Wolves of the Wild West (multi-author series)
by Cynthia Sax
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60521-690-4
When a rival werewolf pack takes Harriet, Trace reckons he’ll do his courting with a six-shooter and a fistful of silver bullets. ‘Cause no one touches Trace’s woman and lives.
Harriet was being hunted.
She crept between the rock facings, in wolf form, dragging her tail in the red dirt. Erasing her paw prints merely delayed their confrontation.
Trace would find her. He was the best tracker in the territory.
And when he did… She wiggled her rump.
Her nostrils twitched. His scent flavored the night breeze with musk and arousal. Trace was gaining on her. Harriet dashed along the trail, moving faster and faster until her muscles ached and she panted, her tongue hanging out of her open mouth.
Boot-covered feet smacked stone. As he normally moved as silently as any shifter, the noise was a deliberate declaration of intent. He would catch her.
The path straightened, and her withers quivered with awareness. He was close enough to see her, the full moon lighting the ground, coloring the rocks gray and blue.
She shifted as she ran, her fur becoming bare flesh and her front paws becoming human hands. Trace inhaled sharply, and she smiled, smelling his frustration — the aroma raw and poignant and exciting.
He wanted her, and despite the hurt he would soon inflict upon her, she wanted him too, her pussy moistening and her nipples tightening in anticipation. The trail widened, revealing a suitable spot for their confrontation.
Harriet stopped, glancing around her, and she backed into a recess in the rock wall, her bare ass pressed against cool stone. There she waited, hiding in the shadows.
Trace stepped into the open area, his broad shoulders blocking the moonlight, and Harriet froze, her gaze fixed on his muscular form. Her human lover exemplified all that was wild and primitive and fierce. Buckskin clung to his body, and his long, brown hair hung loose down his back. He had arrived for their rendezvous armed: a knife strapped to his narrow hips, and a rifle clutched in his big hands.
He raised his chin, displaying a profile consisting of angles and strength, and Harriet’s fingers twitched, the compulsion to stroke his high, proud cheekbones nearly overwhelming her sense of self-preservation. He sniffed, his nostrils flaring.
Did he smell her warm, wet pussy? Harriet’s breath hitched — the sound obscenely loud.
His head turned. Silver glinted in his smoke-gray eyes while his grim lips curled into a smug smile. Without looking away, he propped the rifle against the wall of rock.
He had spotted her.
Harriet pushed away from the stone, launching her body into the air. She bounced off a solid wall of chest. Large, tanned hands slapped flat against the rocks, trapping her face between them, the tracker’s muscular arms creating a cage around her.
“Got you.” Trace’s deep voice rumbled through the cool night air. Heat rose off his body, seductively reaching out toward her.
She licked her bottom lip, and his gaze followed the nervous sweep of her tongue, his face darkening ominously. “And what will you do with me?” Harriet feigned bravery. She tilted her face upward. His breath fanned her skin, caressing her eyelashes.
He leaned into her, his buckskin shirt brushing against her nipples. “This.” His mouth dipped to cover hers, his lips firm and possessing as he claimed his prize. She opened to his questing tongue, allowing him to explore her softness, and he blazed a trail of fire and desire, mapping her soul with the tip of his tongue.
“Trace.” Harriet moaned, reaching up to encircle his neck with her arms, holding his huge physique to her smaller form. Trace slid his callused palms around to the small of her back, his fingers resting on her spine, as they kissed like they’d never kissed before, and might never kiss again, his surges into her synchronizing to the pounding of her heart.
“She-wolf.” He pulled back from her, lightning bolts of passion shooting across his stormy eyes, and Harriet took a tentative step forward, blindly following him, her bare soles connecting with cool rock.
“You tracked me.” She gazed up at him.
Trace loosened the laces at his neck and tugged his buckskin shirt over his head, the action tousling his long hair and revealing a chest covered with smooth, tanned skin and ridged with muscles.
“Hunted me.” Harriet examined him from under her partially lowered eyelids, want settling low in her womb.
“Yeah.” Trace kicked off his worn, leather boots and removed his breeches, his legs corded with toned flesh and his cock jutting out from a base covered with brown curls. “Always.”
