Bane Of His Existence Read online

  I know him. Her eyes narrowed. She couldn't name him, didn't know the origins of her antipathy. Verity's lips drew back in a snarl.

  Then Charlie was at her side. "What's wrong?" he asked. Verity leaned back against his bare chest, appreciating his strength, his heat. She recalled the snarl. Oh, he'd reacted, but it hadn't really fazed him. She hadn't realized how much it meant to have a partner who understood her howls, her wild hair growth, her moods, her cyclic needs.

  At the same time, she understood his inclinations, and what he would do to one he considered competition. Given the strength of their mating, and the remaining glimmers of lunar influence, there was danger here. It wouldn't matter that it wasn't romantic competition. If there was any threat, he would tackle it—literally, if need be.

  The idea both thrilled and terrified her. For the moment, though, with the culprit lurking below, the hazard of a savage attack filled her mind. "You were asleep," she murmured, making it a complaint as she proceeded to wrap her arms around his neck. Charlie held her close while she straddled him, then came to rest on his stiffened shaft.

  "Woman," he growled, against her neck, "you are insatiable." He thrust and her warmth was all around him.

  Verity shivered, loving the thickness of him inside her. "So, satiate me!" she demanded in a lustful snarl, stiffening as her insides swelled and spasmed, clinging to him, tightening to hold him in place.

  Charlie grinned wolfishly. He lifted her slightly, his teeth closing on her nipple, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to titillate. Her womb contracted with the first delightful tickles of her orgasm. Then Charlie, damn him, upped the intensity. He sucked her breast, and in conjunction with her coming, she was groaning with need for him to finish the job, to thrust and fill her up. She wriggled while his fingers kneaded her buns, and massaged the base of her tailbone, moving into her crease… Verity shivered. Lust was devouring her. "Now, Charlie," she gasped. "Now!"

  Charlie plunged deep, and rode her almost savagely, bucking and sliding and thrusting. Her cunt swelled and clung to him as he ejected forcefully, far inside her.

  The room resounded with the fury of their howls.

  ~ * ~

  At work later that day Charlie couldn't stop thinking about her. He was glad he was alone in his cubicle, because he couldn't relax. It seemed like he'd been hard, aroused and ready, ever since he'd woken up this morning, Verity at his side, the scent of her thick in his nostrils, her breast cupped in his hand…

  Stop it! He felt like one of those guys on Viagra, whose penises were stuck on go.

  He made an attempt to focus on his computer screen. The Shreever was really riding him this morning, and maybe he had good reason. Charlie knew he hadn't been exactly attentive to his work. Shreever was pissed off about something, though, and Charlie recalled the man's attitude the day before. Meeting him for a drink had been a dull exercise, particularly when the guy was so openly antagonistic. If he wanted her that bad, he should have made his move before.

  Too late now. She's mine. Charlie intended it to stay that way. He stood up and stretched, eyes finding Shreever's. The man was quite capable of making his life hell. Give some guys a little power, and they go crazy…

  Charlie froze, eyes fixed on Shreever's. A trace…a scent, maybe? Something, lodged deep in his memory, was wriggling free. The smell was familiar; so familiar Charlie hadn't registered it then—had never thought about it till now. It had been there, reminiscently irritating, over the scent of the beast. The smell of the aftershave wasn't bad…only the stink of the creature who wore it.

  Hatred, venomous antagonism, feral bloodlust. Some emotions were so strong they had a physiological effect on the body. Just as venomous expressions could be identified by the narrowing of eyelids, the ferocity of downturned brows, the curling of the upper lip, hate sweat had a stink easily identifiable to the discerning nose. They didn't call it "venomous" for no reason. The poison carried through.

  It carried through to me. In that moment, Charlie knew, remembered, and Shreever's expression confirmed it. The man, in some misguided attempt to diminish him, had been his attacker—the one who'd bitten him all those years ago.

  Are you sure? He might be jumping to conclusions. Shreever was a living irritation. It was what he did.

