The Wolf Fount Read online

  “I said, let go of me.” Morgan’s lips drew back to bare her teeth. Her canines were slightly prominent, indicating she wasn’t many days from being fully Awakened.

  “Calm down.” He let a faint growl underline the order, to add force to it. It didn’t always work on Sleepers, but she blinked, her lips compressing into a thin line. The gold in her eyes disappeared, which meant she was most likely a wolf. “No need to get nasty. We’re all friends here.”

  “Says you.”

  “Let’s dance and then have another drink.” He waved his free hand to catch a barkeeper’s attention. When one of them hurried down, he pointed at the bottle and glasses. “Keep an eye on these for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on, darlin’.” He led her to the dance floor, tugged her close, and flattened his left hand across her lower back before releasing her arm. She held herself stiffly, arms down by her sides. A faint crease appeared between her brows as she gazed at his face.

  “Deep” by Nine Inch Nails began to play, and Cal slowly built a cocoon of warm acceptance around her. By the time the song ended, she was swaying with him, her right hand resting on his upper arm. Always a welcome guest, his arousal was beginning to rear its head.

  Next up was “Fresh Blood” by the Eels, and he smiled at how well it suited his mood. Around them, some howled along in the right places. Morgan’s throat worked, but she didn’t join in. He kept his eyes on hers and realized Daniel was DJing as a club mix of “Cry, Little Sister” followed. Daniel had a fetish for music with supernatural themes.

  Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, and Cal’s full attention focused on them. Heat flashed down his spine and he lowered his head to give into the sudden temptation. Morgan pushed up to meet him, closing her eyes. The electricity jolted him, causing the hairs at the base of his skull to bristle.

  Cal licked her bottom lip and she responded, opening her mouth to him. He took a slow, thorough taste, enjoying the subtle notes of fruit and pepper the whiskey had left behind. Under it, she was just as sweetly spicy.

  She pressed closer and his cock jerked in response. He was taking her upstairs, just as soon as possible.

  As though in approval of his plan, Jace Everett's “Bad Things” began playing. Wondering if now were too soon, Cal pulled free just enough to look at her face. Eyes still closed, she strained to catch his mouth again. He obliged her, shivering at another heavy jolt.

  The surges danced right along the edge of pain and pleasure. He puzzled over them, letting her take control of the kiss. His distraction was brief as she turned it from a mere kiss to a slow, hungry tongue fucking that set fire to all of his senses.

  They definitely needed to get upstairs, or the crowd was going to get a floorshow. One that might scar the humans present for life. He began to pull back, but Morgan grabbed a handful of his hair, hooked her left leg around his right one, and hitched herself upward.

  A groan escaped him, and he grabbed her rear with both his hands, caught between his rising need and her obvious hunger as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Jake’s voice was a cold dash of water. “Uh, Boss?”

  Morgan jerked, yanking Cal’s head back, and opened her eyes. They were bright green, a strong sunburst of gold spinning around her pupils. Lips parted, she stared and let her hand fall from his hair.

  “People are beginning to stare.”

  By people, Cal knew Jake meant the humans present. He gritted his teeth. “We’re going upstairs.”

  She had other ideas. Planting her hands on his shoulders, she unwound her legs and shoved with surprising strength. Startled, he let go, dropping her onto her feet.

  She took two steps back, blinking and shaking her head. Her voice quavered. “What the fuck are you? What did you do to me?”

  “Morgan...” He stretched a hand out, but she swung from the hip while stepping forward. Her fist caught him in the jaw, snapping his head sideways. “Ow.”

  She spun around, shoved Jake aside, and took off running. Cal’s instincts kicked in, cheering silently at the opportunity for a chase. Ignoring the complaints of those he pushed past, he raced after her.

  He reached the door two seconds behind her, and automatically checked the parking lot. It was empty of everyone but them and the two doormen, both Weres. Satisfied, Cal ran and jumped, flipping over her head, twisting so he landed facing her.

  Morgan slid to a stop, gravel rolling under her boots. She half-fell, recovered, and dodged right. He moved to block her. “Stop.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled, but her wide eyes were filling with fear.

  “I can explain what’s happening to you.”

  “You can stay the fuck away from me, freak.” Silver flashed in the moonlight as a switchblade made its appearance in her right hand.

  Cal stepped back, raising both of his hands in surrender. “Easy. I’m not the enemy.”

  “Matter of opinion.” She eased around him, and he turned to keep her in sight. “Take a step and I’ll gut you.”

  “Okay. Go cool off. When you’re ready, come back and we’ll talk.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Keys jingled as she pulled a ring of them from a front pocket and backed between two parked cars. He stayed still, unwilling to scare her more than she already was, watching her unlock the door of an older, silver sports car and practically dive inside. The door slammed shut and he heard the click of the lock before the engine roared to life.

  Cal retreated when she backed it out, gravel spraying as the wheels spun. They caught, but she stopped the car to stare at him in the rearview mirror. He glanced at the license plate, committing it to memory, and then met her eyes. She flipped him the bird, put the car in drive, and roared off into the night.

  “Told you she was trouble,” Jake called from the entrance.

  “Jake.”

