Scattered Siblings 3: To Mate a Werewolf Read online

  Barely holding back her tears, Ellie stiffened as Joel pulled her close. His hold was different this time, stiffer and more distant. Her stupid body wanted to nestle against his broad chest, but her pride came to her rescue. Ellie couldn’t meet his gaze as he leaped back outside the abbey’s high wall. She was scared she’d see icebergs and arctic wastes hidden in the startling blue of his eyes.

  Fucking Joel had been cathartic, a healing for those six months of trauma she always pretended hadn’t happened. Two years later, and she’d grown into a strong, confident woman. Despite her scarred cheek and Mr. Spock ears, the Lykae soldiers accepted her. Of course nonmilitary Lykae would never consider a half-bred Elf a fitting mate for their alpha, but that brief spell of acceptance had helped her heal inside. Of course the scars on her face… Well let’s face it, I’m stuck with those.

  Today with Joel, she had felt capable, strong, and horny—then he opened his mouth, and vitriol poured from his lips. Can’t join the pack? Can’t introduce me to his mate? Can spread my legs and fuck me, though.

  That morning when she realized Joel had come after her in person, she’d dodged through Whitby’s narrow streets. Finally she’d taken refuge by the abbey. That run had been proof that people would only ever see her scars, not the woman who carried them. Whitby’s inhabitants, even the weather-beaten fishermen with their grizzled faces, had reacted as badly as the new cook. Then Joel caught her anyway. Not that she was complaining after the way he’d fucked her.

  Even if he’d carried her off and introduced her to his pack, why should civilian Lykae accept her any more than Whitby’s inhabitants? Wolf packs weren’t subtle. Just like the replacement cook, they wouldn’t hide their disgust. Sex with Joel left her feeling used and dirty. She couldn’t wait to wash his spunk from between her legs.

  Needing to hurt him back, she snapped, “I need a shower to wash the stink of oversexed wolf off me.”

  Joel’s eyes lost their customary twinkle. “Ellie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “Really? See, after the stories of you and your legion of women the platoon used to chortle over, I have trouble believing that,” Ellie taunted.

  That awful night when the Elves’ potion had turned her into a whore, Joel had held her, comforted her, and most of all, he hadn’t fucked her. She owed him for that—loved him for it, really. The rigidity in her shoulders eased a little. He’d wormed his way into her heart that night. No wonder she’d stripped and screwed him. She’d do it again in an instant.

  All she’d wanted was a farewell fuck, and a few stolen moments in his arms. Then he screwed her in more ways than one. The sex had been great, everything she’d ever dreamed of, and then he’d offered to pay her for services rendered. The Elves used drugs to make her willing. Joel just needed to smile his whiter-than-white smile, and her heart turned somersaults. The end result was the same—sex and humiliation.

  His I-can’t-insult-my-wife speech cut Ellie to the heart. And why had he said wife, not mate? They were different things completely. Her two years in the Lykae army had taught her that. A mate strengthened her partner and stood by his side whatever fate threw at them. Marriage was a human custom, right along with divorce. Matehood was a forever commitment that paired two people and made their souls one.

  Couldn’t he have kept quiet and let me pretend, just for a moment, that I’m his?

  The distance between them reared up like the Impassible Mountains near the Lykae camp, pushing them farther apart. So much for parting as friends. At least she hadn’t cried in front of him. Yet.

  When Joel set her beyond the boundary wall, he apologized again. She sniffed, clutched her well-stuffed kit bag, and set off down the Church Stairs. Don’t look back. Don’t turn around. Don’t let him see my tears.

  She had nothing to keep her in Whitby. When her mother finally drank herself to death, Ellie had quit school and transferred to a catering college. She’d made a few friends there, but she’d taken care that they never saw her freak-show ears. Her fellow students had been more acquaintances than friends, and she had no desire to look them up.

  All her true friends were Lykae, and her army days had been the happiest of her life. For all the training the Lykae had given her, Ellie still considered herself a cook not a soldier. Although Lykae preferred their meat rare, preferably on the hoof, she’d yet to meet one who didn’t have a sweet tooth.