  Charlie recalled something else. When he was in wolf mode, his two middle toes fused together. He scarcely thought about it now, but several years back, when he was in lycan mode, it had driven him wild, and he'd bitten and snapped at his own toes, frustrated beyond measure. He'd done a little research, and been struck by the weirdness of it. Israeli wolves had fused toes, but North American didn’t. Wherever his wolf genome originated, it wasn't on this continent.

  Gary Shreever had boasted for years about his time in Israel. He'd visited a kibbutz, where things "got pretty wild", he always claimed.

  Wilder, apparently, than anyone suspected.

  Charlie's nostrils flared and he returned Shreever's glare now with narrowed eyes. The man might not know it, but the day he'd bitten Charlie Ascott he'd created his own worst enemy.

  ~ * ~

  Verity couldn't believe how much a person's perspective could change. Twenty-four hours ago she'd been dreading an encounter, but now—even though it had been less than three hours—she couldn't wait to see him. Charlie. They'd decided to play it cool at work, to avoid arousing questions, jealousies, gossip, but Verity didn't care. They'd be meeting for lunch, and after work… She wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl.

  She'd barely stepped out on eleven when Gary

  Shreever popped out of the woodwork, or more accurately, out of the other elevator. She recognized him immediately.

  My midnight caller. That was why he was so familiar. For six months, not all that long ago, the man had been everywhere she looked, until she'd learned to ignore him.

  She desperately wanted to ignore him now. He was rapidly spoiling her pleasant mood.

  Gary didn't want to be ignored. "I hear Charlie's something of a wolf," he said.

  ~ * ~

  Verity was waiting at the restaurant when Charlie arrived. She'd been deliberating how to handle this. Charlie had to realize that Shreever wasn't a threat—not really.

  "I can't hurt him." Charlie was so angry he was rigid. "The problem is, I want to."

  Verity rested a hand on his arm. Charlie wasn't the only one who'd done research on werewolves. She blushed as she admitted, "There was a time when I thought I'd be a 'lone wolf' forever." She smirked. "I did some reading." She hesitated.

  Charlie's anger faded, a glimmer of humor reappearing in his eyes. "Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything."

  "I made a purchase."

  His eyebrows went up. "Brown bag purchase?"

  "Fool." She elbowed him. "Li-Like a cologne." She lowered her head, avoiding his eyes.

  It took Charlie a moment but he got it. "I see. You mean bait, don't you?" He squawked, outraged. "You weren't using that on me, were you? I mean—"

  "No!" She cut him off, then leaned against him, nuzzling his jaw. "I didn't need to." She nibbled his earlobe, then murmured firmly, "You didn't need any help." Charlie still wasn't convinced. The last thing Verity wanted was to hurt him. "I was afraid to."

  "Afraid of me?" Charlie sounded anxious.

  Men! "No!" She slipped her hand under the table, delicately cupping his cock. He was already stiff. Now, he bulged in his pants. "I take that as a compliment," she whispered.

  "You better." He nibbled her earlobe.

  Her eyelids were growing heavy with passion. "We're in a restaurant," she reminded him unnecessarily. "There are people around."

  He'd moved to the tender skin beneath her ear. "Which is why you're not flat on the table right now," he murmured.

  "Fool." She smiled, happier than she could ever recall being. "Now, about that cologne."

  He gave her neck a last, lingering kiss, then lifted his head. "You're right. We don't need any help." He added wryly, "Any more passion,
and we'd be doing it in the open."

  Verity cleared her throat. Charlie's hands were roving discreetly under the table, up her skirt and along her panty line. "I'm speaking." She giggled when his fingers walked along her crotch. "Stop it."

  He paused, offering her an intelligent look. "Do go on."

  She chuckled throatily, then told him, "It was an internet thing. One of those werewolf sites where there are scientific papers on lycanthropy at the end. I followed it, even hit the ads." Her cheeks grew warm. It was embarrassing to admit how desperate she'd felt; how fearful of being alone. "Anyway, there were some testimonials from supposed werewolves—"

  Charlie's ears perked up at that. "Anonymous?"

  Verity nodded. "'Lone Were' was one of them. Said she didn't really want to play 'lonely Were' any more. She'd used the pheromone cologne—and it worked."

