S. Yule - Lycan Vengeance

He tossed the bag in the back, slid in behind the wheel, started the dark green monster, and let it warm up for a few minutes before starting down the drive, counting the hours until he’d see Rose again—they’d be the last he spent without her. He’d let his guard down, and she’d adequately pulled the wool over his eyes. He’d be more careful in the future and make sure not to repeat that mistake.

Yeah, but what if she decides she doesn’t want you, you smug son of a bitch? He couldn’t bear that thought.

He’d make her see that they belonged together, that their souls were two halves of a whole. And if worse came to worst, and she still refused to be with him, he’d let her go—to some extent.

If she did choose to live without him, he’d respect her wishes no matter how much it killed him to do so, but he’d remain in the background, watching, guarding, never letting any harm come to her, and God help any poor sap who thought to touch her. He might be able to suffer living without her, but he’d never be able to stand idly by and allow her to be with another. Neither the man nor the wolf would share his mate.

He took a deep breath and let out a long, slow sigh. He was getting worked up over things that might never happen. He had faith that fate wouldn’t pair him with someone who could not abide him. If he had to, he’d spend the rest of his days convincing Rose that they belonged together. He turned the radio on, hit the button to switch it to CD, and cranked up “Back in Black” by AC/DC. He smiled and stepped on the gas. He was going to get his Rose back, thorns and all.

Rose sat at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and pushed the eggs around on the paper plate. She hadn’t eaten off of real plates at her own place for years, not wanting any needless possessions to pack up or get rid of when she moved from one house to another. Lately, she’d grown weary of the way she was living, yearned for some permanence. Was it too much to ask to have real dishes and silverware? The strong black coffee was doing little to wake her up this morning after a restless night, and her mood wasn’t helped by the

“poor, poor pitiful me” routine.

She sighed and thought about the dreams she’d had last night of Knox—all with the same outcome, both of them sweaty and naked. She had to get him out of her mind somehow. He’s gone, Rose. Get a hold of yourself.

But she didn’t want to get a hold of herself. She found, odd as it was, she missed him. She wished she’d given in to the urge to make love to him before she’d left.

He would have been amazing to have sex with, and her body still ached for him. No. She had done the right thing. If she had slept with him, she wouldn’t have been able to walk away from him so easily—or maybe not at all. From now on she’d never see another romantic movie or read another romance book that didn’t make her imagine he and she in place of the main characters. Why couldn’t they just be two normal people who’d randomly met? Why did he have to be a lycan?

Everything revolved around that one thing—him being a lycan. Why couldn’t she get past that?

Hadn’t he proven to her that not all lycans were the horrible monsters she’d thought them to be? He protected her, had been gentle with her even when she hadn’t deserved it—like after she’d shot him—and his kisses and touch made her burn. Each time he’d set those smoldering pools of glowing midnight blue upon her, she’d melt a little. She’d never met a man who could say so much with his eyes.

When he watched her, he never bothered to hide the desire that sizzled in his gaze. His eyes said, I want to possess you. I want to eat you up and make you scream in ecstasy, as clearly as his lips ever could. And his body. Oh, she’d never seen a body as delectable as his. She would like nothing better than to use him as her own personal lollipop. She groaned, got up, and took her plate to the trash, where she dumped it and the remaining contents.

She was fighting a losing battle. She’d allowed him to infect her with his eyes, magical touch, delectable lips, and dominant nature. There was no vaccination, no cure for Knox Slade, and she couldn’t deny any longer that she wanted him, that she’d probably always want him. She sighed, walked to the window, and pulled the curtain aside. If she hadn’t looked at the clock moments before, she’d swear the darkening sky was welcoming evening instead of noon. There was a storm coming in, and the thick gray clouds made the day dreary, gloomy, and dark. It reflected perfectly how she felt—heavy, dismal, and volatile.

She let the curtain fall back into place and went to her room to get dressed. She let her robe fall to the floor and put on a pair of black leather pants, black T-shirt, and black leather vest. She then put on heavy socks and black boots and headed for the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled her hair back, twisted it, and secured it on top of her head with a clip.

