Mating Fever (11 page)

Fire lanced down his spine. Sweat broke on
his skin in an instant wave, salt driving into the wound. Gabriel
roared, moving into the roll, continuing on his path. He came up
under John, the claws still embedded in his back, deeper. Gabriel’s
teeth clenched against the pain, and he drove his hands up, up into
the exposed length of John’s belly. John’s face froze, his arms
flew back, freeing Gabriel. He tried to catch himself, failed, fell
back onto the ground, coughing up blood as he landed. The blood was
black in the night, like thick oil, coating everything.

Gabriel had no time for regret, no time for
thought beyond that of survival. He turned toward Michael, caught
him standing and looking down at John in stunned immobility. A
strangled snarl came from Gabriel’s left, capturing his attention.
He turned, ducking.

Cruz lunged. His feet left the ground as he
leapt over John, driving for Gabriel’s throat. Michael came back to
life, took him suddenly from behind, trapped his arms so he
couldn’t move.

He was a fool. A god damned fool for not
moving quicker, for ignoring Michael in favor of Cruz. Fingers dug
into Gabriel’s biceps. Nails sliced his skin, deeply. His body
healed itself, but not fast enough to prevent the flow of blood
from escaping. Cruz smiled in triumph, twisted and raised his hands
as though going to bat, moving into a death strike.

Gabriel saw it in his eyes, saw that he meant
to kill him, that there would be no mercy, no yielding in this
game. He would have to kill the stubborn bastard, maybe the others
too. He relaxed his weight, heard Michael grunt in surprise right
before his grip failed. Gabriel slipped from his hands, dropping to
the ground, his flesh in ribbons from the razor-like claws. He
landed just as Cruz swung. Claws whistled through the air, unable
to stop, unable to do anything but slash above his intended
victim.

Above, blood poured like heavy rain,
saturating everything in its path down to the ground. Michael
groaned, stumbling back, clutching his chest.

Heart pounding with the fury of his beast,
Gabriel flattened between Michael’s legs, driving razor tipped
fingers up the thick meat of his thighs even as he kicked out and
knocked Cruz’s feet out from under him.

They each landed with a crash, bodies
tangling in one heap of dirt and blood and torn flesh.

Gabriel could think of nothing but Cruz
kneeling between Jessica’s thighs, ready to impale her, beat her,
even kill her. It built his fury, drove it to a fever pitch that
blinded him to anything but the need for blood on his hands.

Gabriel gained his feet just as Cruz freed
himself and faced him. They looked at each other a bare moment,
hatred emanating from each.

They circled each other, panting heavily.
Michael and John had crawled away, freeing the clearing of
everything but the slickness of their blood on the ground.

Gabriel jabbed, puncturing Cruz’s side, his
arm, always darting back out of reach before Cruz could connect.
His legs and arms ached, his back was on fire, trying to repair the
damage. He felt his wounds cease to bleed, felt the flesh knit and
heal itself, but it left his skin hot and feverish. Sweat and dirt
and blood coated him.

Mosquitoes feasted on his blood, but Gabriel
could think of nothing but taking Cruz down. If it was the last
thing he ever did, he would keep that bastard from touching Jessica
again. She could not go through that again. He wouldn’t allow
it.

It sent his blood to pounding, his head
swimming hotly. He stumbled on the muddied ground.

Cruz snickered, growing in confidence.

Gabriel knew Cruz thought him weakening,
thought him an old man. He was, the healing sapped his strength
with every passing moment. His steps slowed more and more, his arms
grew heavy, his feet leaden. But he was not so weak he couldn’t
take out this pup.

Gabriel jabbed at Cruz, moving past him with
purpose, falling to one knee with a cry of agony that rippled on
the night air. Cruz saw his opening, exposed his vulnerable heart
as he swung his arm wide to take off Gabriel’s head. Time seemed to
slow. The wind moved at a snail’s pace against his face, shaking
off droplets of perspiration as he twisted from the fall.