He stood in front of her, proudly naked except for the knife strapped to his hip, and Harriet ran her hands over his pecs, circling his flat, male nipples with her fingertips, marveling that he was hers, this marvelous human male.
“Always?” It was a lie, as he was only hers for the moment. Others made demands on his time.
“Yeah.” Trace wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her forward, crushing her to his hard body, driving her head back with the force of his kiss. He ravaged her mouth, grinding flesh against teeth, the metallic tang of blood flavoring his passion.
Harriet met him kiss for brutal kiss, her wolf pleased by his dominance. He was alpha, and she submitted to him, pushing her hips against his, grinding her mons on his erection, while he gripped her ass, spreading her butt cheeks.
“I need you, wolf.” He raised her, pinning her smaller body against the hard rock surface.
“Yes.” Harriet held onto his shoulders, straddled him, hooked her ankles behind him, her heels pressing down on his ass, soaking his stomach with her pussy juices. “Yes.” She undulated against his body, pleasuring herself on his hard form, teasing his cock with her movements.
Trace growled, the sound vibrating against her clit, and Harriet writhed, digging her fingernails into him, fighting her rising arousal. “Trace, please,” she begged.
He reached down to position his cock at her entrance, probing with his cockhead, before he drove her down onto him, impaling her on his thick shaft with one hard thrust.
“Trace!” As Harriet threw her head back and screamed his name into the night sky, her skull connected with solid rock. She barely noticed, the pain superseded by the fullness in her pussy. He was inside her. They were as one, human and wolf, man and woman, hunter and prey.
“Dang, woman.” Trace licked her exposed neck, his wet tongue flat and rough. “Yer wild.” He lifted his head, his lips curling into a smile that erased years off his weathered face.
“Wild for you.” Harriet placed her hand on his stubble-covered cheek, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. She loved him, this hard, tough man.
“Yeah.” Trace’s gaze met hers and held, emotion weighing heavily between them, their thoughts unspoken yet shared. He turned his head to capture her thumb between his lips, nipping at her skin.
“Yeah,” he repeated, as he began to rock into her, his tempo slow and lazy, with all of him sliding along all of her. Her senses were heightened by her awareness of him. She felt the veins on his shaft, the tickle of the hair around his base, and the swing of his balls. His hair brushed against her arms. The knife on his hip dug into her inner thigh. His scent tantalized her nostrils. He was everywhere, around her, in her, over top of her, and she couldn’t get enough of him. She tilted her hips to take him deeper into her pussy, squeezing and releasing his cock with her inner muscles.
Trace clenched his jaw, his expression dark and thunderous, and their tempo swelled to a savage intensity. Harriet gasped, hanging onto his shoulders as he drove deeper and harder, slamming into her. Her ass slapped against the rock, and her breasts flattened against hard muscle, the stinging pain accentuating her pleasure.
Harriet panted, and he grunted as they fucked under the stars, their animal noises echoing off the rock walls, filling the air with sounds of passion. His skin gleamed with the sheen of his exertion, and his chest heaved under her palms, his muscles stretching and constricting against her curves.
Everything inside her tightened and tightened until the tension was unbearable. “Trace?” She arched, offering up her body, entrusting her fate to him, her lover, her human mate.
“Howl.” He reached between their moving bodies, his scarred knuckles sweeping along her soft stomach. “Howl, she-wolf.” Trace threaded his fingers through her intimate curls and found her aching clit.
With one brush of his rough fingers, she broke, screaming his name and howling her satisfaction to the full moon, her world flashing light and dark, her pussy muscles closing around his shaft.
“Harriet!” Trace roared, pushing his hips forward, driving her back against the rock wall. The hot cum flooding her womb set off another wave of ecstasy, and he pinned her writhing body to the stone until she stilled and their breathing leveled.
She slumped forward, resting her forehead on his chest, her fingers entangled in his long hair. “I love you, Trace.” The words she’d vowed never to say again slipped out.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Yeah.”
Harriet hid her face against his skin, concealing the pain his reply caused her. He never said “I love you,” and for almost a year, she’d told herself it was because Trace never said much of anything.