  “Yeah, Boss?”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Morgan took deep breaths, letting each out slowly in an attempt to stop the shudders wracking her body. She drove to her current residence, which was a weekly rate hotel. Her one-bedroom apartment was on the second floor of the repurposed warehouse. At two-fifty a week, it was a step up from her usual flop choices.

  What the hell had happened back there? She didn’t have an answer, and it pissed her off. After parking and locking the car, she hurried up the stairs with every nerve flinching. Once inside, she locked both deadbolt and knob, before backing away from the door.

  Her life had never exactly been what anyone would call easy, but during the past few months, it had begun spiraling increasingly out of control. Losing control wasn’t something Morgan dealt with very well.

  Strong urges kept surfacing, driving her into uncharacteristic acts. Like the night she’d blanked out, and cleaned Bully Boy’s blood from her knife... with her tongue. Or the unexplainable restlessness that had struck when she had left California. It had driven her here, to New Mexico. Or more to the point, at Chanteloup.

  It was extremely strange to feel as though she belonged somewhere, but that’s how she felt each time she entered the club.

  The worst change was the need. It kept pushing her at different men, had her acting like a complete slut, though it thankfully hadn’t pushed her into screwing each guy she targeted. No, it wanted a certain man and didn’t want to waste time on those it decided were the wrong ones. She hadn’t figured out why they were wrong, just knew that they were. Usually about the time they suggested finding somewhere quiet.

  Morgan didn’t give a rat’s ass about how the men felt when she worked them up, only to shove them away as soon as the need was certain they weren’t him. But she did like to keep her own body satisfied, and it was raging at the constant revving with no follow through.

  A necessary evil, sex was also a useful tool and weapon. She’d learned that lesson quite well as a child, watching her mother float from man to man, using her body as currency. Being used in return.

  Sex wa
s also a pleasure much of the time, and if there was one thing Morgan did like, it was pleasure.

  Raking both hands through her hair, she turned away from the door and swept the room with sharp eyes. Nothing was missing, not that there was much to go missing. The place was furnished in a weird Southwestern/Art Deco fusion that had amused her when she had first seen it.

  Black and white; turquoise and pink. The color combination was suddenly nauseating.

  She went to the kitchenette, opening the fridge to take out a beer. Twisting off the top and tossing it toward the trash can, she drank half of the cold, bubbly liquid in two long gulps while checking the under-sink cabinet. The little fire-proof safe was right where she’d left it.

  Calhoun. Just thinking his name brought a return of the shudders.

  He’d done something to her. Morgan was certain of it, remembering how she’d relaxed as they danced, and then lost her goddamned mind when he kissed her.

  Did he slip something in my drink?

  She wanted that to be the answer, to be able to blame her loss of control on something so simple. Yet deep down, she knew that wasn’t what had happened, having been drugged once before.

  Whatever it was, it was related to what she was going through, and to an unsettling phenomenon she kept seeing each time she went to Chanteloup. Every one of the men she’d picked at the need’s urging, their eyes would change colors in reaction to her, or to something. Not only that, but a ring of gold would show around their pupils, and it moved.

  Calhoun’s eyes had been a deep, dark orange, the gold spinning like a top at the center, when that asshole of a club manager had interrupted them.

  After a moment’s consideration, Morgan decided that was harsh, because the guy had kept her from a public fucking display. In fact, he’d knocked enough sense into her with his interruption that her hard-won self-preservation instincts had kicked in to get her the hell out of there.

  Twelve years of learning to, and being mostly successful at, manipulating men gave her a sharp-honed instinct for which she could twist around her little finger.

  Calhoun wasn’t one of those men.

  Morgan polished off the beer, threw the bottle away, and headed for her bedroom. She undressed, brushed her teeth, peed, washed her face and hands, and then fell into bed with a frustrated sigh. After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, she rolled over and dragged a box out from under the bed.

  “Feel like playing tonight?” she asked the vibrator that lay inside it. “You do? Great. Let’s rock and roll, sugar.”

  As usual, the toy quieted the need enough that she could fall asleep. What wasn’t normal was the dream that followed.

  Morgan found herself back at the club and the center of attention. Music pounded, lights flashed, but all of it, even the avidly staring eyes, were like watery notes, because he was there too.

  His claws dug into the column he held her pinned against, and his mouth was hot as he devoured hers. They were naked, she was wet, and he was gloriously hard, rubbing his dick between her legs, against her. When she wiggled, trying to take him in, he pulled away and opened orange eyes.

  “Please.” It was a whimper, so pathetically needy that she scowled in her sleep.

  Calhoun smiled, revealing long canines with sharp points. “There’s no hurry.”

  “But I need...” Whatever she needed was lost as his lips covered hers again. She reached down to stroke him, hoping to change his mind about hurrying. Being denied what she wanted tended to fuel her rage, but this was feeding an entirely different fire.

  He’ll use me. The thought dashed cold water over her lust just as he finally moved to fill her. Morgan snarled, struggling to form a certain word.

  “No!” The dimness of her bedroom greeted her as she opened her eyes. She was panting, skin damp and steaming hot. Worse, she could vividly recall the feel of his hardness as it slid against her. With an annoyed huff, she rolled off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, she gazed at what the mirror revealed, fear rising in slow, cold surges.