  Charlie sniggered. "In Shreever's case? It may be his only hope."

  Charlie's hand was still resting on her thigh. She repositioned it, so his fingers were probing her creases. "Charlie?" she crooned. "'Stop it'…some more."

  ~ * ~

  Later that day, Shreever came out of the elevator at his and Verity's planned meeting place…but it was Charlie who met him, not Verity. "Hello, Shreever," Charlie said, friendly enough. "Got something for you. Cologne," he told him pointedly, shoving it into his hands.

  Shreever took offense and tried to hand it back.

  What a dick! The guy thinks I'm saying he smells.

  Charlie controlled himself with an effort, but his words still came out as more of a growl. "No reason to be a lone wolf, mate." He was struck with a brilliant thought. He took back the box with seeming reluctance. "Don't know whether I should let it go."

  "What the hell is it?" Toughly.

  "Let's call it an attractant." He gazed pointedly at Verity, who'd just stepped out of the furthest elevator. Her smile was warm, heated even, and it was obvious her gaze was only for him. Charlie sighed, and slapped Shreever on the back. "Passing of the torch. Once you got one of 'em, though, you gotta be ready to commit." He smirked. "Because they are." He did his best to sound doubtful. What he really wanted was to howl with triumph.

  Shreever, however, was silent. Then, "Must be potent…"

  It was a dig, a cut, a slur. Charlie Ascott couldn't have gotten Verity Connors without it.

  Bloody hell.

  Charlie tensed, his fingers twitching. He bared his teeth, then tried to pass it off as a smile. In truth, it was all he could do to avoid tearing the guy's throat out. "Yep," he managed, shoving the box back into Shreever's hands. "Use it in good health."

  Epilogue

  For a few days after the next full moon, Shreever was conspicuous by his absence. Verity, accustomed to his rather irritating and ill-timed appearances, asked after him.

  "Oh, he's okay," Charlie assured her, grinning widely. "The fool decided to give your potion a try…while he was running with the pack."

  Verity's eyes widened. "Oh my God!"

  Charlie's arm slipped around her casually, a sign of ownership. He tilted his head to eye her tensely. "Wolves mate for life, you know."

  Verity knew him too well. Charlie was nervous. He wanted to know whether she felt the same way he did. She sighed. The human part of her still wanted to know he cared; that this wasn't just an affair of convenience.

  And lust. We can't forget the lust. It seemed she could never get enough of him. Her heart was thumping, but she strove for nonchalance. "I'd heard that," she remarked.

  He nodded, but none of his moves were smooth now. He pawed inside his jacket and withdrew a ring box, before dropping to one knee. "Verity, would—"

  He was terrified. She saw it in his eyes. In that moment he was uncertain, and there was enough of the moon mutt left in him to peer at her with almost frantic loyalty. It thrilled her, wooed her, convinced her. No doubts. "Yes, yes, yes! I love you, Charlie."

  He sprang up and took her in his arms. He slipped the ring on her finger, kissed her, held her tight.

  Later, as they were strolling to his car, he dangled a

  gold chain in front of her. "For those days when a ring doesn't fit." He grinned confidently.

  My one, my only. "Hope you have a chain for you, too," she retorted, giving his bun a squeeze.

  "Nope." He waited for her reaction, then chuckled throatily. "A collar. Lone wolf no more."

  About Melody

  N. D. Hansen-Hill writes fantasy, science fiction, paranormal, and horror novels, while her alter ego, Melody Knight, pens romantic prose. Whether horror novel or erotic novella, all ND's and Melody's books are suspenseful.

  When she's not writing, ND oil paints, and now has work in 8 countries. She is also studying archeology, with the goal of one day doing contract archeology throughout the Pacific rim.

  Her books are published widely, with 40 published or contracted by Cerridwen Press, Double Dragon, The Lotus Circle, Five Star, Linden Bay Romance, Red Rose Publishing, Fictionwise, Drollerie Press, Cyberwizard Productions, Books In Motion, and Carnal Passions.

  Visit our website for our growing catalogue of quality books.

  www.carnalpassions.com