Living Extinct (24 page)

“I think he was, too. Moira. Don’t get your hopes up. Five years have passed. If Bruno or Renee could come to us from the dead, wouldn’t they have done it by now?”

“I forced them out of my mind because I thought it would make me stronger,” she confessed. “Last night, right before we got there, I remember thinking that my parents would be proud of us.”

Dante ripped soggy paper from the bar of soap sitting in the soap dish. He rolled the bar in his hands, creating foam that filtered with the water and streamed down his body. Steam danced around them, holding the powerful smell of lust captive between them. Her heart picked up pace while she lost herself staring into his powerful gaze.

Suddenly the ache in her pussy climbed to unbearable levels. “Little bitch,” he growled, lowering his mouth to her neck and nibbling on the sensitive flesh there while he began running the lathered soap over her breasts. “Possibly you have brought them back to us.”

She straightened, immediately wanting to ask more. He didn’t shield his thoughts from her, but when she explored them, her insides turned to molten lava. All he wanted 125

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right now was his cock buried deep inside her. He didn’t understand her sire’s presence any more than she did.

“Turn around,” he growled, and pinched her nipples just to make sure he had her attention.

Moira gasped, inhaling the smell of their mixed need deep into her lungs. She turned into the hot spray from the shower nozzle, closing her eyes and letting it hit her in the face. Dante grabbed her hips, pulling her back quickly. She slapped her palms against the shower wall, needing it rough this morning. Her insides tightened, anticipation coursing in her veins like a sweet drug.

He didn’t wait—didn’t tease her. That hard, thick cock impaled her soaked pussy with an energy that matched the need ripping her insides apart.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” she sighed, taking all of him in.

Every inch of him.

She felt him clear up to her belly button. He broke through her dam of need, crashing into the pressure of lust that consumed her. Her hands slipped down the shower wall, but he held her hips firmly, thrusting again and again while the shower beat down on them.

“Moira. It’s so hot, so damned wet.” His voice boomed over her, low and predatory.

Dante kept the rhythm steady, not going too fast or too slow. He stroked her inner muscles, soothing and then heightening the need in her all over again. Her hair hung over her face, wet and heavy, providing a curtain that kept the outside world out. If only briefly. But while Dante was inside her, taking her, nothing else mattered.

She closed her eyes, loving him. And then almost fell to her knees when he pulled out without warning.

“Around. Face me.” His quick command came out hastily. She turned around, shoving her hair over her shoulder and then grabbed his arms. She was so much shorter than he was that they couldn’t face each other and make love easily. But Dante wasn’t swayed. He lifted her, pulling her to him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

That giant, throbbing cock of his slid into her pussy, hitting her in a different spot this time.

She arched into him, letting her head fall back while he kept a tight grip on her.

“What an incredible view,” he growled, almost purred, while he thrust his hips, burying his cock deep inside her.

She managed to open her eyes. Movement of any kind proved challenging. Just holding on while he fucked the shit out of her was about all she could manage.

But then she stared into his face. The hardness was gone. The worry lines he’d woken up with had disappeared. Those blue eyes glowed with more emotion than she’d ever seen in them before. There was no way she could look away.

He filled her, releasing everything he had deep inside her. A growl tore from his body so powerful she was sure the walls around them shook. It vibrated through her, 126

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making every inch of her tingle. He pulled her to him, swollen deep inside her pussy, and wrapped powerful arms around her.

“I love you, Moira. I never knew it could feel this strong.” His mouth covered hers and he fed off her.

Taking and nibbling, devouring her while his tongue swiped the length of her mouth. He crushed her to him, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.

Everything she’d witnessed before, his worry, apprehension, along with an overwhelming sensation of peaceful contentment and yes, love, wrapped around her.

She buried her cheek against his shoulder. Dante was the perfect mate, everything she’d ever dreamed of. Powerful, confident, but not so much that he was stupid. He didn’t chase after his own tail. He didn’t strut in his fur trying to look better than the other werewolves and not see trouble when it hit him in the nose. He was flawed, but just right for her.

