plik

BLOOD RED

Cover art by Sloan Winters

Published by UnScripted INC.

ISBN: 978-1-940637-00-6

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and
is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons
living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter One

“You shouldn’t be traveling alone in these woods at night.” The old, cloaked beggar

appeared in front of him on the trail, seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s not safe for someone

so young.”

Declan Collins smiled in acknowledgement, but Trappers Grove had been his home for

twenty-four years. Of course, there were dangers in the forest, especially in the darkest

hours after midnight. He’d walked the same path to his small cottage a thousand times

without incident, though.

“Thank you for your concern, but it’s not much farther.”

Finding a stranger so deep in the woods might seem odd or even ominous to some, but

Declan had encountered much stranger during his walks. After all, a variety of paranormal

creatures called Trappers Grove home, living in secret amongst the sprinkling of humans.

Besides, he wasn’t complete without his defenses. He might rank low in the paranormal

food chain, but his powers were more than enough to protect him from some human. A

little of his magic went a long way, but thankfully, he rarely needed to use it.

Zipping his hooded sweatshirt to keep out the biting wind, he nodded once and

continued forward along the moonlit trail. He put the old man from his mind, thinking

nothing more of him until he neared his cabin by the winding stream. It was a quaint abode

filled with simple things, but to Declan, it was home.

Lifting the canvas tote higher on his arm, he settled the handle into the crook of his

elbow and sighed. He truly loved his home and the seclusion of the forest, but sometimes

after the long trek into town, he had a hard time remembering why.

He’d thought of purchasing a car, but he doubted anything larger than a motorcycle

could navigate the winding trails of the forest. Beyond that, he really couldn’t afford it. He

missed his parents, and he didn’t blame them for their deaths. Sometimes, however, he

couldn’t help but feel that they’d left him with more debt and responsibility than he could

handle.

“These woods are dangerous for one so young,” the old man called to him from the

rocking chair on Declan’s front porch.

Stopping in his tracks, Declan squinted into the darkness, but he could make out

nothing more than a shadowy figure. “How?” He glanced over his shoulder and then back

to his cottage while his lips turned down at their corners. “How did you get here so

quickly?”

“The forest is treacherous,” the man answered.

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Less afraid and more irritated, Declan huffed a disgruntled

sigh, squared his shoulders, and marched forward. “Look, I’m really not that young. I can

take care of myself. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day, and you really need to

le—”

Declan sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled backward when the stranger appear

directly in front of him. “Don’t be afraid.” His low, growling tone didn’t match his words,

though.

The hood fell away from his face, revealing not an old beggar, but an incredibly

handsome man, not much older than Declan himself. His head tilted to one side in a curious

manner as his lips parted, curling into a wicked grin that revealed long, pointed canines.

“Oh,” Declan gasped. “What—what big teeth you have.”

“Don’t be afraid,” the stranger repeated. “This won’t hurt…for long.”

* * * *

“I don’t understand. Why is this one so important?” In the four months since he’d been

turned, never once had they deviated from the plan.

Cashel chose the venue for these games, normally some biker bar or seedy pub on the

outskirts of the city limits. However, he did allow Declan to choose the targets.

Declan always chose. Drifters, ramblers, and those of questionable morals weren’t

likely to be missed, and it did ease some of the guilt he felt about his involvement. He

didn’t know what made this time special or why Cashel had chosen this particular woman,

but he doubted it would lead to anything good.

“She has something I want.” Cashel rubbed at the stained bar with a napkin and

wrinkled his nose in clear distaste. “Now, do what you’re told.”

Declan didn’t respond, though he had a slew of imaginative insults dancing on the tip

of his tongue. He’d never asked to be a vampire, and he certainly didn’t remember

volunteering to be Cashel’s slave. “I’m not a child, Cashel.”

“Then stop acting like one.” Swiveling in his seat, he slipped two fingers under

Declan’s chin and sighed. “You are spirited, little one. I haven’t decided if I like it.”

“I just don’t understand why this one.” Declan glanced around the bar, checking for

anyone close enough to eavesdrop. The other patrons appeared to be otherwise engaged in

their own conversations, though. Leaning closer to his Maker, Declan lowered his voice to

barely more than a whisper. “Are you going to kill her?”

“I told you, Declan, she has something I want.”

“Like that has ever stopped you before.” Navigating the ins and outs of being a vampire

hadn’t been easy for him. There were things he didn’t know, didn’t understand, and he still

struggled with his blood lust on occasion. However, only a few months into his new

eternity, and even he knew feeding didn’t have to result in the donor’s death. “I know you

need blood, but do you really need all of it? I mean, I don’t kill people. Maybe you don’t

need to kill people, either.”

Cashel leveled a look on him he couldn’t decipher, but if he had to guess, he’d call it

disdain. “Do you know why I turned you?”

“Because you were bored and you’re kind of an asshole?” Declan puckered his lips and

batted his lashes. “Am I close?”

Okay, maybe he was being too harsh. Cashel had a tendency to be somewhat distant,

and he didn’t exactly like to talk about his feelings, but he wasn’t all bad. Sometimes, when

he forgot to be aloof and brooding, Declan even kind of liked him.

“I wasn’t bored, little one. I was lonely.”

“Oh, well, that makes it all better. Glad I could fill that gaping hole in your undead

heart.”

“Your sarcasm is not lost on me, nor is it appreciated.” Cashel’s eyes narrowed, and

the muscles in his jaw ticked.

Declan bit his lip and folded his hands in his lap. Gods, he hated that look. It always

made him feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I was lonely, yes, but I wasn’t the only one. Do you remember how sad you were?

You were so lost, little one. You needed me.”

“Dinner and drinks might have been nice before you ripped out my jugular.” Declan

twirled his fingers together and shrugged. “Did it ever cross your mind that you could have

just asked me?”

“No.” His Maker looked so dumbfounded by the idea that Declan actually had to drop

his head to hide his smile. “I’m nine hundred years old.”

“That’s your excuse? You’re old?” It should have infuriated him, but Declan still had

the insane urge to laugh. “Okay, fine, we’ll come back to that. You didn’t answer my

question, though.” He didn’t have to kill innocent people to survive, so he saw no reason

Cashel would need to, either.

“Don’t speak on things you don’t understand.” He looked as though he would say more,

but instead, he tilted his head to the side as a cunning grin stretched his lips. “She’s here.”

“I just have to convince her to follow me out behind the bar, right?” Declan hated this

part. He couldn’t stop Cashel from killing his victims, but he resented being used as a pawn

in the vampire’s games.

“Yes, and then you can leave. I’ll find you when I’m finished.”

At least that part of their usual plan hadn’t changed. Declan lured the targets to a

secluded venue, seducing them into a false sense of security, and then he left. He had zero

desire to witness what happened once Cashel arrived.

“Maybe I can get whatever it is you want from her. Let me help.”

“Declan?”

Declan sat up straighter and beamed. “Yes?”

“Do as you’re told.”

* * * *

“That didn’t take long.” Declan wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and stared

into the steaming contents. “You’ve only been gone for twenty minutes. Did you get what

you came for?”

“Yes,” Cashel answered as he settled into the chair across from him.

“Did you kill her?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t?”

The little gypsy woman from the bar couldn’t have been older than twenty-five with

pretty brown eyes and adorable dimples. Even more upsetting, she’d had a family, people

who would grieve when she never returned home.

“I want to believe you.” Regrettably, he’d seen firsthand the depths of his Maker’s

brutality. It had only taken one time for him to stumble upon the aftermath and lose his

lunch. After that, he made sure to disappear once he’d finished his part.

“Why must you always think the worst of me?”

“Because you give me no reason not to.” Again, not exactly true, but Declan wasn’t

feeling very charitable toward the man at the moment. “Let’s change the topic.” Arguing

about Cashel’s moral code wouldn’t get them anywhere. “What did you need from her?”

“Information.”

“What kind of information?”

“That’s not important.”

It never is. “Okay, well, what can you tell me?”

“We’re going to Canada.”

“What the hell is in Canada?” Granted, he’d never been that far north, but he imagined

all kinds of horrible things would be waiting for him this time of year—like snow, ice, and

frigid temperatures.

“A Loup-garou. This isn’t any common werewolf, Declan. The Loup-garou is a rare

vintage, aged to absolute perfection.” His left eye twitched, his nostrils flared, and his heart

beat just a little faster when he spoke.

“Try again.” He may not know the guy well, but he didn’t need to for this. Cashel was

a horrible liar. “Why are we really going to Canada?”

“To find a Loup-garou, as I said.”

Declan believed that much, just not the explanation of why they were hunting this

furball. “And when do we leave?”

The legs of the chair scraped across the tiled floor as Cashel stood, pulled a ten dollar

bill from his wallet, and dropped it on the table. “Now.”

Chapter Two

“This is never going to work.” Declan muttered a few choice words under his breath and

tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before entering the dimly lit pub.

The number of patrons gathered in the Twisted Spoke was unusual for a Tuesday night,

and under different circumstances, he might even call it ideal. Unfortunately, they’d hit the

bar every weekend for a month straight, and now, people treated him with weary suspicion

as he crossed the room.

Declan had done everything except get on his knees and beg his Maker to postpone the

hunt, or at the very least, move on to another location. Cashel wouldn’t be deterred, though.

If anything, he seemed even more determined to get his hands on the elusive Loup-garou.

The rough and tumble crowd held little appeal to Declan, but Cashel insisted on

revisiting the seedy dive week after week. Furthermore, he’d been acting very odd since

their arrival in Quebec, disappearing for days at a time only to reappear in a high state of

distress.

When he inquired about the unusual behavior, though, Cashel reacted by being surly

and defensive. Then, at other times, he became overly protective, lecturing Declan about

the dangers of wandering the city on his own. His erratic behavior was beginning to give

Declan whiplash.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he tucked his hands into his pockets and rounded

his shoulders in an attempt to appear more vulnerable. It didn’t do any good, though. Even

the humans in the place watched his every step toward the bar with open suspicion, not that

he blamed them. In the short time since his arrival, he’d developed quite the reputation.

While it might not be unusual to see a drifter or vagrant in the bar only once, there were

some things people couldn’t help but notice. For example, people noticed the fact that

Declan always arrived alone, always left with someone new, and that unlucky person was

never heard from again.

“Bottled water.” He didn’t look directly at the bartender when he spoke, but he saw the

man nod out of the corner of his eye.

While the basics of the game hadn’t changed, Declan’s instructions had. He still chose

the individuals he’d leave with at the end of the night, but only as a last resort. He was to

enter the bar and wait exactly three hours. If no one approached him, then he could choose

the next target.

Don’t look. Let fate find you. His Maker’s words played through his head for the

hundredth time, but he still couldn’t make heads or tails of the cryptic statement.

Movement to the left caught his attention, and Declan held his breath while he watched

the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen settle onto the stool next to him. Raven hair as dark

as night fell down over his shoulders, pin straight and gleaming in the harsh lighting from

the neon sign over the bar. The muscles in his back rippled beneath his shirt with every

movement, and the five o’clock shadow that adorned his jaw added just a hint of danger to

an otherwise handsome visage.

The distinct scent of wet fur and something earthier, more primal, wafted from him and

saturated the air, causing Declan’s gums to tingle and his mouth to water. Electricity

crackled through the smoky atmosphere of the pub, and the sheer level of energy called to

a side of Declan not tainted by his vampire nature.

He didn’t recall seeing the guy before, and he’d definitely remember a body like that.

Judging by the weathered riding jacket draped over the back of his seat, it was more likely

that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous was simply passing through the small town of

Belleforest.

Unfortunately for him, this was where the road ended.

