Bewitch The Dark - Racing The Moon Part 5

"s.e.x me."

Most men never really learned the ways to satisfy a woman in a lifetime. Dean was attuned to Sunday's every flinch, her every murmur and moan. He used his tongue as a spear, a gentle feather, a quick paintbrush laying strokes across her skin. He expertly mastered her body and knew when to alter his touch from light to hard, or from slow to fast.

She lifted her hips, grinding her wetness against his fingers. Kisses covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The hard column of his erection fit into her groping fingers. She began to stroke him, but the world slipped away as o.r.g.a.s.m overwhelmed her.

It attacked so fiercely, Sunday cried out. It was too good to contain. Too remarkable not to surrender to. As her body hummed with joyful success. the dark tickle of warning went unnoticed.

It was too late. An ashy cloud gushed forth from Sunday's pores. And above her and her lover, the demon formed.

Seven.

Dean took one look at the looming black cloud that shaped overhead and spread his body across Sunday's to protect her.

As the demon coalesced, thick black horns curled about the sides of its distorted head. It landed on the floor of the garage with hooves that crushed the cement to dust. Red eyes glowered. Brimstone sickened the air."I'm guessing you're not one of those friendly sorts we were hoping for," Dean called to the menacing shape. "Sunday, sweetie, hand me the shotgun."

She squirmed beneath him, and he adjusted his crab-style stance to allow her to shuffle to the back of the truck bed. He was completely exposed and didn't like it. But he wasn't about to let the thing near Sunday.

"It's not here," she said. "You left it on the hood!"

"s.h.i.t."

The demon stomped the floor and roared. It slashed a taloned appendage, cutting the air like a scythe, and catching Dean across the shoulder. Flesh split open and hot blood spilled down his chest.

Rage raced to the surface, aggravating the werewolf.

"You asked for it," Dean muttered. "Have at me!"

His rib bones popped. Flesh stretched. Toenails grew and curved. Fury numbed the pain of shifting.

Dean lunged and fit his hands onto the demon's horns. Growling, he let out a howl. The thing swung him around and rammed him-half wolfed out-against the wall. Sunday screamed.

"Stay right there!" Dean's last words were barked out.

The werewolf slapped the demon's fist as it pummeled in for a murderous punch. And then it followed through with a full-body a.s.sault.

Crouched at the edge of the truck bed, Sunday peered over the side to the floor, where the shotgun had fallen. Unless it was filled with salt, a bullet would do little to put back the demon.

And she risked shooting the werewolf. It was the size of the demon. Thick brown-and-black hair rippled across its broad back and shoulders as it swung deadly claws and tore through the demon's black, leathery flesh. Powerful thighs and paws took to the floor. Half man, half wolf, it stalked a prey that could never have antic.i.p.ated the vicious welcoming party.

The battling figures moved as shadows before the open garage door. Dean had lured the demon as far from the truck as possible.

Far from her, she realized. The feeling of being protected swelled warmly in her veins. And then anxiety defeated the brief sense of comfort. Normally, after she bridged a demon, Sunday automatically shifted to cat form. It was how familiars restored their vitality. But now the intense nervous energy moving through her veins kept her in human shape.

If the werewolf saw her now, would it recognize that she was a familiar and want to do to her what it was currently doing to the demon?

"No, only when I'm a cat," she muttered. "I hope."

Not that it mattered; she wasn't in the werewolf's sight right now.

A roar preceded the werewolf, hurtling through the air. The wolf's back hit the garage wall, cracking audibly. It landed, unmoving, splayed at the edge of the garage. Sunday cringed.

The demon marched toward its fallen prey.

Should she risk attempting to shoot the thing? Dean didn't move. A leap would place her next to the gun. No time- The demon lunged.

One grand slash of paw sliced the air. Razor-sharp claws decapitated the demon. Brimstone hissed out in yellow clouds. The headless body convulsed and went to the ground in a brilliant explosion of embers and sulfur.

The werewolf, huffing and heaving, jumped upright and stood over its kill. It howled, stretching its head up and back and displaying a remarkable form against the blurry glow of the full moon high in the sky.

It stomped and paced, rushing to the edge of the garage, but stopped before colliding into sheets of rain. More pacing. Low, whimpering moans echoed in the darkness.

"It can't leave."

At the sound of her voice, the werewolf swung to face the truck. Sunday ducked around and put her back against the pickup's cab. She clutched the blanket to her chest. Her scent of fear overwhelmed the musky odor of the fight.

Another long howl echoed into the night. She didn't hear it approach. Was she supposed to?

A strange yip cut off the end of the lingering howl. Claws clattered over the cement, moving quickly toward her. Didn't sound like the big, clawed paws of the werewolf.

A low growl alerted her that it was to the side and coming up around the back of the truck. Why had she thought to remain in human form?

The wolf leaped, and landed on the lowered gate. Sunday's jaw dropped. It was a real wolf, not the shifted, man-beast werewolf.