His own growl sounded heavy in his ears,
deeper than his own voice. It grew in intensity, becoming wild as
he drove his hands up Cruz’s chest. He felt the flesh give way, the
sudden cessation of movement. Bone crunched, crumbling beneath his
claws as he dug deep inside to the rapid beating heart. He sliced
it, feeling repelled, sickened at killing one of his own, knowing
there was no other choice and hating the need to kill or be
killed.

Blood rained, hot and slick, streaming down
with the force of a river unleashed. Gabriel pulled back, looking
away from the dead eyes of his enemy. Without support, the body
dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

Gabriel stood over him, a knot in his gut.
The fool had needed killing, deserved it with years of menace, but
he despised being forced to do the deed. Cruz was a vengeful
bastard--one of them would have died eventually, and Gabriel
preferred it be Cruz to himself.

Jessica was safe from him now. It would have
to satisfy his guilt for this night. There had never really been
any other choice but the path he’d chosen.

Two pack members came and hauled the body off
before the next challenger came into the clearing.

Gabriel sighed and wiped the blood from his
hands on the grass.

He stretched his kinked muscles before facing
his newest attacker. The night promised to be long, and by the line
forming, he had little confidence that he would win.

Chapter Seven

Someone was at the tent opening. The soft
sound of a zipper sliding slithered through the tent, evoking
terror as if a snake glided toward her. Fear flashed through her,
pumping her adrenaline until she verged the line of panic. Her
breath came harsh against the gag, puffing her cheeks, flaring her
nostrils. Her heart thrashed, threatening to beat through her ribs.
She tried to get a hold of herself, to think clearly so she could
escape, so she’d have some chance rather than none. She’d been here
so long, and instead of time dulling her apprehension, it had only
increased with each agonizing minute.

The tent flap opened. She jerked against her
tethers, desperate to free her hands before they could come inside
and kill her....

It was Gabriel.

She knew him the instant he entered, though
his head was bowed and his hair fell down, obscuring his face in
thick wet locks. She wanted to scream in relief, rail against him
for giving her such a fright ... and throw her body against his
until the tremors racking her ceased. The dizzying race of her
blood abated to a dull roar.

The door flapped down behind him. He stood up
once he passed the shallow entrance, standing straight and jerking
his head back to toss the cloying strands away from his face and
eyes. He froze as though pinned when he saw her. He looked at her.
She looked at him.

He was naked.

The information filtered through the chaos of
her thoughts to that one coherent whole. She didn’t know why he
was--didn’t care. The relief alone of seeing him was enough to make
her feel giddy. That he was naked changed everything, heightened
senses that had been blunted previously by unease.

She was scared, yes, but it didn’t stop her
brain from functioning, stop her eyes from taking in every glorious
inch. She wanted to tell him to get her the fuck out of there, but
she hadn’t moved past her initial shock at seeing him nude. It was
her first time seeing him with nothing to bar her view. The
adrenaline pumping through her system, the fear of before, it
rushed in her head, made her careless, intoxicated. He’d looked
good before. He was devastating now. So much skin, so bronze and
beautiful. Muscles, everywhere, gleaming with droplets of water
running in beads down his skin like liquid gold.

She wanted to feel him against her. Cold
shock chilled her, made her shudder with appalling weakness. She’d
never felt so needy in all her life. She should’ve been outraged,
horrified at the turn of her thoughts, but all she wanted to do was
feel his heat inside her, until it thawed every pore and banished
the chill seeping from her marrow.

She wanted to look down, see
all
of him, but she couldn’t. She
wasn’t ready, knew she should die on the spot for daring to think
of sex at a time like this. She tore her gaze away from his belly
up to his face. Hair clung damply to his neck and cheekbones. What
captured her attention was the expression on his face--drawn, hard,
his jaw clenched until the muscles stood out. Black stubble
shadowed his face, lending him a rough, untamed look she hadn’t
seen before.