I love you too, Dante.

Enter me, Moira. Make our souls one.

She relaxed against his body, her arms and legs wrapped around him, and slowly moved her mind into his. Raw energy, so strong and electrifying it seemed to lift her into the air, filled her. Dante moved into her mind.

We’re one, wolf man
.

And we always will be.

* * * * *

Moira stared at the oversized werewolves when she followed Dante into a meeting room at the motel where they stayed. Actually, it was an extension of the restaurant, and at midafternoon, there was no one else around. At least, she didn’t smell any humans. There were enough werewolves lingering to make the place look like a meeting she’d have with agents. The same sullen, mistrustful expression was smeared over every werewolf’s face.

They stepped through two opened French doors into the designated meeting area.

Red carpet and a velvety wallpaper with a red and black design reminded Moira of something out of an old detective movie. The place was in sad need of some modernization. But it was clean. A slight hint of cleaning supplies lingered where windows and tabletops had been wiped down.

That clean scent was seriously bogged down by the heavy, spicy smell of anger, wariness and barely contained aggression. Moira’s hairs prickled on the back of her neck. She’d defend her mate to the death. These werewolves blamed him for their losses. And once, she’d believed it too. But now she knew Dante—she loved him. There was no way he was capable of blindly destroying dens, cubs, bitches, no matter the cause. He was the kind of werewolf her sire had trusted with his life, and with the life of what he cherished most—her.

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“Is everyone here yet?” Ollie strolled into the room, probably the only werewolf not smelling of animosity. His comfortable confidence came on strong when he walked toward the middle of the room.

A young bitch, around the same age as Moira, stood between Dimitri and Nicolo.

Moira remembered the werewolves had come from a large den although she couldn’t remember the bitch’s name. Her long black hair draped over her breasts and shoulders, partially covering the side of her face and making it hard to read her expression. She looked vaguely familiar but she wasn’t someone Moira had run with in her earlier years. The two werewolves stood protectively on either side of her. Moira remembered them commenting they were a den of three now. They would fight and die to protect the female—it was obvious by the protective way they stood on either side of her.

The bitch slowly crossed her arms and focused on Ollie when he spoke. At the same time a chair slid out from under a nearby table. The pack leader would trip over it.

Moira glared at the chair, using the gift to push it back under the table. The young bitch’s jaw dropped.

Charged energy shot through the air. The bitch uncrossed her arms and fisted her hands at her sides, looking slowly at the growing amount of werewolves in the room.

Dante put his hand in the middle of Moira’s back, guiding her toward a table where Ollie indicated they should sit.

Even when Moira looked away, the young female’s strength filled the room, searching for the culprit who ruined her small prank.

Amazing. Someone else with the gift as strong and pure as hers and Dante’s. Moira looked at the other werewolves who strolled into the room. How many of them possessed the gift her sire had wanted to bestow on all of them? And would the gift make them stronger? Or be their curse?

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Ollie didn’t appear to have any problem standing in the middle of a room filled with werewolves from Malta. He stood out. Ollie was an impressive werewolf. Dante had gained a bit of respect for him in the short amount of time he’d known him. The werewolf fought like a true warrior. And Dante had never been one to curse a werewolf for mixed blood or diluted heritage. After all, he was no more than a half-breed himself.

“There’s about enough of you to make a pack.” Ollie didn’t sit, but walked slowly among the tables where at least fifteen werewolves from Malta sat and followed his movements silently.

Not many werewolves would exude so much confidence among some of the most notorious werewolves on the planet.

“Amazes the hell out of me that you’re still alive, Aldo.” Ricardo Montol sat at a table not far from Dante. Even sitting, the werewolf stood out in the room, being a few inches taller than most from his pack. Montol had owned one of the fisheries back on Malta. Dante remembered him running one of the stores downtown. “And I’m beyond stunned that you’d try to bring us back together. You’re either the biggest fool that runs in fur or you’re braver than I imagined.”