That didn't mean she was out of harm's way.

Ears back and teeth bared, the imposing animal fixed its golden gaze on her-and squinted. Suspicious.

She'd never seen a wolf in the wild-were or otherwise-and it was twice as large as the German shepherd that roamed the Steele grocery store. That one always growled at her when she pa.s.sed.

Good thing she was too tense to shift shapes. At least in this form she had a chance of fighting off the threat. Should have retrieved the shotgun.

No. He was her lover. And she had to believe he would recognize her.

Heartbeat racing, Sunday slowly stretched out her arm, offering her open palm. "It's me," she whispered.

The wolf licked its maw, snapped its jaw and jerked its head as if it had heard something near the door. Had the demon risen?

No, the werewolf had beheaded it, reduced it to sulfur. Bowing its head, the wolf went down on its forelegs.

Daring to lean forward, Sunday moved her hand closer. The wolf sniffed. She didn't budge to touch it. Best to allow it-her lover-to make that first move.

"You protected me," she said. "Thank you."

The wolf crawled forward a few inches. It nudged its nose under her hand. Its muzzle was warm and soft with dark fur. Then it lashed out its pink tongue.

"Are you tasting me?" Sunday's apprehension simmered. "You've already had the cherry on top, Dean. Let's call this one a night, hmm?"

The wolf crawled alongside her leg, onto the blanket, and lay down. She dared to stroke the fur along its leg, then to gently clasp her fingers about the thick ear. She bit back the urge to say, Nice, wolf, but the thought of it made her smile.

The wolf twisted its body to show its furred belly to her.

Acceptance.

Sunday shuffled her fingers across its soft fur. "This is going to sound crazy, but I love you, Dean."

And with the release of her apprehensions, the shift reduced Sunday's human form to that of a blue-eyed white feline.

The wolf startled at the sudden appearance of the feline. It yipped, and snapped at the beast.

The cat didn't flinch. It slashed out a paw and struck the wolf across the nose with a claw.

Whimpering as it retreated, the wolf tucked its nose into a curled paw and eyed the small creature. It wasn't about to nip at it again.

Seeming pleased with the big dog's submission, the cat turned around once, then settled into a coiled rest against the soft belly of the wolf.

They slept that way until the rain stopped.

Sunday woke with a smile on her face. And a serious ache in her hip. Pickup trucks were not made for comfortable s.e.x.

The warm body next to her stirred. Her forehead rested against tight abs. He smelled great, like root beer and s.e.x and motor oil.

Weird cologne, for sure, but it did something for her.

"Sunday?"

"I'm desperate for a real bed," she said and sat up. Dean quickly pulled her down to spoon against him. "This is not comfortable in the least," she said.

"Screw comfort. You're in one piece. That's all that matters. The werewolf didn't attack."

"It annihilated the demon and saved my a.s.s."

"And a nice a.s.s it is." He nudged his groin against her bottom and, wonder upon wonders, he was already hard. "Didn't mean to wolf out in front of you. That's something I never wanted anyone to see."

"I can handle it. You're a very handsome beast, actually."

"You think?"

"I like the smaller wolf much better, though. One smack across the nose was all it took to tame him."

"So that's why my nose hurts. Naughty, kitty cat." He performed a deft move and slid his erectioninside her with a pleasurable moan. "Mmm, like it here."

"Even when the big bads come after you? You didn't run screaming, Dean. That's a first for me."

"I don't do the scream. And I'm developing a theory about you and your demons. Maybe you need practice, time to learn to control the bridging. You probably never had a chance to get down and dirty with a man who would allow you to focus on the problem, am I right?"

"Very right. You offering your services? Thought you were on your way home."

"I am, but there's no rush now that we've beat the moon. I want to stick around awhile, if you'll have me. Rather, if you can put up with the werewolf."

"Company sounds good for a change."

"Yeah, it does. I'm glad about the rain. It forced me to look at something I'd probably never noticed before. A familiar. A gorgeous, s.e.xy woman. Mmm, you've gotten inside me, Sunday. Don't want to get you out, either."

"I believe it's you inside me. And you can stay there as long as you like. Look at us. One needs s.e.x to keep the beast back, the other brings up all sorts of nasties with s.e.x. This so shouldn't work."

"Yeah, but it feels right." He pumped slowly, savoring each glide. The friction felt exquisite. "I could love a woman like you, Sunday. You'd certainly keep me on my toes."

"Sounds good in theory, but I'm very happy here in the middle of nowhere."

"Now you're lying, lonely girl. You've been hiding. Just like me."

"I have. We do. The lonely thing, that is." She sighed and drew his hand up to claim her breast. "I suppose I could do with company. But I don't do the domestic thing. And I don't do dishes."

"Do you do werewolves?"

"Oh, yeah."

ISBN: 978-1-4268-1641-3.

Racing the Moon Copyright 2008 by Michele Hauf All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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