But his eyes ... they were hunted, wild and
fierce. His black eyebrows were drawn down to two hard, straight
lines. He looked ... haunted.

Fear shot through her once again, more potent
now than ever before. What gave him that look? What had he done?
What had they done to him? It terrified her to even think of it.
The charming rogue of before looked vanished, wiped away and
replaced by a savage stranger with hungry eyes that saw too
much.

He dropped suddenly to his knees before her,
kneeling at her feet as he untied her ankles. The binding came free
and she rotated the joint, drawing her legs up as he moved forward
between her legs.

Her breathing grew harsher the closer he
came. Heat radiated off of him, until it felt like he touched her,
pressed intimately against her skin. She flinched as he drew closer
... could practically feel the head of his cock looming close to
her sex. A spasm seized her cleft, drenching her with sudden,
liquid lust. God, she wanted it so badly. She was tired of
fighting, tired of running. Her clit throbbed with aching need so
fierce, she thought she would die from it.

He stopped a moment, his nostrils flaring as
his breath quickened, as though he could smell her arousal. He held
her gaze steadily for heart stopping seconds. She saw war in his
eyes, a battle that waged for control. His face went tight with
need, his jaw tense. His lids lowered, heavy with carnal appetite.
Lust glittered in his eyes, quickly masked as he dropped his
gaze.

She’d seen it, knew that he sought to hide
his need, but he couldn’t hide the potency of his desire from her.
Danger had heightened her senses, until she could feel the hunger
emanating from him, practically hear the blood rush to engorge his
length.

He said nothing as he leaned close and
reached around her head. She felt like she would melt into the pole
at that heated flesh so close to her own. Her skin tingled, her
nipples tightened, like buds seeking the warmth of his skin. He
removed the gag before moving to her hands, acting as though
nothing had changed, that he couldn’t sense the begging of her
body.

“Oh god, Gabriel,” she whispered, trying to
find the strength of her voice. Her lips felt numb, her throat and
mouth dry. His arms slid against her arms, raising the hair with
delicious goosebumps on her skin. She shivered at the sensation. “I
thought you’d never come.”

“I made a promise,
petite
,” he murmured, his fingers brushing
against her as they worked on the binding.

Jessica worked her jaw muscles, stretching
them. The rope on her hands came loose and her arms fell forward,
her shoulder joints pinching with a dull ache. The pain didn’t
matter. She had to touch him herself, know that he was real, whole
and unharmed. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him
fiercely. “I thought you were dead.”

He went rigid all over, stopped breathing.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice hoarse and rough, as though he
were in agony. They’d hurt him somehow. The knowledge spread an
ache through her chest.

He sat back on his heels, hooking his hands
under her arms, trying to push her away.

She tightened around him, refusing to let go.
“No,” she said, kissing the side of his neck, breathing against his
ear, breathing in the clean scent of him that was so familiar when
everything else seemed to have changed. She needed this. Her body
tightened all over, needing to feel him touch her all over.

He shuddered, his breathing loud in the
sudden silence, harsh and ragged. Against her chest, she felt the
race of his heart, beating hard and fast. He pushed again, with
less force this time--resolve weakening. “Stop. Don’t touch
me,
chere
, please.”

“I can’t not touch you. I don’t want to let
you go.” She ran her tongue up his neck, reveling in the subtle
tremor that raked through him. She didn’t know what was happening
to her, instincts guided her. An inner impulse wanted to taste him,
smell him ... touch him ... everywhere....

He growled suddenly, thrust one rough hand in
her hair and pulled her head back. Jessica gasped, her eyes wide,
her mouth open and waiting for him. Like a storm, he descended,
giving her no chance for retreat. He kissed her violently, his
mouth savage, so hungry and rough alarm shot through her veins. Hot
need welled the instant his bruising mouth touched her, blooming
heated and wet between her thighs. Something was different,
something had been unleashed.