The Wolf Moon (an erotic paranormal romance) (The Wolf Ring) by Meg Harris

lowered
her chin again. “He cannot fight you,” she said softly. “He is trapped between
shapes, unable to assume wolf form. It would not be a fair fight.”
    “That will not
stop me from killing him.”
    A soft noise
rippled among the assembled wolves, a low growl. It sounded almost like a noise
of outrage. Graeme had the impression none of the wolves cared overmuch for
their leader, and yet he doubted any of them would intervene if Arthur turned
back into a wolf and tore him to shreds. Apparently the law was all-important
among the wolves.
    “I brought him
here to beg your help,” Rhea said quietly. “He is one of us, part of the Ring.
He needs our help.”
    “And you may
have it. Under one condition.”
    Her back stiffened.
“Which is?”
    “That you accept
me as your mate.”
    No! Graeme tried to snap out, but all that
emerged was a rough and formless sound, a growling, rumbling noise that sounded
neither human nor wolf. He snarled with frustration. Rhea was his. His , damn it.
    “I have already
mated with him,” Rhea said.
    “Illicitly. You are mine,
under the law. You left us to escape the law—but now you have returned. If you
want our help, you must accept the law. You will be mine.”
    Rhea turned her
head, looking at Graeme. He could only imagine how he looked to her. He was a
monster, a freak, whereas Arthur was a well-formed and handsome man, and in his
wolf shape, a magnificent canine. There was, he thought wretchedly, no reason
for her to pick him over Arthur.
    Rhea stared at him
a moment longer, then lowered her head and spoke in a meek tone.
    “Yes,” she said
softly. “I am yours, Arthur.”
    The terrible
grief in her voice cut through Graeme’s fog of pain, and something Arthur had
said replayed inside his head.   I won you when I killed your mate.
    And he
remembered Rhea’s voice, aching with sorrow: He was murdered. I loved him with every fiber of my being.
    This man had
killed Rhea’s husband, and now had the effrontery to claim her as his own. He
was a murderer, and she must loathe him.
    And yet she was
willing to accept the cruel, heartless law of her people and mate with him, in
order to help Graeme.
    Admiration swept
through him, along with a wave of emotion so intense it almost hurt. She was
magnificent. And she was his, his ,
and he would fight for her. He would gladly die for her if he must.
    But
no. He couldn’t die and leave her without a protector, because it was plain that no
one in the wolf pack—the Ring—would lift a paw to protect her.
    He—a misshapen,
monstrous, grotesque half-man—was all that stood between her and a terrible
fate. He was the only one who could save her.
    And save her he
would, damn it.
    Arthur reached
out for her, his eyes alight with a fierce possessiveness.
    Graeme roared and
leaped forward, slashing at the other man with his taloned hand.

 
 
 
 
 
    Chapter Seven

 
    The swipe of
Graeme’s paw/hand did little damage, as his claws were relatively blunt, in the
canine fashion. But the blow was hard enough to send Arthur stumbling backward.
He went to his knees—and changed in the blink of an eye.
    Graeme had
barely an instant to see the black wolf hurtling through the air at him, its
jaws open, its teeth glinting. Despite the pain that racked him at every
movement, he reached out and caught it by the scruff of its neck, then flung
it, hard. The wolf yelped involuntarily as it slammed into a tree trunk and
fell hard to the ground.
    But it was up
again, almost instantly, and this time it dove for his ankles, slashing. Graeme
roared with pain as its fangs cut almost to the bone. He grabbed for it, but
the wolf danced back, out of his reach. He tried to pursue it, but in his
current form he shambled rather than walked, and moving quickly was beyond him.
By the time he had turned, it was slashing at him again.
    Graeme roared
again, and kicked hard. His foot made contact with the wolf’s ribs, hard enough
to wring another yelp from