Forrest, Dawn - Alphas' Prize [WeresRus] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (9 page)

He looked distinctly shocked and puzzled until she rattled the chains in front of him. Comprehension dawned on his face.

“We sometimes have to transport wild animals,” he wryly explained with a tight smile.

I’ll bet you do.
Feeling a tad apprehensive, she quickly exited the hold and made her way to the very comfortable passenger cabin.
Well, at least I’m not a prisoner in the cheap seats. Yet.

She made it through the ninety-minute flight without getting drugged or Tasered. Upon arrival in Kalispell, she helped Harry to quickly liberate her bike and refuel. She was constantly alert for any trouble, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Hawke was letting her come to him. She hoped she wasn’t riding into a trap. As she waved goodbye she had no doubt that Harry would be ringing his boss and informing him that she was on her way.

It was a dry, perfect Montana spring morning for a bike ride. She was thankful that the roads were clear of snow and ice. She slowed down to take a sharp bend in the road, appreciating that the route was interesting and challenging on a bike. On any other occasion she would have really enjoyed the ride. As she came out of the corner, she opened the throttle and sped along the empty tree-lined road, trying not to overthink her situation. The GPS guided her closer and closer to her destination, a den of werewolves, and to a major juncture in her life where events would unfold and form her future. The only thing she could do was to try to maintain as much control over her own destiny as possible. She was not going to let these males push her around.

When she saw a sign to the nearby large village of Wereford, she couldn’t help but smile in appreciation of how they hid out in the open. It was only about another five miles to The Den. Gradually she became aware of a rumbling sound behind her. In her wing mirror she saw two Ducatis closing up fast.
Cool bikes.
She slowed down a little and waved them past. For a moment it looked as if that was what they were going to do, but then the two riders seemed to change their minds and hung back slightly, one on either side, effectively flanking her.
Not good.

She kept her attention mostly on the road ahead, but when she glanced in her wing mirrors she saw that they had partially raised their visors. Their matching expressions of astonishment gave her cause for concern, but she couldn’t smell anything because she was going fast and they were slightly behind her. When she saw the similar male faces sniff the air and the gleam of sharp, long teeth exposed by a grin, she knew that they must be werewolves, and she was in trouble.
Oh fuck!
She opened the throttle full. No way, no how was she stopping now.

The riders somehow kept pace and handled their bikes well, with practiced grace. If she hadn’t been in the predicament of not knowing their intent, she would have appreciated their skills more, but as it was, she just wanted to get to the Pack’s main headquarters as fast as possible. She took the corners at an almost-reckless speed and, surprisingly, the Ducatis responded by dropping back. She knew that they could have tried to run her off the road, but for some reason they seemed to be wary of getting too close. They rode carefully, almost cautiously, though never dropping back too far.

It was nearly noon as she approached the main entrance to the Montana Mountain Pack’s estate. A sign simply stating “The Den” confirmed that she was in the right place. The gates were wide open, a good sign that at least Prime Alpha Hawke was following the plan so far, assuming that the Ducatis weren’t part of an official welcoming party. A line from a children’s cautionary nursery rhyme popped into her head,
“‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly.
” Well, she was sure coming in fast and hard. The solid road surface gave way to gravel, which was not a great surface for a speeding bike with two riders in hot pursuit. After about two miles she saw a large house up ahead and decided that she definitely wasn’t going to get taken now that she was so close.

She was dimly aware of men on the grounds, running in her direction. Instead of slowing to a stop she jerked the bike sideways and executed a nifty but dangerous one-eighty-degree slide toward the stone steps that led to a large, open front doorway. As her bike skidded, gravel and soil were spewed into the air. Before the machine stopped on its side, she kicked away and rolled, coming out of the impressive stunt maneuver at a sprint. Without looking back she cleared the steps with a single leap and charged through the open door and a large foyer into a spacious hall full of…male werewolves.
Oh crap.

Jo stopped abruptly in the deathly quiet space. The men were sitting behind several tables, positioned so that they curved around the room. The layout instantly brought to mind the legend of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and she was standing in the middle. For a moment, all she could smell was the confusing yet pleasant mix of Were scents, and all she could hear through her helmet was her own sharp breathing.

Long seconds later the quiet was ruptured by shouts and the sound of heavy boots behind her. She whirled around to see two very tall men clad in black leather closing in on her. They ripped their helmets off, and she just had time to register their identical very pale white masculine faces, storm-gray, piercing eyes, and white, long, straight hair before chaos broke out. Four huge men pounced on the pursuing bikers, quickly followed by two more when it became apparent that they couldn’t hold them.

Inexplicably she was almost overcome by the urge to dive into the affray and…what? It was the most peculiar sensation, but her whole being just knew that somewhere within that rabble was something she wanted, needed, must have.

“Stop! Vladimir, Yuri.” A deep, commanding voice cut through the melee.

A very handsome Native American man who looked to be in his early thirties had stood up and was walking toward her. She recognized him, although the image she saw yesterday on the computer screen didn’t do him justice, because it didn’t capture the authoritative essence of the man. His voice was the epitome of a sure, capable, dominant Alpha. He radiated power, intelligence, and strength, but lurking beyond that there was dangerous yet very restrained wildness, a potent combination she had never come across before. Normally she would have been in awe of such a man, but there was something intriguing and infinitely more desirable nearby, something nagging more insistently as every second passed.

As quickly as it started, the two men stopped struggling, and the commotion began to lessen.

“You are upsetting my guest. Please calm yourselves,” he requested politely.

Just like that, the top dog closed it down and pulled the shutters on all that primitive, animalistic power. It still stalked near the surface but was on a much tighter leash. She must remember to never underestimate this man. He was the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she should not forget that.