She needed to find out more about the place Knox called Sanctuary. She wanted to believe a place like that really existed, but needed to see it for herself. And if it was real, she wanted to be a part of it. It would be a way that she could continue to help with the lycan problem, but also a way that she could stop getting her hands bloody. She needed a change, and as loath as she was to admit it, she needed to be around other people, other people who knew what she knew. She’d been alone for a long time, and she didn’t want to be so anymore. But what if the place does exist, and they don’t want you around? She ignored the question her mind whispered.

She still had her parents, but they traveled abroad most of the time, and after Tammy’s murder, her withdrawal had put quite a strain on their relationship. They’d always love her, as she would them, but they didn’t understand her, nor could they ever really. She’d never tell them about lycans. She couldn’t willingly subject anyone she loved to that knowledge. She stayed in touch with them via phone. It was better to remain distant from them, especially since she carried the scent. She didn’t want to risk putting them in danger.

She’d never forgive herself if something happened to them because of her. She repacked her duffel bag and got more weapons from her stash in the closet, although now that Knox had told her that silver had no affect on lycans, she wasn’t sure she should even bother. But ineffective weapons were better than no weapons at all. She was in constant danger, and she had to have the means to protect herself somehow, even if that protection would only slow the enemy down.

A half hour later, she was ready to go, but decided to wait and see how bad the snowstorm got before trudging out in it. She set the duffel bag by the front door, plopped on the couch, and flipped on the television.

After a few minutes of surfing through the local news and adjusting the rabbit ears to get a somewhat viewable channel—she didn’t watch television enough to bother with satellite or cable—it was evident that she wouldn’t be heading out until tomorrow morning. The storm wasn’t going to be as bad as many she’d seen, but she wasn’t fool enough to risk being stranded in it either.

She stretched out on the old blue sofa that had seen better days, and closed her eyes. She’d relax for a bit and then figure out what she’d cook for dinner.

Rose slowly opened her eyes to a dark room lit by the low glow of the television. Her restless night had apparently taken a toll, and her short nap turned into a few hours of much needed sleep. She sat up and arched her back in a catlike fashion, smiling when it popped in just the right place. She rubbed her eyes and wondered if she should even bother with dinner, but just as she was about to get up and go to the kitchen, all of the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood straight up.

She stilled and cocked her head to the side. Her inner warning bells were clanging away as they had at

Knox’s when the rogue attacked her. She scanned the room, but couldn’t find anything alarming.

Even though she couldn’t detect any immediate danger, it was there nonetheless. She dropped slowly to the floor and inched her way toward the duffel bag by the front door.

It seemed to take forever to inch across a few feet of space, but she wanted to make as little movement as possible. She dug around in the bag and pulled out a gun and dagger, a weapon for each palm. She scooted to the wall and had just pressed her back against it when a thud sounded on the front door, which was right beside her. Her heart hammered in her chest, and if she was right about what was outside her door, it could probably hear each frantic thump.

She swallowed hard and started belly crawling toward the bedroom, but before she got halfway there, the front door splintered, and wood sprayed across the room. She rolled onto her back just as a giant red wolf landed at her feet. She cried out in surprise, aimed, and shot the lycan. Its yelp told her she’d hit her target, but she knew her advantage would be a short one before it recovered. She got up and ran for the bedroom, praying that she’d wounded the wolf bad enough for it to decide she wasn’t worth the bother.

Just as she made it to her room, the window shattered, and another wolf jumped through. This one was bigger and black, with glowing eyes, and fangs dripping saliva. She figured his back would come almost to her waist. She pointed the gun and fired a shot as the wolf leaped and sailed through the air.

Her last thought as the wolf hit her hard, driving her to the ground with its weight, was that she was about to die. As her head smacked the wood floor hard, blackness swam before her eyes, then engulfed her, dragging her down into oblivion. Thank God she wouldn’t be awake for whatever was about to happen to her.