Spirit of the Wolf by Vonna Harper Page B

realized the sound was coming from just beyond what little he could see.
    “Who is it?” He wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken aloud or had thought the question. “What are you doing here?”
    No one answered, and he acknowledged that he hadn’t expected anything. Grateful for the weapon, he pulled it out of the sheath. It started out being heavy only to lose weight until it felt as if he were holding on to feathers.
    Looking down, he saw blood dripping off the ends of his fingers. Fear bit at him, only to fade. Now he didn’t know what he was feeling, maybe nothing. Maybe impatience because he suspected something was going to happen and he, by damn, deserved to know what it was.
    Why? It wasn’t as if he knew what to do.
    Morning bloomed around him. The sunrise wasn’t perfect; it left shadows here and there, but he was in the hills at the east end of his property. No, that was wrong, because the ones he was looking at weren’t smooth and rolling with plenty of grass but liberally shot with sharp rocks and a steep peak only a mountain climber would attempt.
    As he studied the peak, it melted a little so it no longer looked so formidable. At the same time, it gave birth to other mountains until they surrounded him. Interesting, he thought. A moment later, interest turned into tension and shivers down his naked back. Wiggling his toes reassured him that his boots hadn’t deserted him. He wasn’t sure about socks. Who needed a coat when it was so hot?
    Hot? Hadn’t it just been cold?
    Shrugging off weather concerns, he did what he’d been putting off since night deserted the scene. These weren’t morning shadows painting the sides of the mountains away from the sun after all. Instead, he was looking at cave after cave. Some were barely pinpricks. A few appeared perfect for a she-wolf looking for a place to give birth. The closest sported a narrow opening and beyond that a large, well-lit room complete with some of the furniture he’d seen at Cat’s place.
    Cat. Was she part of whatever the hell this was?
    As if answering his question, feminine fingers stroked his cock. A hand gathered up his balls and held them as if they were precious.
    Was this Cat? The woman he’d once thought he knew had always grabbed his sex as if determined to wring every bit of cum out of him. Feeding off her, he did the same, lightly twisting her nipples and slapping her mons. Then he rammed a knee between her legs and lifted, forcing her to ride him.
    “You can’t answer your question about who has hold of your cock and balls, can you?” Cat’s voice asked. “Wanna know why?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Because you don’t know me. Hell, you never asked where I came from or why I wound up here.”
    Loving the feel of her hands on his most important organ, he prayed she’d keep the touch light. Otherwise, he’d go off.
    “You’re not the only one with dark places in their background.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from, surely not his mind. “What the hell do you know about me?”
    Releasing his cock and balls, she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him off his boots. Funny how he could feel arms, legs, breasts, and belly and yet not see her.
    “Isn’t that a pisser,” she said. “Strangers fucking each other’s brains out. Going at it like rabbits.”
    She wrapped her arms around his neck and hauled on it until he was forced to bend toward her. Somehow her legs were around his waist with her damp, hot sex plastered to his middle. We can’t fuck like this, he wanted to tell her, but her mouth clamped onto his and he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
    Seriously, couldn’t breathe.
    His head began pounding, and his lungs burned. Something had plugged his nostrils. No matter how desperately he fought to wrench his head to the side so he could open his mouth, nothing happened.
    Light-headed, he struggled to keep his legs under him, but her body was becoming heavier. They’d melted together, would go down