“Joanna, I’m very glad you made it. I am Will Hawke, and I will help you.” He was breathing through his mouth and deliberately trying not to inhale her scent.

He held out his hand, and she automatically shook it while battling with the need to now ignore him completely and find…whatever it was. Harsh growls of aggression and distress sounded behind her again when she touched Hawke.

“Do not touch her,” a heavily accented voice commanded. It sent shivers down her spine and to her groin.

What in God’s name is going on?
She still had her helmet on with the visor shut, so she pulled off her gloves, unclipped the chinstrap, and took it off. A single thick rope-like braid fell down her back. Two things happened at once. The Prime’s face froze as his nostrils twitched, and he hastily took one step back away from her, and her pursuers both made a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan and began to struggle in earnest again.

She stood transfixed, unable to run or even look away from them. She should have been terrified because they seemed totally focused on getting to her, but instead she felt excited and aroused.
What the hell?
Hawke regarded her with a lustful expression for a moment that quickly morphed to panic and regret. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth and turned his attention on the two men struggling behind her.

“This lady is a werewolf. Your reaction as unmated males is natural although somewhat exaggerated. We were not expecting you, or you would have been warned. Please try to control yourselves.”

Again she heard deep frustrated growls and one word spat harshly. “
Nyet.”

Oh crap.
Faced with the reality of her situation, she now understood her mother’s reticence to return to a Pack a lot more. She quickly looked around to check window and door positions. The initial adrenaline surge was fading, and she now fully engaged her heightened sense of smell. She inhaled the air deeply through her nose and staggered a step back into Hawke. He took a sharp intake of breath and immediately pushed her forward like a pinball as he stepped farther away from her.

She stumbled and was almost overcome by an intoxicating fragrance unlike anything she’d experienced before. Quickly she recovered her balance and jerked to ridged attention as she snapped all her focus back on the twins. They were growling and staring at her with what could only be described as raw desire, lust, and yearning. She felt like the only dessert on the buffet table, and they appeared ravenous.

Jo watched as the twins fought against their captors. They were breathing deeply with nostrils flared, and their leather-clad, leonine, muscular bodies looked tense as they strained and bucked against the six men trying to hold them. They seemed to be undergoing a partial shift as muscles bulged and strained against their clothes, long talons grew from their fingers, and sharp looking fangs snapped and snarled.
My God, they are going to break away!

“Oh fuck,” someone cursed nervously.

Hawke gave a hand signal and calmly said, “Tranq’ them.”

Two Weres standing at the edge of the room reached into their jackets and removed guns from shoulder holsters. They ran to the frantic twins, took aim, and fired a single shot into each man’s neck. Within seconds the struggling began to subside.

“Take them away,” Hawke instructed.

“Wait,” she croaked.

Everyone froze, and all attention was focused on her like some fascinating bug under a microscope. She locked gazes with first one and then the other twin. Her mouth watered, and her gums began to ache. Of their own accord her canines elongated and dropped. She flexed cramping fingers as her nails itched and partially extended like claws. This had never happened outside of the one full-moon change she had undergone.
Christ, what’s going on?
One of the males was also flexing his clawed hands, and the other gave her a knowing smirk that showed wicked fangs.

Inconceivably she felt a strong compulsion to actually approach them, as if some unseen force tugged at every life-loving cell in her body. In fact, her feet were beginning to move in their direction before she was aware it was happening. Her heart thudded heavily, and each strong beat reverberated in her chest. She wondered if she was going crazy, as she struggled to stand still, because they could rip her through with those claws or take a sizable chunk out of her throat with those sharp-looking teeth. She so wanted to put her hands on both of their bodies, to lick and rub herself against—
Crap, what is wrong with me?

Shocked and baffled, she turned to the Prime with what she hoped was an imploring expression for help and then to the identical, overwhelmingly attractive twin werewolves. Moisture gathered between her thighs, leaking from her aching core.
Oh Hell, I’m creaming myself.
She became embarrassingly aware that her own scent grew stronger, somehow riper. A little moan escaped her throat and was answered by low growls from the twins. Her pelvic muscles clenched in response.

“I don’t understand, what’s–what’s happening to me?” she managed to ask in a half-strangled-sounding voice before her vocal chords were pulled tighter than tent ropes in a storm.

Everyone in the room was staring at them in shocked silence. Both men had fallen to their knees in front of her but were struggling to stay conscious.

“You are…our mate,” they both said, right before they passed out and keeled over.

* * * *

Well, he’d hosted duller Gatherings. The twins staked their claim, and a collective gasp went around the room. Joanna whispered in a strangled voice, “God help me.” Probably because, judging by her body’s reaction, it was true. They were all looking at one frightened yet highly aroused young female werewolf. They could all smell it. The combination was shamefully intoxicating, evoking images of a chase, a hunt, and sex. He could only imagine how the twins must have felt. The effect was much stronger with a true-mate and probably more so with a werewolf female.

Will didn’t know if God was interested, but as the Prime Alpha of this territory, he was. First, though, he had to quickly do something about the nagging attraction he felt toward the girl because her so-very-sexy scent was getting stronger in response to the mating musk that the twins were producing. Thankfully he was prepared, and he whipped out a plastic bag containing cotton wool that had been soaked in eucalyptus oil and shoved some up his nose. Phew, that was better.

With all the solemn dignity he could muster—given that he had cotton wool trailing from his nose, causing his nostrils to sting like buggery and his eyes to water—he asked her if she accepted his authority and protection as her Pack Alpha. She tore her gaze from the two figures slumped on the floor, gave a stiff nod, and squeaked, “Yes.”