Pivoting in his seat, the stranger smirked while his golden gaze held Declan hypnotized.

“The Red Siren.”

His heart jumped at the accusation, but he adopted a careful expression of distain,

lifting both eyebrows as he fingered the collar of his red leather trench coat. “Red Siren?

Not exactly accurate, but it is imaginative, nonetheless.” Offering his right hand, he stood

a bit straighter and smirked. “Declan Collins.”

“Un nom aussi beau que toi.” Without flourish or grandeur, the traveler took his hand,

cradling it in both of his own, and dipped his head to brush a chaste kiss over the trembling

knuckles. “I’m Lincoln, Lincoln Chastain.”

A name as beautiful as you. While Declan’s name did mean “beautiful,” he’d always

thought it had been a cruel joke or wishful thinking on his parents’ part. Sure, he could

charm the pants off of the unsuspecting at twenty paces, but it had little to do with his

modest appearance.

He didn’t seduce with is body or pouty lips. Oh, no, his talents went much deeper. From

poets to basket weavers and everywhere in between, he collected mediocrity and

transformed it into breathtaking brilliance. He captured the mind and ensnared the heart,

offering inspiration to these misunderstood artists, and in exchange, he asked for only a

simple kiss.

“Well, Mr. Chastain, since you know who I am, I suppose you also know what I am.”

And he certainly wasn’t a damn siren.

Lincoln nodded once, but the grin on his lips never wavered. He appeared relaxed and

confident, clearly untroubled by Declan’s presence. “I’ve heard legends of Mousa, but I

didn’t think they actually existed. When I heard there was one in Belleforest, I had to see

for myself.”

“Funny you should mention that.” Declan reminded himself to play it cool, but he found

it increasingly difficult to heed his own advice. “I came here looking for a Loup-garou, but

it looks like you found me first.”

“Am I that obvious?”

Declan shrugged. “I know you’re a werewolf, but I also know you’re something more.”

Gods, he’d never felt power like that before, not even from Cashel.

“So we both came looking for each other,” Lincoln mused. “It must be fate.”

Don’t look. Let fate find you. Cashel’s words crept through Declan’s mind again, but

he refused to get himself worked up over a stupid coincidence. “You shouldn’t have come

here, pup.”

No good would come of this. Normally, he didn’t let himself feel one way or another

about the men and women he helped Cashel hunt, but there was something different about

Lincoln.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink.”

Lincoln smiled a little brighter and leaned forward, completely ignoring Declan’s warning.

“Or maybe you’d like something they don’t keep on tap here.” He rubbed his bottom lip

with two fingers as he spoke, clearly unskilled in the fine art of subtlety.

Much like the way vampires required frequent feedings to survive, so did Mousa.

Unlike vampires, however, Mousa didn’t imbibe blood from their donors. Instead, they

drank of the invisible energy found in every living being, siphoning the aura through a

lingering kiss.

“You need to go. Get out of Belleforest for a couple of weeks.” Perhaps in that time he

could convince Cashel to move on to another province.

The anxiety ate away at him, causing his knees to tremble and his pulse to accelerate.

The longer Lincoln continued to stare at him as though he was one of the lost wonders of

the world, the more agitated he became until he couldn’t control his reactions any longer.

His carefully concealed canines burst through his gums, and his pupils dilated, causing

the lights in the room to become almost blinding in intensity. A low, rumbling growl

vibrated through his chest as he gripped the wolf by the elbow and jerked him out of his

seat. “Leave. Now.”

“A hybrid? No freakin’ way.” Great fuck, the guy looked like Christmas had come

twice that year.

Granted, Declan had never met another Loup-garou besides Lincoln, but honestly, he

didn’t understand the allure. The wolf acted like an eager puppy that might wet himself at

any moment out of excitement.

“To hell with this.” He murmured a string of curses under his breath as he turned on

his heels and marched toward the door. He’d never in his life met anyone as infuriating as

Lincoln Chastain, and he’d only had the displeasure of knowing the man for five whole

minutes.

“Declan, wait, just wait.” Lincoln caught up with him as he exited the building and

placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him to a stop. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I know how it

is to be treated like a freak, and I didn’t mean to treat you that way.”

“You don’t get it.” Declan chuckled darkly and shook his head. “It’s not about me, pup.

Just…just go home, Lincoln. You’ll be safe there.”

“Will he hurt you?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you.” Lincoln stepped closer as he slid his hand from

Declan’s shoulder to his wrist. “If I don’t go with you, will Cashel hurt you?”

Jerking his hand away, Declan retreated back a few steps, putting distance between

himself and the werewolf. “Who are you? How do you know about Cashel? How do you

know about me?”

Gone was the bright-eyed, enthusiastic idiot he’d met only moments ago inside the bar.

The golden glow had been replaced by a cool, gunmetal gray, and Declan recognized too

well the dead, emotionless look of a trained killer.

“Who I am isn’t important.” Lincoln held fast to his wrist, dragging him around the

side of the building and into the shadowed alley where he pressed Declan roughly against

the brick wall. “I can help you, but you’re going to have to help me first.”

“No one can help me.” That wasn’t at all what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to tell

his would-be hero that he didn’t need help. He’d meant to convey that he could take care

of himself, or perhaps that he didn’t even need rescuing.

“I can, but you’ll have to trust me.”

What he suggested sounded great, but Declan didn’t know this man, had zero reason to

trust him. Considering Cashel’s vague instructions earlier in the night, the entire meeting

could have been orchestrated by his Maker. He didn’t know to what purpose, but it was

just the type of thing Cashel would do.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this won’t end well for either of us.” He

struggled against Lincoln’s iron grip but to no avail. “Just let me go.”

“Quiet.” Lincoln tilted his head to the side, and Declan swore he actually saw the

werewolf’s ear twitch. “Someone’s coming.”

Declan’s knees threatened to buckle when the blood drained from his face. “It’s him.”

He still couldn’t find a plausible explanation for what he felt toward Lincoln, but he did

know he couldn’t allow Cashel to hurt him. “Please, go. You have to go.”

“Quiet,” Lincoln repeated, his voice harsh and raspy.

Panic seized him for only a moment before instinct and self-preservation kicked in, and

Declan did the only thing that made sense. He jerked his head to the side, opened his mouth,

and sank his fangs into the fleshy part of Lincoln’s hand where forefinger met thumb.

“Fuck!” With a feral snarl, Lincoln ripped his hand away and nursed his wound.

“Knock it off, asshole. I’m trying to help you.”

Declan wasn’t listening any longer, though. Electricity rocketed down his spine, racing

straight to his balls where the pressure built to unbearable levels. His dick hardened in the

span of seconds, throbbing madly behind his zipper. His head started to spin, his muscles

felt weak, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of his companion’s lips.

The Loup-garou may be no ordinary werewolf, but this was no ordinary Loup-garou,

either. The blood that lingered on his tongue was heavenly, far beyond anything he’d ever

tasted before. His entire body tingled, each cell exploding with a vitality he’d never

experienced in his life.

“Mhianaigh.” Mine. Only mine. Always mine. The words spun through his mind on a

perpetual loop, leaving him unable to think about anything else.

He could feel Cashel creeping closer, but he no longer remembered why it was

important. He needed to leave, to get Lincoln far away, but again, he couldn’t remember

why.

“That’s good,” Lincoln commented, “but we don’t have time right now.”

With a determined effort, Declan shook off the disorientation, and did his best to focus

on the task at hand. “You knew? How could you know?”

“I didn’t.” Lincoln shook his head as he dragged Declan deeper into the alleyway. “I

suspected, but I wasn’t sure until now. Look, I know finding your mate is supposed to be

all sunshine and hallelujah chorus, but right now, we need to focus on getting out of here.”

“Cashel. I can feel him.” A slow, steady vibration began in his chest and rolled outward

through his limbs. The closer he was to his Maker in proximity, the more intense the

sensation became. “He’s almost here.”

Lincoln glanced toward the mouth of the alley and back to Declan. “We’re going to

have to split up, just for now. You can find me, right?”

“Y–Yes, I can, but I don’t understand.” Just because he could find Lincoln didn’t mean

it was a good idea, though. In fact, the best thing he could do for his new mate was stay as

far away as possible.

“I know, but there’s no time to explain right now.” Without warning, he shoved Declan

against the side of the bar once again, pinning him there with his much larger body. “One

kiss, right?”

Chapter Three

For six weeks, he’d spent every free moment learning all he could about Cashel del Sarto.

Once he’d heard rumors that the Red Siren had been haunting Belleforest, he’d waited and

watched, fine tuning his plan until the time was right.

Lincoln never imagined that the devil’s sidekick would end up being his mate, though.

Declan had made quite the name for himself, likely at Cashel’s bidding. Still, where the

Red Siren went, Cashel del Sarto followed—and drifters mysteriously disappeared.

Fair skin, red hair, and just a sprinkling of freckles, Declan didn’t look like the monster

Lincoln had pictured. Five minutes into their conversation, and he knew there was

something more than loyalty binding Declan to Cashel. Not until the Mousa had revealed

his hybrid nature did he understand just how deep that bond reached, though.

Well, his dear foe was in for a rude awakening, because not even the union between a

Maker and his protégé could withstand the all-consuming bond between a mated pair. At

first, he’d only wanted to convince Declan to help him take down Cashel. Once he’d

realized the Mousa was more than just a possible ally, his focus shifted, putting Declan’s

safety at the top of his priority list.

It had sickened him to walk away, slinking into the shadows like a lowly coward, but

getting himself killed wouldn’t help either of them. Eight days had passed since that

meeting, however, and he hadn’t seen nor heard from Declan. His imagination spun with

all types of horrible and gruesome scenarios until he felt he’d go insane.

“Where are you?” Seeking retribution was never far from his mind, and Declan Collins

presented a complication he didn’t need. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as skipping

town and pretending the guy didn’t exist.

All week he’d paced the floors of his second-floor apartment, stopping occasionally to

listen for footsteps on the stairs or to glance out the window. “I shouldn’t have left.” He

made another pass through the living room and kicked the coffee table for good measure,

shattering one of the legs. “I didn’t have a choice.”

We always have a choice, and those choices define us.

His brother’s voice rang in his head, adding a layer of melancholy to his already sour

mood. Confronting Cashel at the bar wouldn’t have ended in justice or vengeance. Still, he

should have done more. His fight didn’t belong to Declan, and he shouldn’t have placed so

much responsibility on his mate’s narrow shoulders.

“Screw it.” Sitting around and doing nothing wouldn’t get him the answers he needed,

and the longer he waited, the more the danger escalated for Declan.

Grabbing his keys from the end table near the sofa, he stomped to his front door, yanked

it open, and froze in his tracks.

“Oh, umm, hello.” Declan fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot while he

fumbled with the buttons on his trench coat. Oversized sunglasses covered the majority of

his face, but Lincoln could see his eyes darting left and right, scanning the area as though

he expected someone to leap out and attack him. “Can I…uh…can I come in?”

Instead of answering, Lincoln grabbed his mate by the collar and hauled him into the

apartment. “What took you so long?”

“I got delayed.” He didn’t elaborate, but the dejected tone spoke louder than anything

he could have said.

“Declan?” Now that the shock had worn off, Lincoln looked at his mate, really looked

at him, and what he saw caused his muscles to tense and his blood pressure to rise.

Though the polarized lenses of the sunglasses hid most of the damage, swelling and

bruising was still visible around both eyes. His bottom lip appeared puffy, and several

scratches ran the length of his neck, as well as across his right cheek.

“Did he do this to you?” Of course he did, stupid. Add it to the list of reasons to kill the

son of a bitch. Slowly, so as not to startle his frightened mate, he reached up and gently

removed the glasses from Declan’s face—and immediately wished he hadn’t. “I’m so sorry

this happened to you.”

