Weeping Willow [Fang Fest 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Read online

  She leaned over trying to recover something worth salvaging but found her midnight visitors had been most thorough. “Dammit.” A sweet, woody fragrance assailed her nostrils. She froze.

  Rum and Maple tobacco. Nostalgia tinkled her mind—a young man at the edge of the woods, puffing deeply as he stared at the library window. His features were obscured by the shady trees but anger and malevolence rolled off him in waves. He was no idle observer. He crushed out the glow of his cigarette with a boot heel and seemed to melt into the dark wall behind him. So did the memory.

  She was not alone. And whoever he was, he was enjoying a full view of her bum. She whirled around bringing the cover up protectively. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing?”

  “Admiring wide spread cheeks of a wench’s arse. Your mons are just plump enough fae a wee peek as weel.” His voice, a contradictory lilting Scottish highland brogue and deep baritone, was arousing. Unashamed of his tented kilt, he leaned back in his oversized, straight-backed chair and spread legs with muscled thighs.

  “I’m getting a not-so-wee peek as weel.” She shook her head “Well. Get out of my room.”

  He blew out a long stream of white smoke and shrugged. “Yer room? We havenae discussed business yet have we? If ye come seeking dower, there isnae any.”

  “You’re the Laird? You were supposed to meet me yesterday. I wouldn’t have been in your bed, uh, room otherwise.”

  “Speak and be done. Claire willnae see to this”—he indicated his protruding erection—”while ye’re still here. Stubborn wench. Unless. Ye’re willing tae leave the next morn.”

  “Claire? Oh the mistress from hell. She can wait and so can your”—she struggled for the words and finally settled on—”needs. We’ll discuss this downstairs after breakfast.”

  Before Willow could blink he was up and directly in front of her. He was incredibly tall, fiercely hard against her softness as he grabbed a fistful of her hair. The heat of his cigarette burned the sensitive summit of her spine. “Ye’ve grown, lass, but only by a wee bit.”

  Willow couldn’t move back or forward, caught between the heat of his body and her singing skin. “Let me go.” She licked her suddenly dry lips.

  A tiny flicker began to blaze in his eyes until the entire pupils were awash with an unholy golden glow. “Do that again. Slowly.”

  “No.”

  “Nay?” His grip tightened, pulling her head back painfully.

  Tears sprang to Willow’s eyes. She obeyed, carefully swiping her tongue across parched lips.

  His jaw clenched. Tousled black peppered with silver locks draped lazily across his brow. His eyes were steel, cold and impenetrable. He was dangerous, an animal straining with corded muscles at a leash close to snapping. Everything faded from existence except for this man. Every pore in her body burst open, greedily sucking in each erotic sensation. “My God. You. Last night. It was you.”

  “Ye will never again give orders tae me. Are ye clear, lass?”

  Willow nodded, eliciting more pain at her scalp. The door flew open. Nonna gasped. “Let her go, you barbarian.”

  His gaze never wavered. “Get out, wench.”

  “Not till you—”

  “Out.” The low timbre of his voice was more menacing then a lion’s roar. Nonna fled with a helpless squeal, slamming the door. He released Willow and resumed his seat. “Ye’re slow tae learn but teaching is half the fun.”

  Willow gave in to her watery knees and plopped down on the bed’s edge. What was the matter with her? Had the combination of fear and subservience triggered a heightened sense of arousal—a raw, basic need for carnal pleasure? Was she relieved that he’d stopped or perversely disappointed? Sluggishly, she tried to make sense of his words. “Slow?” She did feel slow. “Teach me what?”

  He didn’t elaborate. “Ye have business tae discuss.”

  “Business?” Was that Scottish codename for hardcore sex?

  “Speak wench. My cock has need of Claire since ye mouth cannae keep up with ye body. I would ken what ye want before fucking ye.”

  No ambiguity there. The Scots were a crude lot. “My father’s ill. He hasn’t appointed a leader. He didn’t think there was a need. But Murdock died suddenly.” Willow shrugged to hide the shiver of distaste prickling her skin. “He left me childless.”

  “Ye arenae barren are ye?”

  “No.” She said that much too hastily and quickly calmed herself. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “He did try to get ye with bairn?”

