Page 9 of Wolves Bound by Desire

“Misti,” he said, her name slightly garbled because of his fangs.

“Anders,” she returned.

He trailed his claws all along her body, her face, her cheeks, down her arms, on her torso and breasts, along her stomach, down her legs. Not once did he pierce her skin, yet her whole body hummed, burning as if his touch was made of fire.

Wishing to do the same to him, Misti gently touched his chest and pressed back, making certain her claws did not pierce his skin. Slowly, he eased off of her and stood. She did as well and trailed her claws against his body, both front and back. How this had changed so much she didn’t know, but this mating was going to change her life forever.

And she wasn’t frightened, not one bit. Their lives might not last long, but they would go down fighting at each other’s side. And if they happened to survive tomorrow and the next day and the next year and decade? She would welcome it.

She gave him one last kiss then stepped back slightly and nodded. Time for the marking, for the mating to be completed.

Only ten pairs of yellow, orange, or amber eyes stared at them, flashing eerily in the surrounding darkness Snouts appeared next, along with fangs dripping with saliva.

They had company, their mating time up before it could be completed, and these werewolves did not look happy to see them. In fact, they looked ready to kill.

8

Anders knew he would only ever claim one she-wolf in his lifetime, and he wanted to make it count. Yes, love did not always have to play a role in a claiming, and he couldn’t say he loved Misti, at least not yet, but he did feel responsible toward her, and he enjoyed her company—when she wasn’t trying to kill him, that is.

And so he had tried to make it both personal and meaningful. Had he not been so intent on her and what they were about to do, his nose would have long ago picked up the scent of the approaching werewolves.

Ten of them he saw as he shoved his body through the shifting process to become his wolf in a matter of seconds. Misti did the same, and they stood side by side. Saliva dripped out of his mouth and plopped onto the grass beneath him.

The werewolves, not one of them were a relation of his. Misti’s packmates then. He stood there, ready to pounce if need be, but he kept glancing at the she-wolf, wondering if she would change into her human form to talk to them.

But none of the ten wolves changed either, and each of them, in turn, bared their fangs. Starlight glistened from their teeth, making them shine almost as much as their eyes. They looked almost rabid, feral.

This wasn’t to be a talk, a time for confessions, or a time to plead.

This was to be an execution.

Not if he could help it.

Who lunged first—one of them or himself or Misti—he didn’t know, but the battle started. His claws tore into someone’s ribs, so deep he could feel the bones. The yelp had him howling with pleasure. The scent of blood drove his wolf wild, and he had to fight to remain in control of himself. Wolves were meant for fighting, for wars. No wonder their blood feud had lasted for so long, what with human’s tendency toward holding grudges and wolves’ thirst for vengeance.

Teeth nipped at him, and he swatted the jaw so hard the offending wolf whined. His jaw hung crookedly, but still, he came at Anders again. He darted up a tree and jumped onto the broken-jawed wolf’s back. His paw forced the wolf’s head down swiftly, right against a large rock. More blood spilled, and the wolf only pawed at the ground for a few more moments before stilling.

Having a second to breathe, Anders glanced around wildly until he located Misti. She was squaring off against two wolves, both of them larger than her. He bounded toward her, but three snarling wolves blocked his path. As one, they came at him, and they became a tangle of fur and teeth and claws, kicking and biting and scratching. Now, some of the blood spilled didn’t just belong to his enemies, but Anders refused to stop fighting. He tore at one of the wolves’ throat, ripping it out. Blood rained down on them, dark droplets that glittered like garnets when the starlight hit the flying beads, so much blood that the ground beneath his feet grew slick, and Anders had to struggle to keep his balance.

A foot square to his ribs had Anders falling after all. Claws ripped into his skin. Fighting as if possessed, he slashed down so violently on the offending leg that a snapping sound echoed around them as the bone snapped. The wolf released a howl that Anders quickly silenced by crushing his throat.

Only one more wolf stood between him and Misti now. He saw the ruined, wounded, or dead bodies of five wolves on the ground. Another wolf had joined the two fighting her, while the last now stood beside the one facing Anders.

He released a deep throaty howl, basically telling them to do their worst.

And they did not disappoint.

These wolves were bigger, stronger, and meaner than the previous ones he had fought. One almost broke his jaw like he had the first wolf, but he just ducked his head low enough to avoid that unpleasantness, although it did mean that, instead, it was his snout that took the brutal beating. He couldn’t be certain if it was broken or not, if the blood dripping was from claw marks or a busted nose, but he fought back hard.

His tail rose higher with each blow he landed, each kick, each bite. He would not be denied. He would have Misti, and they would be together.

Whether in this life or the next.

And right now, as he took a blow to the head that left him sprawling on the bloody ground, it just might end up being the next life after all.

9

Misti had trained to be a fighter since she had turned three. Her father had demanded it of her, saying his heir had to be strong and powerful and capable. Some of the other werewolves had made comments about it, things she hadn’t realized what they had meant until she was much older. They had thought her father was pushing her too hard, too much, too young.

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