release from Cashel and his move back to Virginia, he and Lincoln had played
this game on numerous occasions. Each time, he got just a little better at it, but he never
could quite make it to the end. Thankfully, this game had no rules, and no matter the
outcome, he always won.
He still felt Lincoln cheated, though. No one had the right to be that sexy, and he had a
damn hard time keeping his mind on something other than the long, thick cock that jutted
from between his mate’s thighs. On the other hand, since Lincoln had come through with
his promise, curing him of his vampire hybrid nature, Declan had some fairly crafty tricks
of his own now.
“W–What big…big…” His eyes fixated on his lover’s engorged length, and his mouth
watered as his mind went completely blank.
“Yes?” Lincoln rasped, his voice growing deeper, huskier.
“Catch me.” Then he spun around, wrenched open the door, and sprinted through the
house.
Lincoln caught up with him just inside their bedroom, lifting him off his feet and
tossing him to the center of the bed. “I caught you.” Crawling up Declan’s body, Lincoln
pinned him to the mattress and nipped at his bottom lip. “What’s my prize?”
Their mouths crashed together as they rolled across the bed, groping and pawing at
each other with enough passion to send the room up in flames. Bowing his back, Declan
arched into his mate, rubbing their hard cocks together in an attempt to relieve some of the
pressure building in his tight sac.
“I can’t take anymore. Please, Lincoln!” The werewolf had been teasing him all day,
walking about the house naked, kissing him as if his life depended on it, and just generally
driving him out of his mind.
“Shh, don’t I always take care of you?”
The snick of a bottle cap followed Lincoln’s assurance, and without warning, two long,
slick fingers plunged into Declan’s channel. His muscles burned as they stretched, radiating
heat out to his extremities, and Lincoln’s groan of approval had him gritting his teeth to
fight back his impending orgasm.
He’d always loved that initial sting of pain, that little bite of discomfort that morphed
into overwhelming pleasure. Hooking his arms under his knees, he pulled his thighs back
to his chest, opening himself wider and rocking up to meet each thrust of Lincoln’s fingers.
“I can’t wait,” his mate warned, but all Declan could do was moan in relief.
Sure, there were nights when he wanted slow and sensual. Sometimes, he wanted to
draw out the pleasure, teasing them both until the need became too much. Nothing
compared to the way Lincoln worshiped his body, and some nights, he craved that gentle
touch.
This wasn’t one of those nights.
Lincoln extracted his fingers, lubed his impressive length, and pushed inside Declan’s
clenching ass in one, smooth stroke. Covering Declan’s smaller body, he rested their
foreheads together and held perfectly still—minus the trembling of his muscles and the
vibration of his chest as he growled.
“I’m okay,” Declan assured his mate. “Move.”
“Oh, thank fuck.”
Sweat slicked their skin, glistening slightly in the moonlight that shone through the
window. Every snap of Lincoln’s hips came harder than the last, and Declan bucked up
against his lover, meeting each demanding plunge with equal enthusiasm.
His inner walls convulsed and his sac tightened as his climax raced toward him,
dragging him beneath the waves of ecstasy. Strong, sinewy arms surrounded his waist,
lifting him from the mattress and into his lover’s lap where Lincoln licked, kissed, and
nibbled along the column of his throat.
“Are you going to come for me, angel? Are you gonna scream for me?” Then he struck,
sinking his fangs into Declan’s pectoral, right over his heart.
Fisting his hands in Lincoln’s damp hair, Declan threw his head back and shouted as
his orgasm sucker punched him right in the gut. His muscles quivered, his heart hammered,
and his entire body went rigid as his cock erupted with creamy ropes of semen. The mind-
melting release seemed to go on forever, draining every last drop from his aching balls and
leaving him limp and exhausted.
With a low growl, Lincoln extracted his canines as his cock jerked inside Declan’s still
twitching channel, filling his depths to overflowing with reams of molten lava. “I’m never
letting you go,” Lincoln vowed through panted breaths. “Never.”
“I can live with that.” Things had been building toward this moment for a while, and
though it may not have been perfect timing, Declan couldn’t contain his feelings any
longer. “I love you, Lincoln Chastain, and I’d follow you anywhere.”
His mate didn’t seem surprised by the declaration as he leaned forward to nuzzle under
Declan’s chin. “I know, angel. Your eyes give you away every time.” He skimmed his nose
along Declan’s jawline and pecked at his lips. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to
me, and I’ll love you forever if you’ll let me.”
Blinking rapidly, Declan sniffed a few times, and wrapped his arms around Lincoln’s
neck with a goofy smile. His soul lit with light, and his chest swelled with warmth, but he
didn’t want to be a big girl about the whole thing. So he dipped his head to rub their noses
together and sighed. “You still owe me a new cloak.”
“Anything you want,” Lincoln promised. “What color would you like?” His hands
roamed along Declan’s sides, over the swell of his hips, and around to squeeze the rounded
hills of his ass.
Declan wouldn’t be distracted, though. “Do you really have to ask?” Only one color
worked for their games, and really, anything besides his personal favorite just wouldn’t
feel right. Declan liked authenticity after all. “Red.” Not just any color red would do,
though. “Blood red.”
~ THE END ~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zayne Michaels is a small-town girl who grew up and ran off to the big city. She currently
resides in the Midwest where she spends her days dreaming up dark, sexy adventures in
between soccer games and the never-ending pile of laundry.
Zayne’s fascination with old and discarded treasures has always been a source of
inspiration for her tales. From antique clocks to old, dilapidated houses, her imagination
turns to the “what ifs” and “what used to bes.”
Maybe this love for the abandoned is why she is a firm advocate of second chances, or
perhaps she's just a little crazy. Whatever the reason, Zayne believes everyone chooses
their own path, creates their own destiny, and is the author of their own story.
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