She loved his stillness and his quiet nature. Those personality traits kept him safe while he tracked people and wildlife not hankering to be tracked.
Tracking that took him far from her side for months at a time. Tracking he was about to engage in again.
Harriet sighed. If she was to wait for him, she needed to hear the words.
Trace heard the pain and frustration in Harriet’s sigh. It tore his insides up something awful that fervent fucks in the dark were all he could give her. She deserved so much more.
Soon. He closed his eyes, inhaling her sweet fragrance, listening to her breathe, her body caressing his. His year of waiting was plumb near done.
’Cause Carver, Harriet’s brother, had told him if he waited a year to do his asking, he’d get the pack’s full blessing. Pack being important to his Harriet, and him having business needing to get done, Trace had agreed, their secret pact hanging on the alpha wolf’s vow to protect her.
Ain’t no one, no how, hurting his woman.
But Trace kept those thoughts to his lonesome, as he wasn’t willing to make promises a bullet might make him break. Instead, he grabbed his rifle, scooped Harriet into his arms, and carried her up the steep incline to a flat rock shelf.
She didn’t say a word, his she-wolf, trusting him to lay her down gently. Her big, brown eyes gazed up at him like he hung the moon, and when he was with her, he dang near believed it.
He set the rifle within arm’s reach and sat down behind her, straddling her body with his legs, placing his hands on her bare stomach. She leaned back, her fingers covering his, her spine resting against his chest, and they stared out at the arid land they both loved.
He’d trekked the territories hunting outlaws, and there weren’t no other place he’d rather be than right there, holding his Harriet.
“We can see pack land from here.” She pointed to the collection of earth lodges squatting by the river. Over two dozen fires twinkled like stars fallen to the ground.
“Yeah.” His gaze settled on the largest earth lodge, plopped dead in the center. It was Carver’s own, and Harriet slept there under her brother’s protection.
Trace followed the winding river upstream with his eyes. Hidden in a bend was a log cabin, situated on a prime piece of land. All it was needing was a fence and a bride.
He pressed his lips to Harriet’s neck and sucked on her salty skin. She tilted her head, her long, black hair sliding over her shoulder.
“The pack is having a gathering, a celebration of the full moon. Many of the townspeople are attending, Diana, the sheriff’s new wife, others –”
“Not yet, Harriet.” Trace cut off her request. Carver would string him up by his balls if he showed up at a pack hoedown.
“I see.” Harriet’s voice was small. She dropped her hands.
“Ya ain’t seeing.” Trace caught her hands, raising them once more, entwining his fingers with hers. He had hurt her. He glared at the large earth lodge, pissed with himself and with the big wolf. “All this is for yer own good.”
She sighed. “You sound like my brother.”
If he were a wolf like her brother, claiming her would be simpler. “The pack –”
“You can shoot a spine off a cactus at thirty paces.” Her back straightened, the top of her head clipping him on the chin. “If I needed protection, which I don’t” — she shook her hair, the soft caress tormenting him something awful — “you could provide it, so don’t give me any balderdash about me needing the pack.”
He had hurt her and made her angry. Trace grunted, not knowing the words to make it right, and silence fell like a wall between them, amplifying the night sounds. A burrowing owl hooted her distress. A coyote pawed the ground. A snake slithered across the sand.
“I don’t want to fight, Trace.” Harriet slumped against him, her anger winding down with the force of a prairie tornado. “Not when we could be lovin’.” She placed his hands over her small breasts. “There’ll be time enough for sadness once we part.”
He agreed. Spending days without his Harriet was like a never-ending drought, dang hot and miserable with no relief in sight.
Trace slowly stroked her skin, petting her passion, patiently stoking her fire. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and index finger, and they tightened into small peaks.
He felt her humming straight down to his cock. He kissed and licked and sucked on her neck as he cupped her breasts, and she backed up into him, wiggling her tight ass against his groin, teasing him into a lust-filled frenzy. He was harder than a knife’s blade and hornier than a buffalo.
He pushed her forward onto her hands and knees, the moonlight bathing her back and ass. She was small and sleek and soft under his rough hands, and he touched her all over, down her spine, between her ass cheeks, until he reached her pussy, as wet as a spring watering hole, gushing with juice, just for him.