  Her eyes were bright green, almost glowing in the harsh light. Morgan leaned closer, only to back away as she saw the circle of gold whirling around her pupils. A tear formed in her right eye, and slid free as she whispered, “What’s happening to me?”

  Of course, no one answered. Sinking to the cold tile, she curled into fetal position and began sobbing.

  Chapter Three

  Morgan fought an inner war for two days solid, finally surrendering to inescapable logic. Calhoun had said he could explain what was happening to her, and that was the closest she’d come to finding anything out.

  She sat in her car, staring at the entrance and the line of people waiting to be admitted. Chanteloup was housed in a two-story, low-key looking building that was painted cream with dark brown trim. The location was off the highway, barely within city limits, and set well back in the midst of an established grove of trees.

  The sign was simply the club’s name in fancy, flowing, red neon script.

  Morgan studied the way the doormen waved some people through with barely a glance. Here and there, someone would be given a careful once over before being approved to enter. Others were denied admission with a quick shake of head and no apparent scrutiny.

  More than willing to put off the moment she’d have to present herself to them, she began trying to guess who’d be allowed inside. She had no doubts she would be, since the owner had told her to come back even after she’d slugged him, and then threatened to gut him.

  After several minutes of correct guesses, Morgan cursed under her breath and got out of her car. She locked it, shoved the keys into a front pocket, and squared her shoulders. Suddenly changing her mind, she wasn’t happy when her feet disobeyed, carrying her straight to the entrance, and the head of the line. The two girls who’d just stepped up protested, but she shot a threatening look over her shoulder, and they fell silent.

  Morgan focused her attention on one of the doormen, a big, dark-skinned man with light green eyes. She hadn’t seen him before. “I’m here to see Calhoun.”

  He grinned, revealing a Hollywood smile of extremely white, even teeth. “What makes you think he wants to see you?”

  She stepped right into him, grabbing a handful of the blood red T-shirt he wore, crushing “Chanteloup” into “Chup.” Surprise rippled down the line behind her. “We both know he does, so stop fucking around and move, before I move you.”

  His smile didn’t waver. “That chip on your shoulder must be one heavy son of a bitch.”

  “You got that right.”

  He gave vent to a deep, rich laugh. “I like you. Go on in.”

  Releasing the handful of material, Morgan smoothed the wrinkles out with suddenly lazy fingers. Underneath the material, his muscles shivered in reaction, and his smile began to fade. Meeting his now intent gaze, she asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Jerome.”

  Morgan lifted her right hand, fitting the palm of it to his jaw. His skin felt too warm and smooth. Gold flickered around his pupils, disappearing so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined it. “Good boy.”

  He laughed again, half-turning to gesture at the door. Smiling, she let her hand fall and walked past him.

  “Is that her?” His nephew’s query didn’t quite break Cal’s concentration as he stared at the figure standing just a few feet inside the entrance.

  “Yes.”

  Sebastian studied her. “She’s lovely.”

  “Not the word I’d choose, but it’s appropriate too.”

  The vampire chuckled. “Then how would you describe her?”

  “Raw sex on two legs.” Legs he desperately wanted wrapped around him as soon as possible. Cal shelved his desire for the moment, curious as to what she would do now that she’d returned.

  Wait for him to come to her, or come looking for him?

  Below, Morgan headed for the west bar. She took a seat and ordered a drink after the bartender
spoke to her. Cal smiled. “Guess she wants me to come to her.”

  “Is it wise to let her dictate your interaction?”

  “A wise man always follows the woman’s lead.” Cal grinned at his nephew. “Trust me; it’s far more fun to do it their way.”

  The vampire rolled his eyes, which were the same dark brown as his own. “I see the thrill of the chase hasn’t dulled at all for you. Go on, but don’t come looking to me for sympathy if things go pear-shaped.”

  “They might, but they won’t stay that way.” With an affectionate smack to Sebastian’s shoulder, Cal turned away and left the room.

  Morgan signaled for a refill, not bothering to look up from her perusal of the bar’s highly polished wood top. A bartender had popped up before she’d finished sitting down, eager to inform her that her drinks were on the house, courtesy of Calhoun.

  She didn’t even look up when a bottle and two glasses were placed in front of her. “That’s not what I’m drinking tonight.”

  Cal poured the whiskey before responding. “I like to finish a bottle started. Humor me, darlin’.”

  With a shrug, she accepted the glass he nudged toward her. “You said you could explain.”

  “I can.”

  “Then start talking. I don’t have all night.” She picked up the glass and tossed back the contents, letting liquid courage fortify her before meeting his eyes.

  “No, you have a few days yet. You’re close, but not quite there.” He leaned on the bar, gently tilting his glass from side-to-side, his dark eyes boring into hers.

  “Close to what?”

  “Awakening.”

  “Well damn, thanks. That clears everything right up. Guess I’ll be on my way.” She made no move to leave. Instead, she grabbed the bottle and filled her glass. Downing half of it, she topped it back off and set the bottle aside. “How about you come across with some real goddamned answers?”