Kym Grosso - Tristan's Lyceum Wolves

Before she had a chance to recover, he rolled her to her side and gently kneed open her legs, slowly intertwining their limbs. Nestled together, he took hold of his swollen manhood and slid the hard shaft up and down her glistening folds, coating himself in her juices.

Cupping the cheek of her face, he let his gaze fall upon her eyes, as if seeing deep into her soul. Locked on each other with intent, he slowly rocked up into her warm tight channel. Kalli’s breath caught as he entered her, but they never lost eye contact. Reaching for him, she wrapped a hand around his neck, threading the fingers of her other hand in his hand.

Face to face, chest to chest, they made love. One singular moment in time, they wordlessly connected, the emotional intensity vised around their hearts like a steel band. Thrusting in unison, slowly and deliberately, their desire mounted. Breathless, their pulses raced in hunger for each other. Tristan began to lose control as they reached a pinnacle of pleasure.

“Kalli,” he panted. “I love you with all that I am. You are mine. My soul. My mate.”

“Tristan. You’re my everything. My mate.”

Before she had a chance to say anything else, Tristan kissed her. A passionate, loving kiss representing their eternal love and connection pushed them into simultaneous orgasm. Spilling himself deep within her, Tristan extended his canines. Piercing into his mark, her honeyed blood solidified the mating bond.

Kalli shuddered around him, clamping down on him, her release finding its way through every cell in her body. As she bit into Tristan, his powerful essence assuaged her heart and soul. Everything that was Alpha and man, merged into her psyche. Like a solar flare, flames of love ignited, dancing into their universe.

Coming down from the climax, they held tightly to each other. Both Kalli and Tristan relaxed into the sweet embrace, not willing to relinquish the intimacy that had passed between them. A bond forged in love and trust that neither had ever dreamed could exist. A new world of leading Lyceum Wolves awaited them.

As the private plane landed in New Orleans, Logan’s mind raced. It had been a long time since he’d been home, and he was looking forward to helping Marcel figure out who may have killed Paul. He glanced over to the women and children he’d rescued, who were huddled closely in their seats. He and Tristan had made the decision to relocate the remaining Wallace pack wolves to his old pack instead of keeping them in Philadelphia.

Three women and four children, all dirty and battered, were going to get a new lease on life. After talking with them, he gleaned they’d been kept down in Gerald’s makeshift prison for well over a year. Apparently, the former Wallace pack Alpha didn’t want to have to even see their faces, let alone hear from them. So he’d condemned them to living in the subterranean hell.

Logan was disgusted that anyone would treat another soul in such an inhumane manner. Sure, he’d grown up hearing the rumors of violence within the old packs, but never in all his years had he witnessed such a horrific sight. It was no wonder Kalli had been so afraid of wolves and created the CLI in order to remain hidden. As he reflected on the women’s fate, he reasoned that they too could begin new lives for themselves. But like Kalli, they’d probably be emotionally traumatized by the violence. Even with a new home and pack, life wouldn’t be easy for them, regardless of everyone’s good intentions.

Julie had accompanied him on his long flight. He observed how she’d taken the initiative and was helping them exit the jet. Goddess, he hoped a good dose of her healing would go a long way to help them assimilate. He waved over to Katrina, Tristan’s sister, who’d come to the airport to help. She was taking them to Marcel’s bayou compound. She gave him a sad smile and a nod as she helped the women and their pups get settled into a large limo that was waiting on the tarmac. While reluctant to let them go, he was assured they were in good hands. Waving goodbye, he entered into a separate limo that waited for his arrival.

Instead of going toward the country, Logan headed toward the city. Marcel was held up in his Garden District mansion, working on business, and Logan sought to debrief him as to what had occurred in South Carolina. Most importantly, he needed to make it clear that there was still someone out there, who he feared planned another attack on the wolves. Neither Jax Chandler, the Wallace pack nor any other packs had claimed responsibility for Paul’s death. And his visions told him there was more death to come….another dead wolf. So when Tristan suggested that he accompany the South Carolina wolves to their new Louisiana home, he eagerly agreed to go. He felt that if he could talk to Marcel in person, he could get a better handle on what was happening, clarify his dreams and help catch the killer.

Strip malls, churches and infamous above-ground cemeteries flashed by his line of vision on the short drive into the city. As they entered the Warehouse District, he was reminded of memories from long ago. During the late eighteen hundreds, Marcel, Tristan, Mira and he would take weekend trips to the French Quarter, attending masked Carnival balls, socializing into the wee hours of the morning. Then later, at the turn of the century, they’d witnessed the beginnings of Jazz played in the Storyville cabarets. And to this day, he never tired of walking the streets, appreciating the historic architecture. No matter how long he’d lived in Philadelphia, New Orleans was home.

As he reflected on happier times with Mira, the thought of her betrayal cut deep. When Tristan had sent her off to live with his eldest brother, Blake, in his Wyoming pack, he’d wholeheartedly agreed with the decision. Even though he loved her, he’d never be able to trust her again after she’d put the entire pack in danger. She was lucky Tristan hadn’t killed her. Perhaps in time, wounds would heal, he thought, but not anytime soon.

As he opened the car door, he took a deep breath, reminded of his intentions. Cicadas sung in the night as he drew in the warm southern air. He loved everything about New Orleans, from pralines to eating creole shrimp to sitting in his boat in the swamp, listening to music while watching the gators sun themselves. There wasn’t much he didn’t like about the Big Easy. He sighed, wishing this trip was for pleasure, but alas, it wasn’t.

The sound of a low growl emanating from the house first alerted him that something wasn’t right. He quickly ran up the steps and burst through the large front door. As he darted into a large moonlit parlor, he heard the sound of gunfire as Marcel fell to the floor. A burly, masked man dressed in black stuffed the gun into his pants and ran toward the back door.

“Go,” Marcel gurgled, holding the side of his neck as bright red blood spurted onto the cream-colored Italian marbled floor.

Logan fell to his knees and ripped off his shirt, holding it against the gaping wound. “You’ve gotta shift, Marcel,” he pleaded.

“Let me go. Don’t let him get away with this. Go get him,” Marcel ordered. A sobbing woman raced to his side, bringing a towel to help stop the bleeding.

“Call 911,” Logan yelled before sprinting after the man, determined to follow Marcel’s wishes. He pursued the attacker, wondering where Marcel’s beta was. Where was everyone? Who was the young woman? Unable to reason through what was happening, he focused on his task. Within seconds, Logan caught up with the perpetrator as he was trying to escape from the rear exit. Unsuccessfully but furiously, he yanked at the lock that prevented him from leaving. Logan scented that he was wolf and reached forward to subdue him.