Drugged, bound, and left as bait on the cusp of the lunar cycle, Wyatt Redding is faced with a terrifying set of no-win scenarios. Best case: he survives the coming days as a werewolf pack’s plaything and returns to the city as a second-class citizen with the mark—and protection—of the pack. Worst case: the wolves sate their lusts with Wyatt’s body, then send him home without their protection, condemning him to live out the rest of his short life as a slave to the worst of humanity’s scorn and abuse.
Wyatt’s only chance is to swallow every ounce of pride, bury his fear, and meekly comply with every wicked desire and carnal demand the wolf pack makes of him. He expects three days of sex and humiliation. What he doesn’t expect is to start enjoying it. Or to grow attached to his captor and pack Alpha, Cole.
As the lunar cycle ends, Wyatt begins to realize that the only thing to fear more than being sent home without the pack’s protection is being sent home at all.
READER DISCRETION ADVISED.
Chapter One
Sweat trickled down Wyatt’s temples and pasted the thin cotton of his oxford to his shoulders and spine. Muzzy headed, arms and legs as heavy as cement, he fought to swim up from the deadening lethargy, but it was no use. He must’ve been drugged. He didn’t remember that happening, only his brother’s jeering voice reverberating inside the hood that had dropped over his head in the parking garage at work.
Whatever Andrew had injected into him had numbed the fear, or he’d be pissing in his pants right now.
Judging by the puff of humid air that whispered across his brow, he was free of the burlap shroud, but more fabric pressed his eyelids shut, so Andrew must have blindfolded him after he’d passed out. Gagged him too. He yanked his hands, but his wrists were bound tightly behind his back. He couldn’t budge his legs, either. The steady engine rumble and vibrations under his aching body suggested he was in a car, probably the trunk. The lack of traffic noise told Wyatt they were outside the city.
During the onset of the full moon.
The gag muffled his scream. Damn Andrew’s greed! As Wyatt struggled, he knew there would be no escape, just as he knew the fault lay on his shoulders as much as his brother’s. Andrew was dangerous. Impulsive and reckless. Occasionally cruel. But Wyatt hadn’t wanted to believe his brother was ruthless enough to throw him—a source of steady income—to the wolves. At best, his brother would seize his property and obtain a few years’ access to the whole of his income rather than the monthly payments he made to buy his safety. His brother’s profit would end when either the wolves or humans in the city inevitably killed Wyatt—and the longest a caught human had lasted was a scant three years. With Wyatt’s long-term earning potential, he was more valuable to his brother alive, as a free man. So he’d been certain Andrew wouldn’t dare.
Wyatt had rarely been so catastrophically wrong.
Tiring under the dizzy spin of drugs, he stopped struggling. He wouldn’t get away. Andrew was feral, but smart. He would’ve arranged this betrayal too neatly. Wyatt had to relax and find a plan. What had the firm’s security expert advised in abduction scenarios?
Acceptance. Passive submission. Wolves might let him live if he didn’t fight them. Human enemies were far less merciful.
And if he was careful, if he was clever, he might one day escape. Like everyone who could afford to, he’d prepared for the possibility of fleeing the city by hiding money and supplies. If he made it out of the next three days alive, and if he could evade his brother, other humans, and the wolves who secretly prowled the streets to keep a possessive eye on those who’d already been claimed as theirs . . . Running to a place no one knew he’d ever been the plaything of wolves and humans alike would be his only chance.
He just had to survive this full moon. Only three days. If he won a wolf’s token, the city’s citizens wouldn’t risk harming him. Once he could retrieve his emergency fund and supplies, he might be able to finesse an opportunity to slip away.
But the next three days would change him forever. The life he’d known was over. The first wolf hadn’t even touched him yet, and already his world had disintegrated to dust. No more plans for attaining a corner office. No more dates with Sandra ending in a sated and sweaty tangle in her bed. The Mustang convertible he’d driven, the Italian shoes lined up neatly in his closet, the partnership he’d been working toward—all of that was gone.
If he survived the full moon, cameras at the city gates would record his return. Andrew would loot his property. Only the few survivors who earned a wolf’s token were permitted to work for wages, which were turned over to the survivor’s next of kin. And if he didn’t earn the token, he’d be trading his mouth and his ass to colleagues for a dirty corner of the firm’s basement between full moons. But life with his brother would be worse. At least the firm wouldn’t whore him to outsiders if he failed to earn a token. Peterson, from the tax division, hadn’t been prostituted, anyway. He served his typical ninety-hour weeks, except now for free, and bent over for the firm’s senior partners alone. Not that Wyatt had ever been tempted to try him, or any other survivor who’d returned without a token. Watching his father, who had been lost to the wolves when Wyatt was just fifteen, fade and die by inches in the slow aftermath of the full moon—until he’d just disappeared completely—had cured Wyatt of that. But he numbered among the very few who didn’t join in such abuses.