  The Lykae paymaster deposited her salary in a human bank, and Lykae paid in multiples of the mundane world’s wages. Not that she’d ever had much money. Her alcoholic mother had ensured that. She’d scraped by with part-time jobs and secondhand clothes. Since she’d spent nothing during her enlistment, she’d never felt as rich, or thanks to Joel, so heartbroken, in her life.

  She was doing the right thing, leaving this way. She couldn’t embarrass Joel by clinging to him just because they’d shared sex. He’d already made his feelings clear, and all he left her was her hard-won pride. Besides, with her Mr. Spock Ears and a face that made grown men wince, she’d embarrass the hell out of Joel if she tried to officially join his pack. The fact that today he cared enough to come after her in person made her blink wildly. Pesky sun making my eyes water.

  When the Elves had kidnapped her, she’d discovered what her pointed ears meant. Thanks for the head's-up, Mom. I might not be some freak-eared relative of Mr. Spock, but I’m still a member of an alien race.

  She was an Elf, and that was about as low as life got. She hadn’t known the real-live mythical creatures existed. Turns out, I’m half mythical myself.

  Ellie’s mother had preferred her gin bottle to harsh reality. And when she hit her lowest point, she always cried out for some guy named Herodotus. What sort of name was that? And what sort of woman pined for a jerk who got her pregnant and vanished, never to be seen again?

  Ellie’s life fell apart the night the Elves kidnapped her. She’d been overwhelmed by the alien world. The sky should be blue not the same emerald-green as her eyes, and plants shouldn’t eat people. The first time she’d seen a wyvern, she’d screamed.

  When the Elves poured one of those fuck-anybody-at-any-cost potions down her throat, she’d learned what a fate worse than death meant. For a girl who’d grown up believing she was human, the humiliation had been worse than the pain. Being submissive wasn’t in her nature, but six months of near starvation and turn-you-into-a nymphomaniac potions almost broke her.

  After that, she’d been freed by Lykae—werewolves, for goodness’ sake.

  When they found her, she’d been drugged up and desperate for sex. Joel had held her until the potion wore off, and then the shame kicked in. Ellie had made a break for freedom.

  He’d caught her before she’d made it into the jungle, but his hold had been gentle. “Damn it, girl, do you have a death wish? You won’t last a minute among those carnivorous plants. Our informant mistook you for a Fae, and since they’re our allies, we came after you. No one’s going to hurt you now, but a Lykae incursion into Elf territory just to rescue an Elven woman could spark a war. I know the two species are similar, but our informant needs to get his facts right in the future. The Elves wouldn’t dare treat a Fae woman the way they’d treated you. I’m sorry, girl, but you’ll have to come with us.”

  “Ellie. My name is Ellie, not girl.”

  Her small show of courage after the things she had been through seemed to amaze him. He’d taken her arm and steered her back to the camp. It had taken a while, but with the help of the Lykae, she’d clawed back her self-respect. The werewolves were boisterous and teasing, and even though they could turn into creatures almost twice her size, they’d never raised their voice or their hands to her.

  Their easy acceptance had warmed her, despite her freak-show ears. She’d always hated them, still did really, especially since they marked her Elven heritage. That said, she liked the woman she’d become…except for her scars. Nothing would ever make her like them.

  She didn’t belong in Whitby any
more. The way mothers pulled their children aside rather than let them see her scars had shown her that. She didn’t belong among the Lykae either. Life had been easy in the military camp in the southern reaches of Lykae territory. The soldiers accepted her, scars and all. To Ellie, the best part had been the camp’s isolated location. With the Impassible Mountains so close and the sea of carnivorous plants surrounding it, civilians kept their distance. Her friends in the mess hall had told her the Tundra Toughs pack lived in the far north, well away from people-eating plants. Not that she’d ever visited, even when her friends invited her. Civilians judge me the way they would a book. One look at my cover—my scars—and they freak.

  Until yesterday, she’d intended to join the Tundra Toughs pack. Then the new cook gagged when he saw her. She hated that she could give Medusa a run for her money. Okay, I don’t turn men to stone, but one look at my face, and they want to throw up.

