Kathy Love - My Sister Is A Werewolf

Unable to stop it, his muscles tensed and his climax joined hers, fierce, body-shaking as her heat still held him, stroking him with tiny contractions.

Utterly dazed and drained, his head fell back against the seat, his hands still holding her hips loosely. After a few moments, he noticed she still remained upright, their bodies not touching except for where she sat on him.

He managed to crack an eye, fully expecting her to be watching him again. She wasn’t. She leaned back against the dash, apparently as spent as he was. The angle jutted her chest forward, her narrow back twisted at an odd angle, cold plastic grinding into her spine.

He reached forward, looping his arms around her, pulling her toward him. She started at the touch. She opened her eyes, regarding him with those intense eyes, her thoughts unreadable.

“You don’t look comfortable. Rest against me,” he murmured, tugging her again.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes locking with his again, still unreadable. But then she did, settling against his chest, her head nestled against his shoulder. He pulled her closer, amazed at how delicate she felt in his arms. He let his head fall back again, his eyes drifting shut, his body boneless. And this woman’s warmth surrounding him.

He wasn’t sure how long he dozed, but when he woke, the woman sat on the driver’s side, one of her boots held loosely in her hand. As usual, her pale eyes were studying him, but something in addition to intensity burned in them, an emotion he hadn’t seen there before. Something like melancholy, but when she realized he was awake, she smiled and whatever he thought he saw vanished.

She returned to pulling on her boot.

Glancing down at himself, he became aware that he still lounged against the seat, his jeans undone, his shirt hanging off his shoulders. As he sat up to straighten his clothing, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice oddly airy, given the strangeness of this situation. Then she opened the car door and hopped out into the darkness.

“Hey,” Jensen called, hurrying to zip his pants. He pushed open his door, peering out into the pitch-black woods. “Hey… ” He didn’t even know her name.

He paused, listening, trying to figure out which direction she’d headed in. No sound met his ears but the patter of soft rain on the underbrush.

He stood there for several minutes. He’d have to hear her eventually, but he didn’t. She had simply disappeared.

He shouted to her a few more times, but received no answer. He listened again. In the distance, a mournful howl echoed eerily though the damp air. A dog, he suspected. Or a coyote.

He peered into the darkness a moment longer, then reluctantly slid back into his truck.

To his relief, the engine roared to life with the first twist of his key. He had no idea his truck had been running on battery. He glanced at the digital clock on the dash. The numbers glowed that it was twenty-two minutes after one in the morning. Not that that meant much to him. He had no idea when they’d arrived here. His first thought once they’d parked had not been the time.

He glanced around once more, searching as far as his headlights would allow in the nearly black woods. Then he shifted the truck into reverse and back out the dirt road.

By the time he reached the main road and turned onto the highway that led back to West Pines, he was starting to feel like the encounter had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. A hallucination brought on by being back in his hometown, and all the memories the homecoming had evoked.

Hell, the idea made as much sense as anything else that had happened. The only flaw in his theory was the fact that if he was going to have sex with a figment of his imagination, wouldn’t he have conjured Katie?

Katie.

Suddenly a wave of nausea flipped his stomach, but he managed to swallow back the sensation. He focused on the road rolling out in front of him.

The woman, figment or not, was the first woman he’d had sex with since Katie died. For three years, he’d had no interest in anyone. Hell, he’d gone into this evening knowing that his body was as dead as Katie’s. It wasn’t as if women hadn’t approached him in the years since Katie passed. He just hadn’t been interested, not in the least. He didn’t believe he ever would. Then, there she was-the strange woman with the eerie eyes.

And he’d ended up on a deserted country road, banging her in the front seat of his truck like a crazed teen.

More nausea rose, twisting his stomach. He gritted his teeth. Somehow, this, tonight, that woman and what they’d done, felt like another betrayal to Katie. The final horrible injustice to her and her memory. His first sexual encounter since he’d lost her. With a nameless stranger.

As he pulled up to his grandfather’s home, his childhood home, he still clung to the idea that the encounter was some kind of dream, the created fantasy of an overstressed mind. Then, when he opened the door, he spotted the tiny, lace panties. Panties he’d torn from the woman’s body.

Disgust leapt through him again, pooling in his stomach. He had thought he’d felt all the disgust with himself that he possibly could when Katie died. He was wrong.

As soon as he’d found her, he’d known something was different. Brody Devlin could sense these things. Of course, after what he’d just witnessed, there was no doubt she’d changed. In fact, he hadn’t been prepared for just how different Lizzie was.

He’d been watching her for a while, running the perimeter of her house, watching, trying to decide what had changed. That was why he hadn’t approached her yet. He liked to know what he was up against, and exactly who he was getting back once he took her. He wanted no surprises in front of the pack. None. He was counting on her.

She definitely wasn’t the girl who’d left the pack in the dead of night all those years ago. Not even close.

He paced, his movements silent on the wet leaves. He had to admit he’d sort of liked watching her with that guy. Damn, that had been hot. Not that he wanted another male-especially a human male-screwing his woman. Or maybe he did. As long as he got to screw Lizzie, too.

He had missed that sexy body, which hadn’t changed except to get more exciting. He’d always lusted after her, even though she was a cold fish. Or had been a cold fish. That woman in the truck had been on fire.

The Lizzie he knew had been as frozen as a witch’s tit. She was far too high-and-mighty to allow herself to react to him. She didn’t seem to let anything touch her. She lived in a self-contained fortress, nothing affecting her.

Of course, that had been why he’d wanted her. She’d been so aristocratic, so well-bred, so damned beautiful. A lost little thing who had been tossed out of her pampered life and straight into a world she’d never known existed. She’d been his stolen bit of a world that he’d never been a part of, that had always been way beyond his reach.

Until he had her. Having Lizzie as his mate had elevated him. Made him someone. And he wasn’t letting that go. She was coming back to the pack. She was fixing what she’d ruined when she’d left him. Humiliated him.

He knew she wasn’t going to come back easily. He never had expected it to be willingly. But now, he could see he might have a spitfire on his hands. He’d enjoy that, too. He liked a good fight.

Again, he pictured her bobbing up and down on top of that mortal. Her lips parted, her heavy breathing. He liked a good screw, too. And combining the two-now, he’d really enjoy that. He growled low and hungry in his throat. Who knew she even had that in her?