Placing the frames on the arm of the sofa, he cradled Declan’s cheeks in both hands,

careful not to cause him further pain, and then kissed each and every one of his injuries.

When he’d finished, he brushed one last kiss across the muse’s lips and sighed. “I’m so

sorry,” he repeated.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but I couldn’t stop myself. Cashel is going

to know I’m missing. He’s going to come for me.” His voice cracked when he spoke of his

Maker, but he didn’t need to be afraid anymore.

“Quiet, mon bel ange. One thing at a time.”

“I’m hardly beautiful or an angel.”

Lincoln grinned and dipped his head to place another kiss on Declan’s brow. “You are

to me.”

He wouldn’t be able to explain it to a human if he tried, and he doubted the unmated of

his kind would even understand. It was more simplistic than love at first sight, yet more

complex than chemical attraction.

In short, Declan was his life now. He breathed because Declan breathed. All the things

in his life that had mattered now only registered in his peripheral. Even his hatred for

Cashel, his thirst for vengeance, dimmed in comparison to the driving need to defend,

protect, honor, and cherish Declan at all costs. And those feelings would only intensify

once they cemented their union.

“He’ll find me.” Declan trembled violently, and Lincoln could hear his heart thundering

inside his chest. “I can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”

Lincoln understood better than most, but saying so wouldn’t stop the hysteria he could

sense building in his mate. How could every story he’d heard about the Red Siren be so off

the mark? Instead of offering platitudes and false assurances Declan likely wouldn’t

believe anyway, he made a promise instead. “I swear I’m not going to let him hurt you

again.”

A dark, slightly manic chuckle bubbled up through Declan’s lips, and he shook his head

mechanically as he began backing toward the door. “I shouldn’t have come here.” Those

crystal blue eyes that had captivated Lincoln from the start took on a dead, hollow glaze.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I have to go.”

“Is that really what you want to do?”

“Yes.” Declan shook his head as he spoke. “No.” He nodded. “I don’t know,” he

whimpered. “None of this makes any sense.”

The bond between an intended pair hit swift, hard, and relentless. Some called it fate,

others believed it to be divine application, but it all meant the same thing—magic. Like the

full moon, that seductive enchantress, the magnetism couldn’t be refused or denied.

Therein lay the problem. The situation might not make sense to Declan, but only

because he still maintained a healthy dose of denial. If he’d stop fighting so damn hard and

just give in, he’d realize that neither he nor Lincoln could stop what was happening between

them.

“Come here.”

Declan’s eyebrows drew together, and he shook his head again. “This was a mistake.”

“Declan, come here.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice rose an octave, and his tone took on that same

frantic edge again. “He won’t stop. This.” Declan pointed to his bruised and swollen face.

“This wasn’t a punishment. A couple of assholes jumped me outside of a coffee shop. This

was a warning.”

“I know,” Lincoln whispered, wincing as his chest constricted with guilt. “I should

have never left you alone.”

“I wasn’t blaming you.” His shoulder’s sagged, and his eyes drifted closed as he heaved

a huge sigh. “What is it with you hero types?”

“I don’t know what…” The end of his sentence trailed away when Declan opened his

eyes, pinning him with a determined gaze.

A storm raged in those cobalt eyes, and though it wasn’t as bright as the night they’d

met, the spark—the fight—he’d seen in Declan during their first meeting smoldered just

below the surface. He could still sense the fear in his mate, but Lincoln had to admit that

perhaps he didn’t have all the pieces to this complicated puzzle.

“He’s never done anything like this before,” Declan continued distractedly as he

skimmed his fingertips over his left cheek. Then he refocused, letting his hand fall to his

side. “If you’d just listen for five minutes instead of trying to play Atlas, maybe you’d

understand what I’m trying to tell you.”

The reference wasn’t lost on Lincoln, but neither did he feel it was an accurate

assessment. He didn’t shoulder the weight of the world, only the burdens that personally

affected him. An attack on his mate was something he took very personal, especially when

he was the catalyst that had set things in motion.

“You’re not listening,” Declan accused.

“Just because I don’t agree doesn’t mean I haven’t been listening.” They could continue

to argue until both fell over from exhaustion, but it wouldn’t change anything. “You came

here to warn me. You’re scared but not for yourself.” Lincoln crooked one side of his

mouth up in a smirk as he took a step toward his mate. “You’re here because you couldn’t

stop yourself, but now, you’re afraid of what it’ll mean if you stay. Am I getting warm?”

“Then you also know why I can’t stay.”

“All I know is that I’m tired of talking in circles with you.” Closing the distance

between them, Lincoln scooped his mate into his arms and cradled him against his chest.

“I don’t doubt your courage, angel, but how about I take it from here?”

Lowering his head, he carefully pressed his lips to Declan’s, exhaling as he did so,

breathing his own vitality into the weakened muse. “Was that really so hard?” He knew

very little about Mousa, but he understood Declan needed a living energy source to

maintain his strength. It wouldn’t heal him completely, but at least it would take away some

of his pain.

“You are a stubborn man, Lincoln Chastain.”

“No, I’m just always right. Now, be quiet and let me get on with my hero complex so

I can heal you.” Three…two… “There’s that smile.” It was small, barely tilting the corners

of his lips, and Declan appeared more resigned than anything. Still, it was a smile, and

Lincoln would take whatever he could get at that point.

Carrying his mate to the sofa, he settled onto the middle cushion and tilted his head

back, exposing the vein that snaked along the side of his throat. “Take what you need.”

Silky lips glided up the column of his neck, but the sharp sting of teeth never came.

Instead, Declan rose up on his knees and traced Lincoln’s bottom lip with the pad of his

thumb. “This. This is what I want.”

“Are you still in pain?” The bruises on his face were already fading, but he’d heal much

faster if he’d just take a few drops of blood from Lincoln.

“No.” Declan snorted and shook his head. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I need

you to kiss me.”

Then he slanted their mouths together, taking advantage of Lincoln’s momentary

surprise to thrust his tongue inside. Though the initiation had been bold, the kiss held a

degree of hesitation and an undercurrent of caution.

Lincoln, however, possessed no such reservations. Wrapping his arms around Declan’s

waist like a steel cage, he flipped his mate beneath him and pinned his slim shoulders to

the sofa. Raw and primal, the growl that rumbled through his chest had been building for

days, and he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

The smile he received this time looked far less tenuous, and Declan’s hand was steady

when he reached up to touch the side of Lincoln’s face. “I know. Growl all you want, big

guy. I think it’s kind of sweet.”

Sweet? He was a Loup-garou, a fearsome monster of the night. People had called him

many things, but never sweet. “I’m not sweet. Or cute,” he added, anticipating Declan’s

next words. “In fact…” He knew just how to put the conversation to rest.

Bracing one hand on the arm of the couch, he slid the other up Declan’s chest and

gripped the collar of his crimson, button-down shirt. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he slit

the fabric right down the middle, popping off each button as he went. His mate’s surprised

gasp spiked his desire to near unbearable levels, and the sexy whimper that followed nearly

snapped his self-control.

“I–I don’t know…I’ve n–never…” Declan tugged at a lock of hair as he stuttered, and

he wouldn’t look at Lincoln.

“Wait.” The news cooled his ardor in a hurry, and Lincoln sat back on his knees, putting

ample space between himself and Declan. “Never?” He’d heard all the legends of the Red

Siren and his seductive charms.

“I’m not some blushing virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” Declan answered with a

defiant glare.

Well, at least he’s looking at me. “Okay, I’m lost. Care to elaborate?”

“No.” He captured his bottom lip between his teeth and worried it for a long time. When

Lincoln refused to say more, Declan sagged deeper into the cushions with a resigned sigh.

“Fine. This is just the first time I’ve been into it. I don’t have a lot of experience, and I

guess I’m just nervous.” He released a long sigh and ducked his head. “I don’t want to

mess it up.”

Sweet fuck, the truth was worse than his assumption, not to mention it came with a lot

of pressure. Tenderness wasn’t in his nature, and Declan had already been through more

than any person should have to endure. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

The crestfallen look that covered Declan’s face lanced his heart and left him bleeding.

In theory, he knew what he should do and how he should act as a mate. In practice, it was

so much harder than he’d anticipated.

“What I mean—”

“It’s okay,” Declan interrupted. “I understand.”

No, it wasn’t okay, but it would be. Lincoln would make sure of it. Gentleness may not

come naturally to him, but for Declan, he’d try his damnedest to be the man his mate

deserved.

Chapter Four

Three days passed after their disastrous incident on the sofa, and Lincoln hadn’t tried to

make any further advances. Hell, he practically ran in the opposite direction each time

Declan entered the room. Life with his mate wasn’t all bad, but that didn’t make it the

fairytale he’d imagined, either.

On top of that, he felt constantly on edge, waiting for Cashel to show up on Lincoln’s

doorstep at any moment. A smart man would walk out that door, go straight back to Cashel,

and bargain for Lincoln’s safety. A good mate would leave and never turn back, because

staying meant putting someone he cared about in danger.

Unfortunately, Declan had never purported to be either of those things. He’d spent his

entire life taking orders and being told where to go, what to do, and how to do it. Making

his own choices didn’t come naturally, and at the end of the day, he was nothing more than

a coward.

“You hungry, angel?”

Looking up from the contemplation of his hands, Declan inched to the edge of the

armchair and nodded. “I could eat.”

“The fridge is empty, and I’m a shitty cook anyway.”

Declan wouldn’t debate the fact. They’d eaten mostly sandwiches for the past three

days, and the one time Lincoln had tried to cook—macaroni and cheese—he’d nearly

burned down the apartment.

“I could put something together.” The contents of the kitchen were sparse, but Declan

figured there had to be something edible in the cabinets.

“Nah.” Lincoln pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tipped it toward Declan. “Are

you in the mood for Chinese or pizza?”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you want.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Declan had bigger decisions to make beyond what they ate for dinner, but he didn’t to

start a fight. “Chinese.”

“Okay, I’ll order pizza.”

Choking back his frustrated growl, Declan bobbed his head in agreement. “Sounds

good.”

He didn’t know what had crawled up Lincoln’s ass, but he supposed he couldn’t blame

the guy for being a little distant. If a virtual stranger had appeared at his door acting like a

total spaz, he’d probably have reservations as well. Some might think because the majority

of his conversations consisted of small talk and pickup lines, he would be good at social

interactions. In truth, however, he sucked at relationships, no matter how casual.

“Declan, I’m messing with you. Chinese is good with me.”

“Oh, okay.”

Maybe Lincoln wasn’t the problem. His smile and casual tone didn’t come off as

combative. He’d even called Declan by that cute pet name. Every night, he checked the

locks on the doors and windows, and twice, he’d even snuck into the living room to check

on Declan in the dark. On the other hand, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid physical

contact, and he spent a lot of time locked up in his bedroom alone.

After ordering more food than Declan figured he could eat in a week, Lincoln

disconnected the call and placed his phone on the end table near the sofa. He didn’t say

anything, just standing there, staring at Declan as though he couldn’t figure out what to do

next. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lincoln mumbled a string of curses and

stomped over to stand directly in front of him.

“Look at me.”

Declan entertained the idea of simply ignoring his mate for all of a heart beat before

deciding that would be juvenile. So he clasped his hands together between his knees until

the knuckles turned white, trying to rein in the frustration he could feel bubbling inside

him. Lifting his head, he looked up at Lincoln through his lashes, but to his surprise, the

guy didn’t appear angry. In fact, he looked like someone had just kicked his puppy—in the

head.