  Willow hung her head. She did not wish to disparage her late husband, especially before his younger brother. She answered simply, “Yes.”

  “Aye, so tis the root of it. My spineless brother ploughed ye fields regularly but planted dead seeds.”

  Willow leapt up and caught herself in time before tripping head first with the bed cover. “I’ll match your crudeness. I want that harvest. My clan is owed it. Murdock passed on last month. You didn’t attend his burial. Nor did you bring his body back to your family plot.”

  “He never belonged here.”

  Willow couldn’t deny that. This place was too much of everything for a small-willed man like Murdock. She’d married a candle in a storm. He’d chosen to live in Italy with her and never once came back, even when his own father had passed away.

  “What do ye want from me?”

  “Marriage.”

  “I have nae wish fer a noose nor nag.”

  “I’ll be neither. I just need the protection of your name.”

  “Cameron isnae a name to be tossed around like a shield.”

  “Murdock’s was that, albeit a weak one. Yours would be a blade. While my clansmen squabble amongst themselves, the neighboring Figaros and Dominics are preparing an invasion. I couldn’t keep news of my father’s sickness quiet long.” Two days, to be precise, she admitted with a scowl. Anthony, her father’s adviser, had made sure of that. Somehow she’d have to find a way to prove his perfidy.

  After a long pause, while Altair debated and Willow prayed, he finally answered. “Nay. I willnae pilfer the scraps of mae dead brother like a fucking vulture.”

  Willow squeezed her eyes shut. Refusal she’d expected, but not rudeness. “Is there someone else you wish to wed?”

  “Nay. Ye just arenae mae kind of wench. Ye’re bonny enough to look at and ye skin—tis fine moss. But ye arenae built for mae appetite.” Blatantly ignoring the acid he rubbed into her wounds, he went on, “A mon cannae go hungry fer an eternity. Should I wed I expect tae find release in mae wife. Not the womb of any willing lass.”

  The words slipped from her mouth before she realized, “Fidelity? It’s a pretty word but impossible action. Marriage keeps a woman legally bound to one man while he is bound by nothing.”

  “Sharing? That isnae the issue. I would nae find pleasure in another wench ‘cause it would be impossible for a mon like me. However I would share mae wife with a mon—or two—fer her pleasure will be all that matters tae me.”

  “Pretty words but experience is life’s most cruel lesson.

  “Ye doonae believe me. Perhaps if ye will recall last night ye may understand.”

  He had shared. She’d derived more pleasure then she’d thought possible. So marriage was out. There had to be a middle ground. “You say you don’t find me attractive. But I felt your cock, both last night and this morning. I have an alternate offer.” She faced him bravely. “A baby.” She prayed conviction rather then fear laced her voice as she added, “You may share me with whom you wish for as long as it takes. But the child must be of Cameron seed.”

  He rose slowly, advancing with the grace and intent of a jungle cat stalking its prey. “Tis an offer I cannae refuse.” He stroked her cheek and brought his mouth within a tantalizing kissing distance. Only his breath touched her. “I have rules. Ye will be available tae me and mae brethren any time I wish. Any instruction ye are given will be followed. Immediately.” He lowered his head and nipped sharply at her earlo
be before whispering, “I will punish ye. But I will also reward ye. Ye willnae ever say nae. Ye will be tied down while ye wee puss is fucked with two cocks, ye bonny arse fist-fucked and ye sweet clit eaten whole.”

  He caught the edge of her wrap and stripped it off, twisting her around in a single move. He pressed her face and breasts against the icy pane of the glass as he stroked her crack from behind. Below, she glimpsed a pair of glowing eyes staring up from beneath the dense shifting mist. In the reflection she caught the lengthening of his canines before feeling the razor edges sink into her shoulder. Hard fingers explored her nether channel and plunged deep inside. Willow whimpered and struggled to move her hips to the beat he created. But he held her immobile, imprisoned.

  “I’ll sire that bairn when I’m good and ready. Nae before.”

  Willow cried out as he withdrew. Below two great wolves separated themselves from the swirling fog, stretched their necks and howled. She stumbled back.

  “Ye belong tae us now, sweetling,” came a harsh whisper within her.