  Ellie had matured into a strong-minded woman who carried herself tall as though she mattered. She’d have liked her eyes better if they didn’t glow in the dark. A would-be Lykae lover once compared them to the vibrant green of the Mediterranean Sea. She hadn’t believed him, but his smooth talking got him a huge slice of her poppy seed cake. Unwilling to accept anyone’s pity, she wore her hair bobbed and brushed forward to hide her scarred cheek.

  By comparison, Joel was perfect. He’d let his hair grow longer than the severe military cut most soldiers favored. The way it kissed his collar fascinated her, and she wanted to bury her hands in it. One lock fell from his forehead to his shoulder, braided and threaded with turquoise beads. Lykae were pack animals at heart, and each pack adopted their own color and standard. Tundra Toughs always wore turquoise flashes on their uniforms. The Desert Marauders wore red. She’d only ever seen one, but a visiting Rock Prowler soldier had worn yellow flashes.

  Joel’s military uniform, black with the occasional flash of turquoise, the same shade as the beads decorating his braid, showed off his broad shoulders, then tapered in to his waist. The tailor had needed to cut the sleeves a size bigger to fit over his biceps.

  Ellie spent the next couple of hours strolling the quayside, trying to concentrate on anything except Joel Blackheart. His kisses had turned her blood to liquid fire, and residual heat still warmed her pussy. She couldn’t regret the way he’d seated himself between her legs and fucked her. She’d dream about him every night—as if I don’t already—but the aftermath of their loving had turned her dream into a nightmare.

  Ellie pulled her hair over her cheek. That slightly embarrassed, totally horrified look people had given her on the quayside would follow her for the rest of her life. It hurt almost as much as when Broken Nose had carved up her cheek.

  Normally the familiar smells, freshly caught fish and seaweed, comforted her. Now they made her feel sick. Unable to stand the way people stared, she caught a local bus to one of her childhood haunts—the lily pond in Pannet Park. The driver’s forehead creased, pushing his eyebrows together, and his jaw dropped when he saw her scars.

  He looked away and studied his ticket machine as though his life depended on it. “Where to, love?”

  A few minutes later he dropped her at Pannet Park, and she made a beeline for the lily pond. Notebook in hand, she settled by the water. After a quick smile at the two middle-aged men on the bench opposite, she started her list of things she needed for her new cake shop. She’d already decided to set up in York since tourists flocked there all year round.

  Her hair fell over her face, and absorbed in planning her future, she tucked it behind her ears. A corner plot and a bedroom on the premises would be good, and the cherry on her cake would be a carpark nearby.

  A shadow fell over her page, and when she looked up, the two men she’d smiled at earlier loomed over her.

  The tall, thin one sat beside her. “There’s a gun beneath my coat, and I won’t hesitate to use it. Get up and come with us.”

  His sidekick, the chubby one with dark hair, said quietly, “The People’s Defense League don’t care for you otherworld types running around our world, and you Elves are the worst of the lot.”

  Ellie stared up at him. “You’ve watched too many bad 1960s spy films, with your ridiculous raincoat and nonexistent gun.”

  Cold metal pressed against her arm. “It’s real enough. Button the smart mouth and stand up. We’re leaving. Now.”

  The gunman’s sneer scared her as much as the gun. She’d heard of the People’s Defense League and how they’d tortured the Lykae’s hereditary king. She’d been an idiot to tuck her hair back behind her ear, and because of it, Laurel and Hardy here wanted to shoot her.

  Her captors steered her to the carpark and a two-door car.

  The 1960s reject with the gun growled, “Tip the passenger seat forward and get into the back.”

  Food wrappings and old newspapers covered the rear seat. When she moved the rubbish aside to look for a weapon, her hand shook. Truly terrified now, she stared out the window and studied the road. They headed along the coast to Sandsend, then turned down a private road to an old farmhouse. The nearby barn looked as though a bomb exploded inside it and blew out the walls. She needed an escape route, fast. Then, when she spotted the wild garlic and herbs growing along the drive, her escape plan formed.