“I really don’t mind pizza.” Brilliant. Why couldn’t he say something meaningful or at

the very least, appropriate? Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t have the first clue

about being someone’s mate.

Lowering himself to the floor, Lincoln took both of Declan’s hands and brought them

to his lips with a quiet sigh. “I don’t know how to do this, angel.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have made him feel better, but it did. Logically, one of them should

know what they hell they were doing, but the confession allowed Declan to release the

breath he’d been holding since that first kiss in the alleyway.

Then doubt and insecurity crept in, and Declan began to worry that perhaps he’d

misinterpreted Lincoln’s words. Instead of admitting their shortcomings and working

toward something better, maybe Lincoln wanted to throw in the towel.

On the flip side of that, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions and be presumptuous.

There should be a rule book for these situations. Declan would take the Cliff’s Notes

version. Hell, he’d settle for a pamphlet right then.

If Lincoln was attempting to let him down easy and he didn’t get the hint, he looked

like a clingy idiot. If he assumed he was no longer welcome and ended up being wrong, he

looked like an uncaring ass. Either way, he lost. Why the hell couldn’t the werewolf just

pick an emotion and stick with it?

“Fuck!” Jerking his hands out of Lincoln’s hold, he pushed his fingers through the hair

at his temples and pulled. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the right answer is. None of

this makes any sense, and you don’t make it any easier. One minute, you’re salivating to

get in my pants, and the next, you’re acting like a total ass.”

“I know.”

Declan ignored him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. If I don’t say

anything, you get pissed, but if I do say something, I’m wrong.”

“I never said tha—”

“You check on me when you think I’m sleeping, but during the day, you act like I have

some communicable disease.” Now that the dam had broken, Declan couldn’t stop the

flood that burst through. “You’re hot one minute and cold the next. Like now.” He

interrupted his own meltdown long enough to look into Lincoln’s eyes. “Why are you doing

this to me?”

“Because I’m scared!” Lincoln snapped. Any anger he held faded instantly, however,

replaced not by fear, but an emotion that looked curiously like insecurity. “I’ve never had

a relationship that lasted beyond breakfast.” Pushing to his feet, he began to pace the living

room, waving his hands about in animated gestures. “I follow my instincts, Declan. I

always have. Only, this time…”

“What’s different about this time?” Declan asked, keeping his voice quiet and soothing,

hoping to calm some of his mate’s agitation.

“This time…” Lincoln halted in his pacing and looked over his shoulder with narrowed

eyes. “I don’t trust my instincts, angel, and neither should you.”

“So you do like me.” On some level, he’d known things weren’t as black and white as

they appeared. He had his own problems, though, like trying to figure out how to keep his

Maker and his mate from massacring each other.

“I like—what? Are you even listening to me?”

Declan bit down on his bottom lip, but he couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “You

like me. Admit it.” Using the arms of the chair for leverage, he heaved himself out of his

seat and tilted his head to the side.

If there was a prize for being a first class, selfish prick, he’d definitely be in the running

for it. He’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself and blaming Lincoln for everything

going wrong, he hadn’t stopped to consider that perhaps the guy was stumbling around in

the dark as well.

At first, he’d been hurt by Lincoln’s rejection, but the more he’d thought about it, the

more that hurt had morphed into anger. It shouldn’t have mattered that he didn’t have a ton

of experience in the bedroom. Hell, he imagined most men would be thrilled to find out

their intended wasn’t a raging slut.

As he replayed the day of his arrival in his mind, however, he began to understand

where everything had gone wrong. From the moment Lincoln had answered the door,

Declan had been completely spastic, but it hadn’t been fear for himself. If Cashel wanted

Lincoln, he’d find him, and by going to the wolf, Declan had only made the hunt easier.

“That’s what this is all about.” Gods, he didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before.

“You like me, but you’re afraid you can’t protect me.”

“Cashel won’t hurt you again,” Lincoln vowed. “You don’t have to be afraid of him

anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bedding a virgin came with a lot of pressure, but at the same

time, that scenario held little expectation. Taking an inexperienced mate to bed, especially

one who admitted to being less than enthralled by the entire sexual process, could crush

any man under a mountain of anxiety. “You’re afraid you can’t protect me from the big

bad wolf.”

He didn’t need protection from Cashel. Knowing his Maker had sent those men to

rough him up outside the coffee shop had hurt and shocked him, but he wasn’t afraid.

Furthermore, he certainly didn’t need protection from Lincoln. He felt a hell of a lot less

discouraged and a damn sight more confident now that he understood where Lincoln’s

anxiety stemmed from, though.

Lincoln didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation that he’d been attempting to protect

Declan from himself, but the lost look in his golden eyes said everything Declan needed to

know. “Don’t.” Lincoln held one hand up and shook his head. “Don’t pretend like you

know me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” It was really a rhetorical question since he already knew

the answer. However, he felt perhaps his mate needed a little nudge in the right direction.

“What?” Spinning to face him, Lincoln furrowed his brow as though he didn’t

understand the question. “Of course I don’t want you to leave.” He rested his hands on his

hips, his expression growing more confused by the second. “I mean, unless you want to

leave.”

Gods, he was freaking adorable, and he didn’t even know it. “I don’t want to leave.”

Relaxing his posture, Declan slinked toward his mate with a seductive grin. “You won’t

hurt me.”

Lincoln, big badass he professed to be, actually stumbled backward. “What are you

doing? Are you…are you seducing me?”

“Depends.” Declan shrugged. “Is it working?”

“Are you doing that siren thing you do?”

“Lincoln, I’m not actually a siren. I’m a muse.” Adding a little extra sway to his hips,

he gripped the hem of his oversized sweater—Lincoln’s sweater to be exact—and slid the

fabric up his torso. “Are you inspired yet, or should I keep going?”

Unlike a siren, a muse didn’t seduce with his voice. When Declan amped up the juju,

he secreted pheromones through the exhalation of each breath. These pheromones didn’t

create obsessive behaviors but had more of an influential effect, creating a sense of calm,

tranquility, and enlightenment. Hence, his ability to inspire creative minds.

In Lincoln’s case, though, he really was just seducing him. Sue me.

“I think it’s working.” Lincoln’s voice dropped an octave and took on a husky quality

that sent a shiver of desire down Declan’s spine. “Maybe you should keep going.”

Almost there. Stripping the soft cotton shirt off over his head, he tossed it behind him

and smoothed one palm down his flexing abs. “How about now?” Abandoning his powers

as a muse, he simply allowed his body to do the talking. “Come on, Lincoln. I’m not so

fragile. I promise I won’t break.”

“I think I’m starting to feel something.” His hand went to his groin to cup his swelling

cock. “Yeah, definitely feeling something in this general region.”

Declan tugged the string on his sleep pants, loosening the waistband so that the fabric

slid down his hips. “And now?”

Lincoln’s control finally snapped, and he took two long strides to close the gap between

them, wrapping Declan in his strong, capable arms. Game over, cowboy. Oh, Declan did

love winning.

“You make me crazy, angel.”

The heat pouring from his mate scorched him, but he reveled in the burn. No one had

ever wanted him like Lincoln wanted him—pure, true, and without reservation. Okay,

maybe with a little reservation, but he felt they were moving past that.

Fisting one hand in Declan’s hair, Lincoln jerked his head back on his shoulders and

laid siege to his mouth, coming up long minutes later to gasp for breath. “This probably

won’t end well.”

“Probably not,” Declan agreed.

Sure, the idea of a real relationship scared the hell out of him. He could crawl back to

Cashel if things didn’t work out with Lincoln, but frankly, the idea held no appeal. He

didn’t hate Cashel necessarily, but nor did he want to continue to be someone’s puppet.

Things weren’t like that with Lincoln. Declan never had to worry that the next order would

be the one that finally broke him.

The silence stretched on while Lincoln considered him, clearly warring with himself

over how to proceed. “Be sure, mon bel ange. Be very sure.”

Yes, he understood the risks, but from where he stood, the benefits far outweighed the

potential consequences. “I am.”

A fierce, possessive growl was his only warning before Lincoln lifted him off the floor

and encouraged Declan’s legs around his waist. One hand tangled in his hair while the

other held a firm grip on his ass, and Lincoln attacked his mouth with an urgency that left

Declan’s head spinning.

Their tongues tangled and twined, sliding together in a passionate duel, and Declan

moaned in wanton delight as he rocked against his lover. Raw, untainted desire possessed

him, and he dug his fingers into Lincoln’s shoulders, desperate to be closer.

The response surprised him, even startled him a bit. He couldn’t catch his breath, but

the scary part was he didn’t care. No one had ever elicited this kind of response from him.

No one had pushed him so close to the brink with nothing more than a kiss.

“Lincoln, please.” His plea came as a breathy whimper while his mate kissed along the

column of his neck. “I can’t wait.” His insides burned like molten lava, and his nerve

endings sizzled with every touch.

“Patience, angel,” Lincoln rasped before nipping at his earlobe.

A knock at the door pulled an uncharacteristic growl from Declan’s lips, and Lincoln’s

answering chuckle did nothing to improve his mood. “Who the hell is that?”

“My guess would be the delivery guy.”

“Tell him to go away.” Declan was starving, but not for fried rice or egg rolls.

Lincoln scraped his teeth over Declan’s shoulder and laughed again as he spun them

toward the door. “Grab my wallet.” He nodded toward the end table beside them.

With a grumbling sigh, Declan leaned to the side to retrieve the wallet, but once upright,

he couldn’t resist another taste of his lover’s lips. Lincoln didn’t protest, even sliding his

fingers into the waistband of Declan’s cotton pants to skim along his crease as he stumbled

toward the front door.

With their mouths still fused together, Lincoln secured Declan with one hand and

reached behind him with the other to turn the knob. “Pay the man,” he ordered, grabbing

both bags and dropping them to the floor inside the foyer.

Declan threw the wallet at the delivery man’s head, reached over Lincoln’s shoulder,

and slammed the door before returning to his task with a needy groan. Threading his fingers

through his lover’s hair, he delved between Lincoln’s lips, leaving no crevice unexplored.

“Now?” he begged. His dick ached, throbbing painfully between his thighs as he rocked

against his mate’s cobblestone abs like a bitch in heat.

“Now,” Lincoln rumbled in response, tripping toward the sofa and virtually throwing

Declan down on the cushions.

Rummaging through the drawer of the end table while he attempted to undress himself

one-handed, Lincoln proved to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Though distracted by the sight

of his lover’s long, thick cock, Declan still had enough sense about him to question the

availability of the lube Lincoln tossed onto the couch beside him.

“You keep lube in the living room?” He held up the clear, plastic bottle and arched an

eyebrow.

“I live alone,” Lincoln answered as he dove on top of him, insinuating himself between

Declan’s legs. “Where else do you think I watch porn?”

Then his mouth crashed down on Declan’s once more, silencing any response he might

have given while the wolf finished divesting him of his clothing. When their naked flesh

pressed together, Declan’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he arched upward, seeking

more of the delicious friction against his pulsing cock.

The snick of a bottle cap cut through the white noise of their grunting, groaning, and

heavy breathing. Lincoln didn’t waste time with preliminaries, either. Only seconds passed

before Declan felt the brush of slippery fingers along the crease of his ass. Lifting his hips

from the cushions, he offered himself freely, eager to be filled, to experience the burn as

his lover stretched and prepared him.

One lubed digit pressed between his cheeks and ringed the clenching muscles of his

entrance. It didn’t take long for him to relax under Lincoln’s skillful caress, and Declan

sucked in a deep breath as his mate’s finger sunk into his quivering channel.

