Last Wolf Standing (34 page)

“I’ll show you devilish,” he whispered in her ear, his long fingers curving over her hips as he pulled her against him, the evidence of his arousal impossible to miss.

Torrance trembled, moving restlessly against him, amazed that desire could burn again so quickly. “D-did I mention insatiable?”

“I’ll show you insatiable,” he growled playfully, nipping her throat, making her gasp at the same time he pushed forward, thrusting against her, the rough denim of his jeans creating a decadent friction against the soft cotton panties she’d slipped on before heading out of the bedroom.

“And sinful,” she moaned, her breath catching, deliberately egging him on. He grunted a provocative sound of hunger against her shoulder, teasing her with his teeth. “I’ll show you sinful, woman.”

“And delicious,” she giggled, thoroughly enjoying their game.

“I’ll show you how delicious you are,” he warned, one hand pulling down her tank top while the other smeared strawberry ice cream over the swollen tip of her breast, the cold shocking against her sensitive nipple. When he closed his warm mouth around the chilled tip, Torrance screamed, arching her back, the intensity of the sensations shooting straight to her core.

“Grab the bowl,” he rumbled moments later, in a slow, wicked slide of words. When she had it clutched in her fingers, Mason pulled her off the counter, his hands under her bottom, her legs wrapped around his lean hips, and to their mutual delight, they spent the remainder of the night in playful, erotic splendor…discovering that ice cream is so much sweeter when enjoyed by two.

By the time they opened their eyes the following day, the noontime sun was climbing on the horizon, bathing the glade in saffron shades of sunshine beyond the high windows. Squinting against the brilliant light, Torrance lifted her face from the warmth of Mason’s shoulder and tried to make out the blurry numbers on his digital alarm clock.

“What time is it?” he asked, his deep voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Heck if I know,” she laughed tiredly, dropping her head back onto his firm shoulder, nuzzling closer so that she could press a kiss to the warm column of his throat. Drawing in a deep breath, Torrance wanted to purr like a jungle cat, his scent was so delicious. So masculine and warm, going straight to her head. There was a sense of rightness, of peace, in her heart that had never been there before. A sense of completion, heightened by a breathtaking feeling of hope for the future. “You know I’m blind without my glasses, and I’m too comfy to look for them.”

Stretching the long, lean lines of his beautifully muscled body, he asked, “No nightmares last night?”

“Nope, not a single one.” She lifted her right leg, pressing her bent knee against the swollen, steel-hard length of his erection, smiling against the curve of his whiskered jaw when a low, rumbling growl of arousal vibrated in his chest. The moment was perfect and warm, lackadaisical…while at the same time sweetly provocative, knowing that he wanted her. That all she had to do was say the word, and he’d be on her in a heartbeat. “I think we’ve found a cure for what ails me,” she teased.

“I like the sound of that.” He pulled her closer, against the hardness and heat of his body, sounding endearingly nervous as he said, “So, how do you feel about spending the day together…planning?”

“Planning what?” she asked, still drifting in that dreamy state of haziness that came after a deep, exhausted sleep.

He lifted his dark head from the pillow to gaze down at her, managing to look entirely too sexy, with his shaggy hair and dark whiskers. Watching her through heavy-lidded eyes that glittered with a mix of lust and love, he said, “I was thinking about a wedding.”

“A wedding?” Suddenly wide-awake, she sat straight up in bed, completely stunned.

“Yeah,” he said, cupping her cheek in his warm hand. “I love you, Tor. As far as the Lycan world is concerned, we’re already married. But I want to have a wedding with you, sweetheart. See you in a beautiful white gown, your hair flowing over your shoulders like a flame, holding flowers in your hands. No way in hell am I gonna miss out on that. Whaddya say?”

“I say yes,” she practically squealed, throwing herself into his arms, pressing playful kisses over his face and his chest, both of them shaking with happiness and laughter. “Yes and yes and yes!”

“Thank God,” he rumbled, pulling her fully on top of him, his big hands on her bottom, anchoring her in place. “Let’s try to make it happen this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Torrance stared at him in shock. “That’s impossible! Nobody can plan a wedding in four days. We’ll need a few weeks at least.”

“I’m not waiting weeks to make you my wife,” he grumbled, holding her tighter.

“Mason!” she laughed. “There’s no possible way to organize anything faster than that.”

“We’ll see,” he murmured silkily, giving her a pirate’s smile as he pulled her down for a hungry, eating kiss…

And they were married four days later.

Epilogue

D espite the fact that the bride and maid of honor had only a handful of days to prepare, it was a storybook wedding worthy of any magical fairy tale. The ceremony and reception were held outdoors, in the center of the Alley, as was tradition when a Bloodrunner married. There was thankfully no rain, but to compensate for the chilly autumn weather, the Runners had gone into the city and purchased some beautiful stone fire pits. They’d been placed among the tables, the towering blazes adding to the romantic atmosphere while providing necessary warmth.

Torrance was radiant in the ivory sheath that Michaela bought for her in Covington, the groom so in love, there was no doubt in anyone’s eyes that they were meant to be together. And Dylan had arrived back home in time to help celebrate the momentous occasion, graciously offering to give away the bride.

Sitting beside his wife, who was busily chatting with her best friend, Mason took a sip of his champagne, conversing quietly with the Elder. “It’s time to keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Dylan told him. “It’s someone who’s pack, Mason. You can’t trust anyone.”

“It’s someone you work with,” he replied in a low rasp, looking out over the dancing, laughing guests. “It’s someone on the League.”

Dylan breathed out a heavy sigh. “Whoever it is, I have no doubt that you’ll find him.”

“Damn straight we will,” Mason grunted. And then, shaking off his unwanted tension, he turned to smile at his friend, knowing there was one more order of business to take care of before he could whisk his new bride away to the privacy of their cabin. The day after Simmons’s death, the Runners had drawn straws, choosing the one who would return to the pack to hunt the traitor from within. “I think it’s time we made our announcement.”

“This should be entertaining,” the Elder drawled with a grin, though his eyes revealed the strain he was under. As a member of the League and friend of the Runners, Dylan was trapped between opposing sides of what was sure to turn into a bitter conflict.

Standing, Mason picked up a spoon to clink against the side of his champagne glass, careful not to hit too hard and shatter his mother’s favorite crystal. “Excuse me,” he called out. “If I could have everyone’s attention for a moment. It’s my honor and privilege to be the first to tell you that our own Jeremy Burns has gone before the Silvercrest’s League of Elders and submitted his count.”

As expected, the Alley, which had been transformed into a flower-filled paradise, fell completely quiet, even the natural sounds of the forest and the gentle breeze of the wind falling into an eerie state of silence.

“And now,” he continued, lifting his glass in a toast to his best man, who sat at the end of the table beside a smirking Cian, “my partner will be accepting his place among the pack. To Jeremy, a braver man than I.”

Cheers went up from every guest, every glass lifted in salute to the tawny-haired Runner who reluctantly grinned, bowing his head in thanks.

Every glass—except for one.

On the far side of the crowd, Mason watched as a lone blond female slipped quietly into the shadowed forest.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-1411-2

LAST WOLF STANDING

Copyright © 2008 by Tabitha Byrd

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