“Yes, Trace. Touch me like that.” She moaned as he ran his fingers up and down, up and down, over her female folds. “Your fingers feel so good.”
“Yeah.” She felt as fine as cream gravy. He pushed into her, and she cried out, her chin lifting to the night sky, her heat all around his index finger.
He pumped her with one finger, and then two, and then three, while she writhed under him, crying his name, a wild creature captured by his loving. His cock bobbed, and his balls ached, drawing up close to his body. He’d had her once this evening, but that weren’t enough. It weren’t never enough.
“Gawd, woman.” He withdrew his fingers and wiped her glistening pussy juices on his hard shaft, slicking his skin. “You got me wound up something awful.” Trace pushed his cockhead into her tight hole, gritting his teeth at the wet heat enveloping him as he slowly, slowly filled her, burying himself up to his base.
He knelt behind her for three long heartbeats, his cock inside his woman’s pussy, his hands on her hips, holding her still, while he reconciled himself to their connection, basking in the joy of their joining, happier than a hog in mud.
When he was inside her, there weren’t no misunderstandings, no anger, and no hurt. She was a part of him, like the earth and sky. She was his.
“Mine.” He pulled back, his cockhead caressed by her pussy walls. “Mine.” He rammed back into her, rocking her forward. “Mine.” He repeated his cry of ownership as he rode her, driving into her so deeply his balls bounced against her skin. He needed to be deeper in her. He needed to own her, possess her, brand her. That was the only thought in his mind and the only word on his lips.
She pushed back on him, meeting his thrusts, her cries joining his. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” And he was hers. She owned him, as he owned her. Trace draped his body over hers, braced himself up with one arm, and wrapped the other arm around her torso. He squeezed her left breast, and she gasped, her pussy closing around his cock.
Gawd, he wanted to come.
But not yet. He’d satisfy his little she-wolf first. He captured her nipple between his fingers, pinching her sensitive flesh, and she cried out, bucking upward, skin smacking against skin as she tried to dislodge him.
He chuckled, holding on tightly, riding the rounding of her spine, while he continued his relentless pace, thrusting in and out of her wet pussy, battering her with his large cock. She was a wild one, as wild at heart as he was, and he loved it, not holding anything back from their fucking.
He tweaked her nipple again, setting off another frenzy of movement. Her sweet cream gushed, dripping between his balls, and her pussy tightened around his cock, announcing her approaching orgasm as clearly as one of those new-fangled telegrams.
She turned her head, exposing her neck, and Trace grinned at her unspoken request. Harriet wanted him to claim her, and he would, with everything he had. As he drove his cock into her pussy, he bit the soft skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder.
“Trace!” she screamed, arching, her pussy gripping his cock like wet buckskin.
Trace roared, unable to hold back, and he spurted his cum into her womb, all of him pouring into her. He came and came and came until there was nothing left, and then he collapsed, his trembling arms and legs unable to bear his weight, flattening his wily wolf against their unyielding stone bed.
Her only protest was a muffled “oomph,” but Trace heard it, and he rolled until he faced the sky, his Harriet sprawled over his near-naked body, the knife he always wore digging into his side. He’d learned long ago never to remove it. He lazily scratched the scar on his thigh.
Harriet pushed his hand away. “You get that tracking?” She outlined the puckered skin with her fingertips, her touch soft and gentle.
Harriet released one of them heart-wrenching sighs that gave Trace a hankering to shoot someone. “How long will you be gone this time?”
“Gone?” He glanced downward. All he saw was the top of a head, covered with purty black hair.
“Carver said he saw the marshal looking for you. S’pect that means they need a tracker.” Another puff of air caressed his skin.
“Yeah.” Damn Carver, yammering on about other folk’s dealings. “But that tracker ain’t me. From here on in, I only track in these parts.”
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes glimmering in the moonlight like sunbeams reflecting off the barrel of a Colt Single Action. “Once the outlaws hear that, they’ll steer clear of these parts. You won’t get much business, tracker.”
“Yeah.” Trace grinned. That there was his plan. She’d be safe, and he’d have peace. He hugged her close. And love. He’d get himself plenty of that too.