One finger soon became two while they pawed and groped at one another, writhing

together in a tangle of limbs. Lightning bolts ricocheted through Declan’s body, and the

smoldering embers of lust erupted into a raging, all-consuming inferno.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Lincoln murmured, his voice muffled against the side of

Declan’s neck. “Gods, you’re so responsive.”

Too lost in his own desire, Declan couldn’t make heads or tails of the statement, but

his mate sounded happy so he didn’t think too hard on it. “Lincoln, please!” He’d beg,

plead, steal, or whore himself out at that point to get the release he needed.

“Okay, okay,” his lover soothed. Slipping his fingers from Declan’s hole, he rose up

on his knees and gripped the base of his cock, pressing the dripping crown against Declan’s

opening. “Last chance.”

“Shut up and fuck me already!” Wrapping both legs around Lincoln’s narrow waist, he

tightened his grip, jerking his lover forward.

They both groaned as Lincoln filled him, sliding into his hungry ass until he was fully

encased. From there, primal instinct ruled. Declan had only one heartbeat of pause to gather

his bearings before Lincoln began an all-out assault against his senses.

Sight, smell, touch, taste—nothing registered except the man above him. Every hard,

driving thrust pushed him closer to the edge, and guttural sound that vibrated Lincoln’s

chest entranced him. If he’d ever met a sexier man, he couldn’t remember it. Hell, he

couldn’t remember any of those nameless faces that came before.

The further his control slipped, the more bruising Lincoln’s hold became, but Declan

didn’t mind. He’d wear each mark with pride. “More,” he demanded, though he couldn’t

say exactly what “more” involved.

Sitting back on his heels, Lincoln jerked him into his lap as he thrust up into him. Then,

with a gentleness that didn’t match the frenzied nature of their union, his mate brushed the

hair back from his shoulder and slipped one knuckle beneath his chin, urging his head to

the side.

Declan knew instinctively what his lover wanted, and after only a brief moment of

hesitation, he complied to the unspoken request. Leaning his head to the left, he craned his

neck, exposing the delicate flesh of his throat. “Be sure,” he whispered, repeating Lincoln’s

earlier words. Once completed, the bond couldn’t be undone—no second thoughts or

uncertainties.

“I need you to be mine.”

Nodding once to indicate his approval, Declan palmed the back of his wolf’s head and

applied pressure, encouraging his mate to take what he needed. Of all the assurances

Lincoln could have given, Declan doubted any would have been more perfect than the

confession spoken.

Thick arms surrounded his waist, holding him motionless as Lincoln struck, embedding

his sharp canines at the apex of Declan’s neck and shoulder. One jerky swivel of his lover’s

hips tipped the scales, sending Declan headlong into the euphoric bliss he’d been chasing.

Ropes of creamy seed jetted from his engorged cock, filling the minimal space between

them. “Mine,” he breathed.

Extracting his fangs, Lincoln licked his mating mark and nuzzled behind Declan’s ear.

“Mine,” he echoed. Two hard snaps of his hips resulted in a long, strangled groan, and he

crushed Declan to him as he shuddered through his own orgasm. “Mine,” he repeated in a

trembling whisper. “My angel.”

Chapter Five

Mated bliss turned out to not be quite the, well, bliss, Declan had expected. Only two days

had passed since they’d sealed their union, but those two days had been a test in patience.

Logically, Declan understood that Lincoln’s protective—bordering on overbearing—

behavior resulted from the intensity of the mating bond. Being joined with a Mousa added

an extra layer to those already consuming emotions, provoking feelings that toed the line

of paranoia. In time, those elevated emotions would decrease, settling into a more natural

balance. Unfortunately, Declan would probably lose his damn mind before that happened.

For fuck sakes, he couldn’t even take a leak without Lincoln demanding to know where

he was going, why, and how long he’d be there. The guy had actually stood outside the

door with a surly scowl and his arms crossed over his chest while Declan had showered

that morning.

“Where are you going?”

Declan closed his eyes and counted to ten, biting down on his tongue to hold back his

withering retort. “I’m just getting a drink.” He’d literally leaned two inches to the left in

his chair to reach for the soda can on the end table.

“Oh, okay.” Lincoln smiled that devastating smile that always left Declan feeling like

putty. Then he propped his feet up on the coffee table, sunk back into the couch, and

resumed his marathon channel surfing.

The level of charm he exuded should be illegal, especially when Declan was trying to

be mad at him. “I’m going to make some lunch. Do you want anything?”

“A sandwich would be good, if you don’t mind.” As he spoke, Lincoln moved to the

other end of the sofa, likely to have a clearer view into the kitchen.

“I really don’t need a babysitter to slap some mayo on a few pieces of bread.”

“I know,” Lincoln acknowledged, though he didn’t budge from his new position. “This

is for me, not you. Indulge me.”

He spoke so casually, so matter-of-fact, Declan actually found himself nodding in

agreement. More annoyed with himself than with Lincoln, he exhaled sharply, puffing his

cheeks out in the process, and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want pickles?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Ass.”

“You like my ass.”

The byplay lifted Declan’s spirits some, and he chuckled as he retrieved the pickles

from the refrigerator. Once all the ingredients were spread out on the counter, he proceeded

to build his masterpieces, even cutting the cheese slices into silly little faces before placing

them on top of the turkey.

Everything seemed fine until he attempted to remove the lid from the jar of pickles.

The stubborn thing wouldn’t move, but by adding a little extra torque, he finally managed

to dislodge it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been paying attention to the cutting knife he still

gripped in his left hand.

The blade cut through the flesh just below his sternum as though it was nothing more

substantial than softened butter. The searing pain radiated through his body, and Declan

yelled as he wrenched the knife from his chest. The pickles forgotten in light of his injury,

the glass jar slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, shattering against the tiles and

nicking his bare feet.

“Declan!” Lincoln appeared in the kitchen, his face pale and his eyes wide. “What…”

“I stabbed myself,” Declan answered calmly. There seemed to be a lot of blood soaking

into his grey sweater. Maybe shock had set in.

“Why? I mean, how the hell did you stab yourself?” Lincoln rushed forward, ignoring

the broken glass surrounding them, and stripped Declan’s sweatshirt off over his head.

“I was opening the pickles.”

“You were…” Lincoln trailed off, and his eyebrows drew together in obvious confusion

as he examined the gash. Then, he shook his head, rounded Declan to stand behind him,

and lifted his wrist to Declan’s mouth. “Drink.”

Too stunned by the pain and scared by the amount of blood oozing from his body, he

hadn’t realized his fangs had elongated. Closing his eyes, he sank his canines into the meaty

part of Lincoln’s forearm—less painful than the wrist—and took several long swallows

before removing his fangs. “Thank you.”

The opening in his chest itched as the skin knitted together, but it still hurt like the ten

shades of hell. It would take a few more hours before the tiredness left him, but considering

the amount of blood he’d lost, he expected no less.

He tried to turn, intending to thank his mate properly, but Lincoln’s hand on his

shoulder held him immobile. “There’s glass everywhere, angel. Don’t move.” Scooping

Declan into his arms, he carried him out of the kitchen, ignoring his own advice as his

naked feet crunch over the shards of glass.

Alpha types, I’ll never get it. Still, he enjoyed being cradled in his lover’s arms, so he

didn’t voice the argument on the tip of his tongue. “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.” He really

did need to buy some of his own clothes, but he’d have to find a way to gather the funds

first.

“I don’t give a damn about my shirt,” Lincoln grumbled. Easing down into the armchair

in the living room, he positioned Declan securely in his lap and pinched his chin to tilt his

head up. “How about a kiss?”

He knew what Lincoln wanted. While the man had proven on more than one occasion

that he thoroughly enjoyed kissing Declan, this had nothing to do with desire or passion.

His mate’s intentions were far more honorable.

“I’m okay, maybe a little tired, but it’ll fade.”

“You’re hurting. I can tell. Let me do this for you.”

“Fine,” Declan sighed, though he secretly adored the level of attention and caring

Lincoln bestowed on him. “One little kiss.”

The smile that lit Lincoln’s face could have melted the coldest heart, and Declan felt

the corners of his mouth tug up in a mirroring grin. With a carefulness that bordered on

hesitancy, Lincoln leaned closer and brushed their lips together in a featherlight caress. He

placed little kisses along Declan’s jawline, against his cheeks, and over his closed eyes

lids, finally making his way back to Declan’s lips.

The next kiss came hard and fast, and Lincoln took advantage of Declan’s gasp to thrust

his tongue between his lips and explore. Lost in the melding of their lips, it took Declan a

moment to remember the kiss contained a purpose beyond how it ignited his body and

made his dick ache. Holding his lover’s face in both hands, he took what he needed,

breathing in just enough of Lincoln’s essence to ease the pain.

As the kiss deepened, however, he found he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t break the

connection, couldn’t stop the flow of magic between them. His ability to siphon energy

from another living being didn’t lie in his subconscious. He had complete control over the

action, choosing when to employ it and how much of their life force to take. The only time

he’d ever lost control had been when his actions were choreographed by…

“Did you really think I’d let you wander off on your own?” His Maker’s voice

whispered through his mind, sending a chill across the nape of his neck. “You should be

more careful, little one. We wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

“Don’t,” Declan begged through his telepathic bond with Cashel. “Please, I’ll do

anything. We’ll find another Loup-garou. Just don’t hurt him.”

“My sweet muse, you are so stubborn.” Amused laughter followed the thinly veiled

insult. “Do you not remember what I told you about werewolves? They can’t be trusted.”

“I trust him,” Declan argued. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He couldn’t. He’s my mate.

Cashel, please.”

“Did he tell you that? Did he convince you that he loves you? Poor, sweet, naïve

Declan. If he’s really your mate, then prove it.”

This sounded more like the Cashel he had come to know over the past several months.

Though he didn’t approve of Cashel’s methods and resented the vampire using him as bait,

he’d yet to see his Maker come to a decision on a whim or out of anger.

“Anything,” Declan agreed.

“Drain him. If he really is your intended, your bond won’t allow it. If he’s not…well,

problem solved.”

A command from his Maker couldn’t be refused. He wasn’t afraid. Okay, he might be

a little afraid, but mostly for Lincoln. Still, that didn’t play into his helplessness against

Cashel. Like a manipulator and his marionette, Cashel pulled the strings and Declan

danced. He had no control over his behavior or his actions once his Maker made his decree.

Panic seized his heart, but outwardly, he could do nothing but attack Lincoln’s mouth,

gradually bleeding the life from him one glide of his tongue at a time. His only solace came

from the knowledge that Lincoln wouldn’t know what was happening to him. He might

feel a little tired, maybe a little weak, and then he’d simply fall to sleep, never to awake.

While the thought gave him some measure of comfort, it also gave him an idea. He

couldn’t stop the kiss, but he could control how quickly he siphoned energy from his mate.

If he wanted, he could make the experience quite uncomfortable, and that was exactly what

he intended to do.

Only a heartbeat later, Lincoln face paled and he began to choke, jerking away from

Declan to gasp for breath. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Declan chanted, petting Lincoln’s hair back from his

brow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I guess things got a little out of control, huh?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t fret, angel. You didn’t mean it.”

“I did,” Declan confessed. “I didn’t want to, but it wasn’t an accident.” The Sire bond

prevented him from saying it straight out, forcing him to keep Cashel’s secret, but he

circled around the explanation, hoping Lincoln would fill in the blanks.

Thankfully, his mate proved to be as intuitive as he’d hoped. “Cashel.”

“Yes,” Declan breathed while anxiety flooded him. Cashel didn’t lose. He would

pursue his interests until he acquired them, and in the process, someone usually got hurt.

“How close is he?”