“And he claims Bruno Tangaree’s cub for a mate,” someone else mumbled loud enough to be heard. “You going to try and lead this pack, Aldo?”

“Not as long as I live, he won’t,” Dimitri piped up, pushing his chair back.

Ollie moved in quickly on Dimitri, his harsh growl and the spicy smell of his temper making his actions very clear. “Try and fight in this room and I’ll kick your fucking ass,” he hissed.

Without waiting for a response, he turned his back on Dimitri, showing the rest of them he didn’t acknowledge the werewolf as a true threat. Ollie was comfortable in his position as leader.

“There will be no fights in your territory,” Dante promised him.

Everyone turned when the glass doors opened and two of the werewolves from Ollie’s pack filled the space in the double doorway. Irritation was the prominent smell as they scowled at the werewolves in the room and then focused their attention on Ollie.

“I had to come see if it was true,” one of the werewolves said.

Dante didn’t remember seeing either of them before.

“I can’t believe you’d invite Malta werewolves here. Don’t you know why their pack was burned?” The werewolf stepped into the room and then stopped, curling his lip as he looked from one table to the next. “It wasn’t meant for werewolves to be 129

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tampered with, to be given powers to play like they were witches. Isn’t it enough to control the night? You all had to go and tamper with things better left alone. Smartest thing you could do, Ollie, is get rid of the lot of them. WA would probably give you a medal.”

Several werewolves jumped to their feet, instantly complaining and howling obscenities. Dante stood quickly, pushing his arm in front of Moira when she jumped up next to him. God. It was broad fucking daylight and they were on another pack’s territory. The last thing they needed was for any of these brutes to make a scene when they were this close to reuniting the pack.

Ollie stormed through the room and pushed the werewolf hard enough to make him stumble back a few feet. “And you were the one who wouldn’t defend your pack against the
lunewulf
. What was it you didn’t like about them? Oh yeah, they were a bunch of fucking perverts who might jump some of our bitches and share them among their males. Was that it?”

The room fell silent although the tension was thick enough it could be sliced easily with a knife.

“This is different.” The werewolf’s tone had softened drastically. For his size, Dante saw quickly he’d be a werewolf to run with his tail between his legs at the first sign of trouble. He was the one who was pathetic. “The Malta werewolves are dangerous, unpredictable. They can do things. Ask them. See if they can’t do magic.”

A saltshaker flew off one of the tables, heading with a hell of a lot of force straight toward the coward werewolf.

“No,” Moira hissed next to Dante and reached out with her hand.

The saltshaker stopped in midair, crumbling and crashing to the ground, glass and salt spreading quickly while the room grew deathly quiet.

Dante grabbed Moira’s hand and pushed it down to her side.
Behave right this
fucking minute
, he growled in her head.

I didn’t throw it. I stopped it.

Dante looked down into her black eyes. They were opened wide, staring up at him.

Her long lashes fluttered briefly over them. She sucked in a silent breath, barely nodding. His insides twisted. He hadn’t sensed it. Looking away from her quickly, he glanced around the room.

Bruno. Can you hear me? Do you see what you’ve created? The gift survives, but we now
live as a feared and mistrusted line.

Be strong and true to the gift. There will always be the superstitious. Gain the respect of
those who matter and you will be strong again.
Bruno’s voice was as clear as if he stood next to Dante.

Moira grabbed his hand, almost twisting his fingers in the wrong direction before he stopped her.

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“If I’d intended this to be pack business, I would have called for a meeting.

Whatever decisions are made in this room, you’ll be notified along with the rest of the pack. I don’t remember this being a fucking democracy. Now head back to your den.”

Ollie pointed a finger to the door and the two werewolves backed out slowly.

Ollie barely waited for them to be over the threshold before shutting the doors in their faces. He turned around to face the room, his expression strained with contained anger.