  Willow spun around. The room was empty, door firmly shut. She dropped to her knees, cradling her head in shaking hands. Bright droplets of blood splattered onto the floor. What had she gotten herself into? But God help her, she didn’t want to escape.

  Chapter 2

  The body-guards departed in their shiny SUVs. Willow tried to ignore Nonna’s accusing gaze It was an art she’d never mastered—not as a toddler stuffing chocolate éclairs down her sleeves before her mouth, then as a teenager sneaking out her bedroom window for a make-out session with the local bad boy, Philippe Serrano, in squealing leather on an eighteen hundred scrambler and now a full grown widowed woman. She cracked. “They are of no use to me here, Nonna. They’re needed back home.”

  “Humph.”

  “You should have left as well.”

  “As should you.” Nonna clucked her tongue and stomped indoors. Willow rubbed her forehead and followed. “It’s not as though I have a choice. Once word reaches the Figaros and Dominics that we under the protection of Laird Altair Cameron, they will reconsider an invasion, or at least forestall it.”

  “Pending what? News of your coincidental pregnancy.” Regal as a queen Nonna lifted her skirts and ascended the staircase. The mauve carpet was now evident once the layer of dirt had been scrubbed away. Willow would have let the matter lie if Nonna had done the same, “You trade your body for a bastard child to save lands that can never be yours. Your father won’t show a shred of gratitude. Neither will that monster up there show any remorse once he’s done using you.”

  Willow loped after Nonna, catching up just as she entered her room. “Our people, Nonna. Have you forgotten them? What will become of them? And what will happen when they can’t share the spoils of the war? They will fight for dominance until every last one of our people is slaughtered.”

  “Wilhelmina Isabel Catelli.”

  “Oh-oh.”

  “How could I have failed so dismally with you? A child? You cannot even be sure this ruse will work. Anthony still has your father’s ear. He will wonder about this miracle baby conceived after ten years of sterile marriage, conveniently born after its father’s demise and your sudden vacation in your late husband’s land.”

  Willow sighed and trailed her fingers over the intricate carvings framing the mirror. “I have to try.” Tears clogged her throat. “He will not marry me, Nonna.”

  “Thank the good Lord.” She crossed herself and muttered a hasty prayer. “He is the devil I tell you. What manner of creature will he plant in your belly?”

  “A son that will grow under my guiding hand to rule over lands that will one day be his. It’s my family’s heritage irrespective of my father’s negligence and former husband’s limp cock.”

  Nonna beckoned for Willow to sit, picked up a brush and ran soothing strokes down her hair. “I don’t know why I bother. You will do as you wish. Always have.”

  Keeping eye contact in the reflection, Willow clutched Nonna’s wiry hand. “Help me. He changed faster, more violently then Murdock ever had. The beast in him is uncontrollable, wild and vicious.”

  Nonna smiled slightly. “Didn’t I tell you to keep this mass hidden? All this flaming red hair. It would tempt a dead man I tell you.”

  “I was asleep.” Willow blushed.

  “It’ll be alright coo-ca-looc. You don’t carry the dominant gene of your father’s wolf but you do have something—the blood of your mother. Siren-blood. And from all you have told me of your meeting with the Laird, I’d say the man is not as immune as he makes it seem.”

  “I wish Mama was alive but I am thankful you stayed. I admit I’m afraid—and I’m not immune to the man as well.”

  “That is good. Very, very good. At least you will enjoy your coupling. You’ve had a real man in your bed. And you’re about to have three. At the same time. If I were fifty years younger—”

  Willow laughed, already feeling hopeful. “If you were, you’d have had all three running for the hills.”

  Nonna cupped Willow’s shoulders affectionately. “I cannot advise you as a mother and I’ve never encountered a wolf-shifter in my bed. But I can tell you what your mother confided after her first night with your father.”

  “What?”

  “The beast will not be contained. It is more ruthless then the man. Feed the beast, denied it nothing and the man will come to heel.”

  Willow considered the advice. “I can’t even hold my own against the man. Do you really think I’m about to argue with a wild animal?

  Nonna rolled her eyes at the ceiling and clarified, “I never said anything about having a debate with it. Use your body, every tantalizing inch of it. Open yourself completely. Hold nothing back. Everything, coo-ca-looch. It will accept nothing less.”