Declan didn’t know for sure. His Maker was like an extension of himself, always with

him, but not exactly a direct part of him. He could think of no better way to explain it. The

closer they were in proximity, the more forcefully he felt Cashel’s influence. For the

vampire to take possession of his mind and body so thoroughly, however, he had to be very

near.

“Lincoln, I’m sorry.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to apologize enough.

“Hush now.” Lincoln pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. “It may not be

much, but we have a little time. What we really need is a plan.”

“We can’t beat him.” He’d watched men try, and each of them had failed.

“How strong is the bond between you?” The subtle growl in his tone said he didn’t

appreciate sharing his mate, but there wasn’t much Declan could do about it. “I mean, does

he know what we’re saying right now?”

“No.” Declan shook his head adamantly. “He can get into my head, plant suggestions

or give commands—those sorts of things. It doesn’t work in reverse, though. Cashel can’t

extract anything from my mind.”

“Good. There’s half the battle. Now…” Trailing off, Lincoln sucked in a deep breath

and let it out on a dejected sigh. “Well, now, we just have to walk into hell and face the

devil.” He slammed his fist down on the cushioned arm of the chair and snarled. “He’s not

invincible, dammit! Everyone has a weakness, something that makes them vulnerable. We

just have to find out what Cashel’s is.”

“Why is this so important to you?” He appreciated the man’s dedication to his safety,

but he sensed this was much more personal. Lincoln had been hunting for the Red Siren—

and by extension, Cashel—long before the startling discovery of their fated status.

“Let’s just say I have a score to settle with Cashel del Sarto.”

“He took something from you,” Declan deduced. “What did he take?”

Lincoln’s arms tightened around him painfully, but it lasted for only a moment before

he relaxed once more. “My brother,” he whispered, and the hollowness in his voice nearly

broke Declan’s heart. “He killed my brother.”

Declan went rigid, his throat burned, and hot tears stung the corners of his eyes. He

didn’t doubt Lincoln’s claim, but he didn’t want to believe it, either. If Cashel had taken

the life of Lincoln’s brother, that meant…

“I killed your brother.”

* * * *

He’d known Declan would see it that way. Hell, he’d been prepared to hold the Red

Siren just as accountable as Cashel for the death of his brother. Upon discovering Declan

was his intended, his plans had been slightly altered. Once he’d really gotten to know the

sweet, soft-spoken muse, everything had changed.

“You didn’t kill him, angel.” For the love of the gods, Declan couldn’t hurt a fly.

“Maybe not, but I’m just as responsible for this death. Gods, Lincoln, why don’t you

hate me?”

“I did at first,” Lincoln confessed. “I had convinced myself that you were just as evil,

just as sadistic as Cashel. I told myself you were a remorseless killer, practically giddy to

do that asshole’s bidding.”

“Cashel isn’t…never mind.” Declan scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I

know I shouldn’t defend him, especially after he just ordered me to kill you, but…”

“But?”

“Nothing.” Declan’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “I know what he’s done,

and I can’t defend that. I hate what I’ve helped him do.”

“I know, angel, I know.” Cuddling his mate closer, Lincoln swayed him from side to

side. “I knew it from the moment I met you in that bar.” Declan carried so much guilt and

resentment around in his tightly-packed little body Lincoln didn’t know how he even

functioned.

“Don’t do that,” Declan challenged. “Don’t make this okay.” Struggling against

Lincoln’s hold, he managed to extract himself and jump to his feet where he began pacing.

“I think you did what was necessary to survive.” He’d experienced firsthand the power

Cashel exuded over his mate. Part of him wondered how much lucidity Declan actually

had during those hunts.

He knew very little about vampires, and even less about Mousa. However, Lincoln

fancied himself an excellent judge of character. He could sense a fraud coming from a mile

away, and so far, he’d yet to be wrong. When he looked into Declan’s eyes, he saw a noble

heart full of pure intentions.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone.” Declan flopped down on the sofa and buried his

face in his hands. “I never wanted any of this.” His head snapped up suddenly, and he

looked at Lincoln as though he’d never seen him before. “You’re a Loup-garou.”

Lincoln nodded. “You know I am.”

“No, no, no.” Declan rose to his feet and resumed his pacing, his strides stilted and his

movements jerky. “I mean, yes, I knew that. If you’re a Loup-garou, though, that means

your brother was as well.”

“Right.” The conversation seemed to be twisting itself into circles as far as Lincoln

could see, but he trusted Declan had a reason for bringing it up.

“Lincoln, when did your brother die?”

“Six weeks ago.” He’d been searching for Cashel ever since.

Declan whipped around to face him, his expression a strange mixture of joy and

sympathy. “That’s around the time we arrived in Quebec, but Lincoln, you’re the first

Loup-garou I’ve met.”

Though he believed Declan had been as much a victim as his brother, Lincoln hadn’t

realized he still harbored resentment toward his mate until that moment. Relief flooded

him, warming him from the inside out, and his entire being softened toward the muse. The

mating bond wouldn’t allow him to walk away, but he felt better knowing their relationship

wouldn’t always have such a dark cloud hanging over it.

Declan’s lack of involvement didn’t exonerate Cashel, however. “I believe you

weren’t there, angel, but Cashel took my brother. I saw him drag Sebastian off with my

own eyes.”

“Could he…” Declan swallowed hard as he tugged at the ends of his fiery red locks.

“It all makes sense now. Gods, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“What? Why?” Jumping up from his chair, Lincoln moved to sit beside his lover, barely

resisting the urge to shake him for more information. “What do you know, Declan?”

“Cashel started acting really strange after we got here.” He crinkled his nose and tilted

his head to the side. “Well, stranger than usual. Anyway.” He waved his hand as though

clearing a chalkboard. “I don’t know why, but well, could Cashel be keeping your brother

alive?”

The thought had crossed Lincoln’s mind more than once, but he didn’t want to get his

hopes up for a happy reunion. He also didn’t want to think about his brother being the

vampire’s play toy for the past several months. In some ways, that might be considered a

fate worse than death.

“Did Cashel ever tell you why you were hunting Loup-garous?”

“Not really.” Declan laced his fingers together and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“He basically just said you taste really good.” He cheeks flushed, and he dropped his head

to stare down at his hands. “You really do, by the way.”

Despite his fury toward Cashel, Lincoln could help but laugh. “I believe you, angel.

It’s more complicated than that, though.” Dropping his head, he rubbed the tense muscles

at his nape and groaned. They should have had this conversation much earlier. “My blood,

the blood of a Loup-garou, can reverse the effects of vampirism.”

“You mean, I could be mortal? Why are you just now telling me this?”

“I’m sorry, Declan.” On the bright side, Declan had only taken blood from him once,

and that little amount wouldn’t be enough to change his immortal status. “It takes a lot of

blood drained over the course of weeks for it to be effective.” Which explained why Cashel

would kidnap his brother instead of simply killing him.

“Are you kidding me?” Declan yelped. “There’s a cure for this shit, and you didn’t tell

me? Have you lost your mind? Will you do it? Tell me you’ll do it. It won’t hurt you, right?

I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lincoln chuckled again and petted Declan’s hair back from his face. “No, it won’t hurt

me.” He’d guessed that Declan would be open to the cure, but it had to be his mate’s

decision. Thankfully, it would appear they were on the same page. “One thing at a time,

though. Right now, we need to stop Cashel.”

To his surprise, Declan lowered himself to the floor to kneel between his legs. Placing

both hands on Lincoln’s knees, he craned his neck, smiling seductively as he rubbed their

mouths together. “I’m scared, but I’ll do what I can to help.” He nipped at Lincoln’s bottom

lip and purred. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Lincoln needed time to work out a plan, and the last thing he wanted was to put his

mate in danger. For the time being, however, he could think of several things Declan could

do that didn’t put him in harm’s way. “I could use a distraction.”

“Then I guess you’re in luck.” Scraping his fingernail down the zipper of Lincoln’s

jeans, Declan lifted his eyebrows and smirked. “I’m really good at distractions.”

Chapter Six

“This isn’t going to work. How the hell did I let you talk me into this? Oh, gods. I can’t do

this.”

“Angel, breathe.” Lincoln didn’t mean to laugh, but he found his mate adorable when

he babbled. “We’ve gone over it a dozen times. You know what to do. Trust me, okay?

You can do this.”

“What if it doesn’t work? I’m a hybrid now.” Declan wrung his hands together while

he fretted and cast nervous glances around the parking lot of the Twisted Spoke. “My

powers aren’t as strong as they were when I was just a Mousa. I’m not a particularly

awesome vampire, either. Crap, I suck.”

“I love the way you suck,” Lincoln joked—sort of. When those sweet lips were

wrapped around his—

“Pervert.”

“Tease.”

“It’s not teasing if you follow through.”

Lincoln pulled his angel close and kissed his forehead. “Feel better?”

Declan sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before giving a quick bob of his

head. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Remember, I won’t be far away.” Crowding his mate against the door of his SUV,

Lincoln pressed both palms to the window and leaned in until their lips were only a breath

apart. “I promise nothing will happen to you.”

“I know.”

Gods, Lincoln had never seen anything sexier than his mate, especially when his eyes

glazed over with lust like they were right then. “You’re kind of special, Declan Collins.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Giving them both what they craved, he pressed their lips together with a

contented sigh. “Time to get your head in the game.”

“Huh?”

Yep, absolutely beautiful. “Stay calm and remember what we talked about. You can do

this.” With one last kiss, he turned Declan toward the bar and swatted his ass. “Do me

proud, angel.”

* * * *

For the past week, they’d spent the majority of their waking hours developing a plan to

take down Cashel. This will work. Don’t be a pussy. You can do this. Declan kept up the

mental pep talk all the way to the mouth of the alleyway, right back to where it had all

began.

A part of him, the part that recognized Cashel as his Maker, felt sick at the betrayal.

They said blood flowed thicker than water, and Declan could think of no better cliché for

the situation. Cashel’s blood had turned him and now ran through his veins. To turn his

back on his Sire felt like leaving behind a part of himself.

Shoving the feeling down into a deep, dark pit of his stomach, Declan watched as a

black Tahoe rolled into the parking lot, coming to a stop only a few yards from where he

stood.

“You have good news, I hope,” Cashel called to him as he exited the vehicle and

strolled toward the alley. “You know how I hate disappointment.”

He did. His presence proved that. While he didn’t know the guarded vampire well, he

knew him better than anyone else. Lincoln had spent days racking his brain for Cashel’s

weakness, and the answer had been staring him in the face all along—Declan.

Fisting his hands at his sides to stop their trembling, Declan took several deep breaths,

trying to steady his racing pulse. Lincoln had told him his fear would play a big role in

selling the lie and not to hide it. Thank fuck, because no matter how he tried, his heart

thundered inside his chest loud enough for any vampire within a three mile radius to hear

it.

“I have the Loup-garou.” His voice cracked twice, and his legs felt weak and wobbly.

As always, though, his anxiety was for Lincoln, not himself.

Strangely, Cashel didn’t appear upset. He should have been furious. Declan had

disobeyed a direct order, after all. The fact that Lincoln still lived was a testament to his

insubordination.

Cashel smoothed the front of his crisp, black button-down while he stared unspeaking

into the dark shadows of the alley. Then he pushed a strand of golden blond hair out of his

eyes and sighed. “Declan, how long have we been together?”

“I…uh…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”

“It’s really a simple question, little one. How long have you been with me?”

Declan understood the question. He just didn’t understand why he’d been asked it.

“Almost six months.” When in doubt, tell the truth.

“And this wolf,” Cashel mused, offering Declan a coy grin. “Do you love him?”

“I–I barely know him.” He felt something for Lincoln beyond friendship and mere

physical attraction. If it was love, well, that he couldn’t answer. His heart told him it felt

right, but his brain screamed it was too soon. How could he explain that to his Maker when

he didn’t fully comprehend it himself?