  Chapter Four

  Joel Blackheart planted his feet on the cliff top, wide, and squeezed the metal banister rail so hard it crumbled in his hand. Watching Ellie walk away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and he almost ran after her. Only, what was the point? Whatever he said, however closely he held her, he couldn't change what had just happened.

  Elves’ blood, I’ve never messed up so badly in my life.

  He’d come after Ellie to protect her and welcome her into the Tundra Toughs pack. Instead he’d screwed her, insulted her, and now he watched her walk out of his life. He wanted to murder the replacement cook for driving Ellie away, but the aftermath was his fault. Not that he could have kept his hands off her. But he should have. His new plan was to pay one of her Lykae friends to keep tabs on her. His primal wolf, over eight and a half feet of muscle, fangs, and fur, rampaged inside him. It wanted out, and it wanted Ellie. His natural wolf, the real-life lupine that lived inside him, howled its disgust and turned its back.

  Joel’s fingernails stretched into claws. Control it. Keep my beasts caged. Stay calm. Even his human side needed to know Ellie was safe and well. The damn woman with her independent streak caused him more trouble than a whole pack of wolves. If needs be, he’d personally buy every cake she baked. Honestly, he’d do whatever it took to make her business a success. Meanwhile, his dad wanted to stand down as pack alpha. That meant Joel had a pack to run and protect.

  A month ago, he’d written to his father, and every word had stuck in his craw. He could picture every detail of the letter, almost feel the thick paper in his hands. He could recite it the way a soldier could quote military regulations.

  Dad,

  I’m coming home.

  I know every alpha needs a good woman beside him. Watching you and Mom in action proves that, but after all these years I’m never going to find my fated female. Honestly I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want some woman wrapping me around her little finger.

  You said you’d drawn up a short list of packs willing to forge an alliance where the alpha has an unmated daughter. A woman who has given up on finding her mate would be a bonus. Since ours will be a business arrangement, I don’t want my wife to bond with another after we’ve wed. Ideally, she should be regal with faultless manners. I don’t want some clinging female who will expect me to dance attendance on her every whim. If she’s agreeable, we can announce our engagement as I take up the role of pack alpha.

  I’m happy to leave matters in your hands. I look forward to seeing you soon.

  Your loving son,

  Joel

  He’d stand by every word, but he still worried about Ellie. Furious he'd m
essed up so badly, he flashed back to the otherworld and the Tundra Toughs’ camp. Where were the kitchen orderlies when he needed them? He wanted to find out who Ellie had been close to, and her friends had better not have been male.

  He didn’t like that the unmated wolves might have hung around her and tried to coax her into having sex. Coaxing? She’d given it up like a good ’un, and her sweet little pussy had clenched tight around him as she came. He’d loved how her head thrashed and her nipples pearled, but her inexperience of consensual sex had showed. Since they’d rescued her, she must have shied away from sex. Elves’ blood, that meant she’d saved herself for him.

  See, right when I think things can’t get any worse, they do.

  Fired up from the thrill of the chase, he’d cornered and fucked his prey. This time his prey had been Ellie—a vulnerable Elf he’d sworn to protect. A she-wolf would never have initiated chase play without being willing. Ellie had been so determined not to embarrass him that she’d run in earnest. His inner wolves hadn’t understood. Even his human side had been hot for her, and for once, he hadn’t listened to his conscience. What sort of Alpha did that make him? He should never have hurt a woman in his care, especially not his Ellie. He accosted the first soldier he saw. “Why is the mess kitchen deserted?”

  “Extra training, sir.” The soldier stood to attention and saluted.

  “At ease.” Joel grinned. “Who authorized that?”

  The soldier grinned back. “No one, sir. The drill sergeants decide the new cook looked flabby. They’ve sent him off on maneuvers and told the orderlies to do the best they can. We’re missing Ellie already.”

  Joel laughed for the first time since Ellie had walked away from him in Whitby. She should have at least looked back, but the damn woman had held her head high as she descended the stairs.