  * * * *

  The grey wolf sniffed the air. “Tis a storm coming.”

  A sleek black beast kept pace with him and responded mentally, “It isnae a natural storm, Altair. It grows steadily with the arrival of the redhead. Tis a bad omen, that color.”

  “Ye speak the truth Jhor.”

  “Why let her stay? I ken she inflames ye body. Fuck. I arenae in a better state. Wee Claire didnae ken whether tae scream Aye or Nay.” Jhor let loose a long, victorious howl. “Ye shoulda ploughed her juicy meadows, too.”

  “Nay. I havenae taste fer a quick tumble.”

  “Ye’re treating this one different, Altair? Last night was the first time I’ve seen ye give pleasure without extracting full reward fer ye effects.”

  “Mayhap tis ‘cause I still envision her as the wee lass I first saw years afore. She intrigued me then just she does now.”

  “Ye’ve formed a bond?” Pitch paws and protruding claws threw up dirt as Jhor screeched to a stunned halt. “Tis unlike ye tae sip the essence of a human.”

  “Aye.” Resigned to never finding the answer for that lapse in his restraint no matter how much he brainstormed the events of that morning, the grey pushed on harder. He did not like having anything escape his ironclad control, least of all his own actions. “I’ve tasted her blood. Wee, sweet weeping Willow. Tis like nothing I have ever feasted on, entirely unlike the essence of an animal. Tis like fire spreading through my veins, so rich with emotion. Pain and innocence, yet strength and courage, too. She’s a mystery, Jhor. I’m going to peel away each velvet petal until I ken her every secret.”

  The black wolf panted as he resumed his position. “Tis been a long time since we’ve fucked a human together. Such weak creatures.”

  “Sheep, all of them. And they ken it, too. That’s why they pretend we doonae exist.” The newcomer slipped into the space to alpha’s left, completing the pack—black, white, balanced by gray at the center.

  “Ye’re late. Ye do us no favors with the hunt, carrying the stench of sex.”

  Laughter rumbled through Altair’s mind as Jhor intentionally pried into Garret’s thoughts, “He’s just flipped Claire over the bathroom and tupped her glorious
arse.”

  Garret growled in annoyance. “Her pussy was still dripping with ye cum Jhor. I couldnae wait for her tae shower. I just plundered the back entrance before she could lash me with her foul tongue.”

  “Aye. She wanted to ken why everyone’s jumping her bones. She says tis a rare sort of vigor this day.”

  “What said ye, Jhor?”

  “Full moon.”

  “Ye didnae tell her there were a pair of them glorious moons did ye? Plastered against the window competing with the morning rays.”

  “Fuck no. Claire’s a jealous shrew if ever I’ve met one, and from what I hear, Red hasnae the claws to fight back.”

  “Red?”

  “Willow.” Altair enlightened Garret before disagreeing with Jhor’s statement, “She hasnae unsheathed them but they’re there. She’s all purring kitty on the outside, pure predator inside. She willnae submit docilely which sweetens the challenge.”

  “Willow. Her name tastes good on mae tongue.” Garret licked his chops. “Though I cannae believe ye of all people will sire a bastard?”

  An angry growl vibrated through the gray wolf’s chest. “I said I’d sire a bairn. I havenae promised an illegitimate one.”

  “So ye will wed the wench?” Once again Jhor was shocked into miss-stepping.

  “S’truth I doonae ken yet. But tis willnae stop us from sampling her wares.”

  Garret snickered, obviously liking that last statement. “When will we have her?”

  Jhor nipped at Garret’s fore quarter. “Claire cannae bathe in peace. At least let Red have her supp.”

  “A few suppers. We wait till apogee. Tis one thing the old Laird taught me. Soak in a marinade of anxiety and tis worse then the punishment.”

  “The old bastard was a cruel mon, Altair,” warned Garret. “I willnae have ye take a single dried up leaf out of his book.”

  The warning was useless. Altair knew he’d absorbed more then anxiety living under his father’s ruling thumb. He caught himself emulating the former Laird more often then was comfortable. “I’ve assembled and dispatched an army to guard her lands and let it be known that Willow and all she holds dear is nae without protection. I would wait fer the withdrawal of the foe so mae attention isnae divided.”