“He is your intended, though, is he not?” Cashel tilted his head to the side, still smiling

as though he knew a secret he wasn’t ready to share. “I mean, why else would you go to

such lengths to defy me?”

A protectiveness he’d never felt for anyone swelled inside Declan, preventing him from

creating a plausible excuse. Instead, what came out of his mouth fluctuated between a

growl and a shriek, a sound so full of venom even the hair on his own neck stood on end.

“I won’t let you hurt him. I may not be as old or as powerful as you, but I will fight to

defend what’s mine.”

“And I would expect nothing less.” Cashel studied his fingernails as he spoke, clearly

unperturbed by Declan’s threats.

“Lincoln is a good man, and he—wait.” His ire deflated as quickly as it had come,

leaving Declan wary and uncertain once more. “You knew?”

“I suspected as much when you disappeared, but I needed to be certain. If your furry

comrade is still alive and well, then he must be someone very special.”

“You were testing me?” Declan barely resisted the urge to scream the accusation.

Cashel shrugged. “No, Declan, I was testing him.”

“What if he wasn’t my mate? Then what? You’d have let me murder an innocent man

to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Calm yourself. I simply needed to be sure I could trust him.”

“Trust him with what?” The conversation had veered into uncharted territory. Not once

since meeting Cashel had Declan witnessed this side of his Maker. It had to be a trick, one

of the vampire’s games.

Unfortunately, it was working.

“That is my business and unimportant.” Cashel dismissed the inquiry with a flick of his

wrist. “Now, where is this knight in wolf’s fur? I’d like to meet him.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Declan crossed his arms over his chest and squared his shoulders. He’d already

deviated so far from the plan that he couldn’t hope to get back on track. If he was going to

die, if this grimy, lonely alley was where he made his last stand, he’d do so with courage

and commitment.

“You aren’t going anywhere near him. I’m not stupid, Cashel. I know I’m going to die

in this alley, but I’ll die protecting my mate.” He uncrossed his arms and smoothed the

wrinkles from the sleeves of his trench coat. Hopefully, he appeared calmer than he felt,

because perception meant everything. “So, go ahead and get it over with, because I won’t

give you what you want.”

“I’ve lived a very long life, more than nine hundred years, but you, little one, are my

greatest achievement.” Reaching forward, he tucked a strand of hair behind Declan’s ear

and caressed his cheek. “You have my word that no harm will come to you or your mate.

I’d simply like to make his acquaintance.”

Declan didn’t believe the humble act for a moment, but it did give him an opening to

turn the tables. “I’ll trade you.” He slinked forward, pressing himself to the vampire’s

chest, and pushed up on his toes. “I’ll give you Lincoln if you give me something in return.”

“And what would you like, little one?”

Tracing his top lip with his tongue, Declan let arousal seep into his voice and the

pheromones drench his breath. “A kiss. Just. One. Kiss.”

Though ancient, powerful, and cunning, not even Cashel could resist the allure when

Declan unleashed his full abilities. If his powers weren’t muted by his hybrid nature, he

would have attempted the deception long ago. Alone, however, he stood no chance against

his Maker. He could weaken Cashel to a point, but he couldn’t siphon enough energy to

truly incapacitate him.

No, he couldn’t do it alone, but he trusted Lincoln to have his back. Declan’s role was

simple—distract Cashel and weaken him just enough for Lincoln to have a fighting chance

against him.

Easy. Only a million things could go wrong. No big deal. He couldn’t think about that,

though. The time had passed for cold feet and second guesses.

“A kiss?” Cashel sounded intrigued, but unconvinced.

“Just one?” Pouting his bottom lip out, Declan increased the production of pheromones

and rubbed a little more insistently against his Maker.

Cashel swayed, and finally, a smile tilted the corner of his lips. “I guess there’s no

harm.”

Channeling his concentration, Declan held perfectly still, his eyes locked on Cashel’s

as the vampire leaned closer. He had one chance to get it right, only one shot to make this

happen. So when their lips finally met, he lifted up on his toes and grabbed Cashel’s face

in both hands, taking full possession of his mouth.

As their bodies melded together and their tongues parried, he inhaled, keeping the flow

of energy steady but slow. If he siphoned too slowly, Cashel wouldn’t be impaired enough

when Lincoln attacked. If he pushed too hard, drained too quickly, he’d alert the vampire

to his intentions. He walked a precarious tightrope, making an already stressful situation

that much more taxing.

After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality couldn’t have been more than a few

seconds, loud, ominous growling ripped through the night. The chilling sound echoed off

the stone walls of the pub, and reverberated down into Declan’s bones.

As vicious and fierce as the sounds were, however, they didn’t come from his mate.

Unfortunately, by the time he realized his mistake, the time to flee had already passed. He

glimpsed a shadowy figure from the corner of his eyes, but before he could make his

escape, Declan found himself on the alley floor, staring up at the glistening fangs of one

seriously pissed off werewolf.

* * * *

Sometimes, supernatural hearing didn’t measure up to the hype. As Lincoln listened to

the byplay between his mate and Cashel from the darkness of a nearby park, he decided

this would be one of those times.

When Declan had put his head on the proverbial chopping block to protect him, Lincoln

had heard enough. Though the plan had originally been his idea, when he’d heard Declan

ask for a kiss from his Maker, a red fog had clouded his mind, pressing him to increase his

pace. Cashel’s long, contented sigh had both enraged and nauseated him, and his

imagination had no trouble producing depictions of his sweet angel locked in a passionate

kiss with the devil.

So, by the time the first series of growls erupted into the night, he’d already reached

the parking lot of The Twisted Spoke. “Declan!” Falling into an all-out sprint, he

practically flew across the asphalt, tearing his shirt off as he went in preparation for his

shift. What he found when he arrived at the entrance of the backstreet, however, had him

fighting back inappropriate laughter.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Declan demanded, waving his pointer finger at the

intruding werewolf. He’d somehow managed to wedge himself between one of the trash

bins and the wall of the pub for protection, and his button nose wrinkled in irritation as he

dressed down his attacker. “You can’t just go around biting people. That’s how this whole

mess got started in the first place.”

The stranger paced in front of the receptacle, snarling occasionally and waving his

hands around like a lunatic. “Oh, shut it, Sally Sunshine. Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s

not good manners to go around kissing other men’s mates? He’s mine!”

“Sebastian?” No one had noticed his arrival, and Lincoln hadn’t meant to announce his

presence yet. Hearing his brother’s voice after so long of believing him to be dead had

overridden all good sense, though. “Sebastian!”

The werewolf spun to face him, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open like a guppy.

Then his expression hardened, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Declan.

“Does he belong to you?”

“Yes.” Okay, so it wasn’t going to be a happy reunion. Lincoln could live with that.

His brother had always been a bit…difficult. “Would you like to explain to me how you’re

not dead?”

“Why the hell would you think I’m dead?”

Lincoln nodded toward Cashel and narrowed his eyes. “I saw that asshole carry you

off.”

Sebastian snorted and shook his head. “Right. So you’re telling me you’ve never gone

a little caveman on your mate before?”

“Mate,” Declan yelped. “Seriously? I thought you were joking!”

“No.” Lincoln refused to allow it. “You are not his…his…” Gods, he couldn’t even say

the word with his stomach twisting into violent knots.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere less public,” Cashel suggested.

“Shut it, bloodsucker,” Lincoln growled.

“Hey!” Declan extracted himself from behind the trash can and fisted his hands on his

hips. “I’m part bloodsucker, ya know.”

“Not now, angel.”

“Fucking hypocrite,” Sebastian mumbled under his breath.

Marching up to his baby brother, Lincoln didn’t know whether to hug him or punch

him. In the end, he did neither. Instead, he poked the guy in the chest and huffed. “I’ll deal

with you later. Get in the car.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes, you are!” Lincoln roared. “Why, Seb? Why would you let me think you were

dead all this time? Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through? Do you even care?”

Sebastian wouldn’t back down, though. Hell, the little shit didn’t look the least bit

repentant for his actions. Straightening his spine, he pulled himself up to his full height and

pushed against Lincoln’s chest with both hands. “Why the hell would you think I was

dead?”

“You fucking disappeared for six weeks!”

“Yes, and this would be the first time?”

Sebastian had him there. His brother didn’t put down roots, and he rarely stayed in one

place longer than a few months at a time. “This is different.”

“Really?” Sebastian arched one eyebrow and stepped forward in challenge. “How is

this different?”

“How can you be with him knowing what he’s done?” He hadn’t expected to find

Sebastian alive, not until recently anyway. Once he’d allowed himself the possibility of

hope, however, he kind of imagined the reunion would play out with a lot less hostility

between them.

“Do you even know him?” Backing away from Lincoln, Sebastian moved to stand

beside Cashel and hooked an arm around the vampire’s waist.

“I know he’s a killer.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Declan added, stepping forward to take his place at Lincoln’s

side. “I know. I’ve helped him.”

Sebastian just rolled his eyes. “Were you actually there for any of these supposed

murders?”

“I…well, I mean…he always…I just know, okay!” If Declan’s face turned any redder,

Lincoln worried the guy would stroke out right there amongst the broken bottles and

cigarette butts.

“Feeding is a biological necessity.” Cashel sidestepped, clearly trying to dislodge

himself from Sebastian’s embrace, not that it did any good. The werewolf held on fast, and

Cashel simply sighed before speaking again. “You were always so sensitive, though. I

could tell it hurt you to feed, or to even watch me feed. I just wanted to prevent your

suffering, little one.”

“You didn’t kill them?” Declan looked as confused as Lincoln felt. “Never?”

“I’ve killed,” Cashel confessed, “but only to defend myself or someone else. I know

my reputation would lead you to believe otherwise, but I don’t enjoy unnecessary slaughter.

After I feed, I simply compel the donor to forget me and leave town. We chose drifters and

the lot to avoid…awkward questions. That type isn’t expected to stay in one place for

long.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his brow. “Have I taught you nothing, Declan?”

Cashel took a short nip and sent these men and women on their merry way? Lincoln

didn’t buy it. “What about Declan?” He placed a protective arm around his mate, easing

the muse behind him. “You’re telling me you didn’t have anything to do with him getting

his ass handed to him a couple of weeks ago?”

“I can take care of myself,” Declan mumbled defensively. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were hurt?” Cashel’s concern seemed genuine, but when he stepped toward

Declan and lifted his hand, Lincoln’s hold on his self-control finally snapped.

Instinct rode him, driving every thought from his mind except defending his mate. The

wolf within him howled and gnashed his teeth, clawing his way to the surface. Sharp,

curved talons extended from his fingertips, his canines elongated, and his pupils dilated,

bleeding out to the corners of his eyes.

Grabbing Cashel’s extended arm, he swung the vampire around, lifting him off his feet

before slamming him into the adjacent wall. Two distinct voices called his name, but they

sounded distant, muffled, and they were easily forgotten. Cashel retaliated with an elbow

to Lincoln’s face, snapping his head back and making his ears rings.

Stumbling apart, they circled each other, both baring their fangs and breathing heavily.

“I’m not your enemy, Lincoln.” Cashel held up both hands, palms out in surrender.

Lincoln didn’t want his surrender, though.

He wanted blood.

* * * *

“Who’s winning?”

Declan glanced at Sebastian and shrugged. “Both of them? Neither of them?” Lincoln

and Cashel had been going at it for nearly twenty minutes, exchanging blows and just all

around acting like a couple of alpha douchebags.

“Should we do something?”

“What can we do? It’s not like they listen to us.” They’d tried to stop the two

Neanderthals, only to be brushed aside, encouraged to stand in the corner like unruly

children.

“Lincoln’s your mate.”

“And he’s your brother,” Declan countered. “What’s your point? Cashel’s your mate.

Why don’t you do something?”

“He’s your Maker.” Settling against the bumper of Cashel’s SUV, Sebastian rubbed

the back of his neck and groaned. “Do you think they’d notice if we started making out?”

“Probably not.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned to the side to bump his

shoulder against Sebastian’s. “You’re not so bad, and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“I can’t believe this whole mess started because I wanted to get laid.”

“Do you believe Cashel?” Declan wanted to trust his Maker. He wanted to believe

Cashel hadn’t done all the horrible things he’d been accused of, but he’d seen some of

those murders with his own eyes, innocent people who hadn’t been hurting anyone.

“I do,” Sebastian confirmed.

“I’ve seen him, though.” Glancing toward the fight, Declan winced when Cashel landed

a particularly vicious blow, splitting Lincoln’s eyebrow open and splattering blood over

the nearby receptacle. “I’ve seen him kill innocent people.”

“Are you sure they were so innocent?”

Honestly, he had no idea who those people were or why Cashel had gone after them.

Everything he thought he knew no longer made any sense. “What do we do now?”

“Well…” Sebastian trailed off and nodded toward their brawling mates. “Cashel came

here tonight to release you. He just wanted to be sure he could trust your new boyfriend.”

Smiling indulgently, his eyes softened as he watched his mate deliver a roundhouse kick

to Lincoln’s midsection. “He really does care about you, Declan.”

Declan didn’t have an argument for that, so he ignored it. “He wanted me to kill

Lincoln.” Pushing away from the bumper, he rounded on his new brother-in-law. “Why

would you let him do that? Why would you risk your own brother like that?”

“Calm down, sweet cheeks. I didn’t know your boy toy was Lincoln until he showed

up here tonight, and I already told you why Cashel did that. He needed to be sure he could

trust Lincoln with your safety.” A quiet chuckle rolled through his chest, and he ducked

his head to look up at Declan through his lashes. “Besides, you wouldn’t have killed him.

No offense, but you’re not strong enough as a hybrid.”

“Then what about those guys he sent to rough me up?” It couldn’t all be a lie. Declan

needed one thing, just one, to actually add up. Otherwise, everything he thought he knew

was just an illusion.

“Did you see his face?” Sebastian asked. “He had no idea about that.” He wrinkled his

nose and chuckled. “C’mon, he’s a terrible liar.”

Declan couldn’t debate that, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d even said so

himself on several occasions. “Fine. One more question?”

“Sure.” Sebastian nodded. “I’ll answer if I can.”

“Does he really want to be human? Is that why we were chasing Loup-garous across

Canada?”

“Yes and no.” Sebastian sat motionless, saying nothing for several agonizing seconds.

“He told me a seer said his protégé’s mate would be a Loup-garou. The wanting-to-be-

human part came after, but he wouldn’t do that to you, Declan. He wouldn’t leave you

defenseless, which is why—”

“He wanted to be sure Lincoln could protect me,” Declan interrupted.

Sebastian smirked. “You got it.”

His temples throbbed with all the conflicting information, but he couldn’t find it in

himself to care about the truth any longer. Either Cashel had murdered hundreds of

innocent people or he hadn’t. Maybe he actually cared about Declan, and maybe he didn’t.

None of it mattered to him anymore.

Marching down the dimly lit alley, he positioned himself between his mate and his

Maker and growled at them both. “I’m taking my mate and going home.” He looked from

Cashel to Sebastian. “Maybe you should do the same.” Then he took Lincoln’s hand and

rubbed his thumb over the bruised and bloodied knuckles before pulling him toward the

parking lot. “Come on, big guy. We’re finished here.”

Epilogue

Six months later…

Pulling his favorite red cloak tighter around his shoulders, Declan hurried along the moonlit

trail, searching left and right for any danger. He didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anything,

but he could feel eyes on him, watching…waiting.

He knew better than to traverse the woods at night, but he’d been down by the stream,

picking fresh herbs, and time had gotten away from him. The lights from his back porch

gleamed through the trees, leading him home to the safety of the small cabin he shared with

his mate.

“Run,” a voice whispered in his ear, but when he turned to investigate, he saw only the

emptiness of the forest.

Chills traveled down his spine, his gut clenched, pushing him to increase his pace. Not

until he’d reach the circle of light near the porch steps did he finally release the breath he’d

been holding, though. Get it together. Even if something did roam the forest, Lincoln

wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

Jogging toward the back porch, he leapt the last few feet, intending to land on the

bottom step. Something caught him in midair, though, wrapping around his waist and

tackling him to the ground. A heavy weight landed on top of him, rolling him through the

grass and dirt.

Shoving and kicking, he managed to extract himself from his attacker and scramble

backward, using the porch steps to lever into a standing position. “You idiot.” He lifted the

hem of his cloak to examine the small tear. “You ripped it.”

“I’m sorry, angel.” Lincoln didn’t sound repentant as he laughed, though. “I’ll buy you

a new one next time we go into town.”

“I got this from a specialty shop on the internet.”

Lincoln stalked forward, prowling closer as a needy growl rumbled through his chest.

“I’ll buy you a hundred of them, whatever you want.”

“My, my,” Declan teased as he let his cloak fall to the grass, revealing only naked flesh

beneath, “what big eyes you have.”

“The better to see you with, angel.” He took a step closer, pulling his shirt off as he

went and tossing it to the side.

Gods, the rough, gravelly quality of his voice sent blood flowing straight to Declan’s

cock, and he almost forgot his next line. “Oh, my big bad wolf, what big ears you have.”

Walking backward up the porch steps, he eased toward the door, never taking his eyes off

Lincoln.

“The better to hear you scream my name, angel.” Popping open the button fly on his

jeans, he slid the denim down his thighs, revealing his perfectly toned and deliciously nude

body.

Declan’s dick swelled and throbbed, leaking generous amounts of pre-cum from the

slit. Since his release from Cashel and his move back to Virginia, he and Lincoln had played

this game on numerous occasions. Each time, he got just a little better at it, but he never

could quite make it to the end. Thankfully, this game had no rules, and no matter the

outcome, he always won.

He still felt Lincoln cheated, though. No one had the right to be that sexy, and he had a

damn hard time keeping his mind on something other than the long, thick cock that jutted

from between his mate’s thighs. On the other hand, since Lincoln had come through with

his promise, curing him of his vampire hybrid nature, Declan had some fairly crafty tricks

of his own now.

“W–What big…big…” His eyes fixated on his lover’s engorged length, and his mouth

watered as his mind went completely blank.

“Yes?” Lincoln rasped, his voice growing deeper, huskier.

“Catch me.” Then he spun around, wrenched open the door, and sprinted through the

house.

Lincoln caught up with him just inside their bedroom, lifting him off his feet and

tossing him to the center of the bed. “I caught you.” Crawling up Declan’s body, Lincoln

pinned him to the mattress and nipped at his bottom lip. “What’s my prize?”

Their mouths crashed together as they rolled across the bed, groping and pawing at

each other with enough passion to send the room up in flames. Bowing his back, Declan

arched into his mate, rubbing their hard cocks together in an attempt to relieve some of the

pressure building in his tight sac.

“I can’t take anymore. Please, Lincoln!” The werewolf had been teasing him all day,

walking about the house naked, kissing him as if his life depended on it, and just generally

driving him out of his mind.

“Shh, don’t I always take care of you?”

The snick of a bottle cap followed Lincoln’s assurance, and without warning, two long,

slick fingers plunged into Declan’s channel. His muscles burned as they stretched, radiating

heat out to his extremities, and Lincoln’s groan of approval had him gritting his teeth to

fight back his impending orgasm.

He’d always loved that initial sting of pain, that little bite of discomfort that morphed

into overwhelming pleasure. Hooking his arms under his knees, he pulled his thighs back

to his chest, opening himself wider and rocking up to meet each thrust of Lincoln’s fingers.

“I can’t wait,” his mate warned, but all Declan could do was moan in relief.

Sure, there were nights when he wanted slow and sensual. Sometimes, he wanted to

draw out the pleasure, teasing them both until the need became too much. Nothing

compared to the way Lincoln worshiped his body, and some nights, he craved that gentle

touch.

This wasn’t one of those nights.

Lincoln extracted his fingers, lubed his impressive length, and pushed inside Declan’s

clenching ass in one, smooth stroke. Covering Declan’s smaller body, he rested their

foreheads together and held perfectly still—minus the trembling of his muscles and the

vibration of his chest as he growled.

“I’m okay,” Declan assured his mate. “Move.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Sweat slicked their skin, glistening slightly in the moonlight that shone through the

window. Every snap of Lincoln’s hips came harder than the last, and Declan bucked up

against his lover, meeting each demanding plunge with equal enthusiasm.

His inner walls convulsed and his sac tightened as his climax raced toward him,

dragging him beneath the waves of ecstasy. Strong, sinewy arms surrounded his waist,

lifting him from the mattress and into his lover’s lap where Lincoln licked, kissed, and

nibbled along the column of his throat.

“Are you going to come for me, angel? Are you gonna scream for me?” Then he struck,

sinking his fangs into Declan’s pectoral, right over his heart.

Fisting his hands in Lincoln’s damp hair, Declan threw his head back and shouted as

his orgasm sucker punched him right in the gut. His muscles quivered, his heart hammered,

and his entire body went rigid as his cock erupted with creamy ropes of semen. The mind-

melting release seemed to go on forever, draining every last drop from his aching balls and

leaving him limp and exhausted.

With a low growl, Lincoln extracted his canines as his cock jerked inside Declan’s still

twitching channel, filling his depths to overflowing with reams of molten lava. “I’m never

letting you go,” Lincoln vowed through panted breaths. “Never.”

“I can live with that.” Things had been building toward this moment for a while, and

though it may not have been perfect timing, Declan couldn’t contain his feelings any

longer. “I love you, Lincoln Chastain, and I’d follow you anywhere.”

His mate didn’t seem surprised by the declaration as he leaned forward to nuzzle under

Declan’s chin. “I know, angel. Your eyes give you away every time.” He skimmed his nose

along Declan’s jawline and pecked at his lips. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to

me, and I’ll love you forever if you’ll let me.”

Blinking rapidly, Declan sniffed a few times, and wrapped his arms around Lincoln’s

neck with a goofy smile. His soul lit with light, and his chest swelled with warmth, but he

didn’t want to be a big girl about the whole thing. So he dipped his head to rub their noses

together and sighed. “You still owe me a new cloak.”

“Anything you want,” Lincoln promised. “What color would you like?” His hands

roamed along Declan’s sides, over the swell of his hips, and around to squeeze the rounded

hills of his ass.

Declan wouldn’t be distracted, though. “Do you really have to ask?” Only one color

worked for their games, and really, anything besides his personal favorite just wouldn’t

feel right. Declan liked authenticity after all. “Red.” Not just any color red would do,

though. “Blood red.”

~ THE END ~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

www.zaynemichaels.com

Zayne Michaels is a small-town girl who grew up and ran off to the big city. She currently
resides in the Midwest where she spends her days dreaming up dark, sexy adventures in
between soccer games and the never-ending pile of laundry.

Zayne’s fascination with old and discarded treasures has always been a source of
inspiration for her tales. From antique clocks to old, dilapidated houses, her imagination
turns to the “what ifs” and “what used to bes.”

Maybe this love for the abandoned is why she is a firm advocate of second chances, or
perhaps she's just a little crazy. Whatever the reason, Zayne believes everyone chooses
their own path, creates their own destiny, and is the author of their own story.