Maybe dying quickly would be best.
No!
Wyatt had never backed down from anything in his life. He hadn’t given up after his dad had been taken. He hadn’t stopped scrabbling for a better life in college, and he sure hadn’t let the smear his father’s fate had left on his reputation stop him from attaining a position in the city’s most prestigious law firm. He wouldn’t give up now, either.
The only way out was through.
He’d be compliant. Meek. He’d do whatever he had to do to stay alive and keep the wolves happily entertained. Because his best and only chance was to return to the city in three days wearing that token in his ear. When the rabid attention on him slackened, Wyatt would grab his bugout bag and run. Not to the neighboring city, which was too close. Maybe the other side of the country would be safe. Wolves didn’t like the desert, or so gossip said. Wide open spaces without concrete, noise, and pollution sounded amazing. A place where no one would hurt him. He could live simply and in peace. That was worth fighting for. Even if wolves chased him or humans killed him in his trek to safety, he had to try.
First, though, he needed to become a pack’s bitch.
His heart beat a frantic tap against his rib cage when the car slowed and the crunch of rocks under the tires overwhelmed the roaring of his pulse in his ears. He forced his taut muscles to unclench, made his body loose. Andrew would abandon him in wolf territory faster if he believed Wyatt was unconscious. When the trunk lid squealed as it rose, he schooled his features as best as he could, tried to ease his trembling.
Andrew snorted. “I know you’re awake.” But his brother didn’t waste time taunting him with his helplessness or gloating over his looming debauchery. He didn’t land unnecessary slaps and kicks as he muscled Wyatt’s deadweight from the trunk. He simply dropped him to the gritty earth, the impact shooting pain down his arms bound at the base of his spine. “Be as smart as you think you are, for once. Trussed up tight, there’s no reason you can’t earn a token from one of them.”
Wyatt’s rage flashed hot, but his brother only laughed at the taut stiffening of Wyatt’s muscles. “Fail to win a token and I’ll be the least of your worries. You’d never reach your condo without a pack’s protection. The crowd would take you first. If it wasn’t for your salary, I wouldn’t mind watching them wreck you.” Andrew laughed and roughly patted Wyatt’s head, snorting when Wyatt jerked away. “But I want your pay more. Your assets will settle my gambling debts, and your salary will stake me for a few more years. So get a token . . . or don’t bother coming back to the city at all.” He tugged hard at Wyatt’s so-far bare earlobe. “Have fun, Counselor.”
The muffled thump of the car door closing followed moments later, then the revving of the engine. His brother, his last link to the human world he had scrambled his way to the top of, disappeared down a country road Wyatt couldn’t see around the blindfold.
On the positive side, Andrew hadn’t shot him in the head and then blamed his murder on the wolves.
On the negative, Wyatt’s ability to move freely was limited to shaking.
Had the sun set yet? Did that even matter?
Three days. Everyone in the city locked themselves behind fortified doors for the three days the wolves ran freely under the sway of their cursed full moon. Seventy-two hours. Wyatt just had to hold on that long.
Cold sweat slicked him at the snap of twigs and the steady cadence of breathing marking someone’s approach. He froze, still as a statue, hoping Andrew hadn’t left him in an open area, vulnerable to whatever wolf happened to be nearby, but knowing his brother had. The sooner his deflowering and humiliation began, the better from Andrew’s perspective.
He told himself not to panic, not to flinch, to take whatever they dished out to him, to survive, but he shuddered at the brush of hands up his chest, the press of a thankfully still-human nose in the crook of his neck. The stranger sucked in Wyatt’s scent, his touch turning rough as it skated across his shoulder. Wyatt froze, heart pounding madly. Waiting to see what the wolf would do. Then he yelped at the first slash of claws.
The wolf was careful. Wyatt had to give him that much credit, but stoned and ruled by mindless fear, he cried out at the rip of fabric and cringed from scratches as the wolf efficiently shredded Wyatt’s clothing.
“Be still and I won’t hurt you,” the wolf said with a low growl, and slowed to take greater care slicing the cloth. That the beast was preserving the bindings that immobilized Wyatt’s wrists and ankles didn’t occur to him for terrifying minutes. He squirmed a little more, earning a few nicks and cuts when his writhing fouled the wolf’s precise slashes that freed the remains of Wyatt’s trousers.
“Be still!”
Gasping in great gulps of air, Wyatt froze. The wolf removed the rest of Wyatt’s pants and then his underwear by strips. He tugged to pull loose tattered cloth under Wyatt’s bared backside.
He tried not to think about how vulnerable he was, his ass naked in the stony dirt. Just a nudge. That was all it would take. Push Wyatt onto his side and the wolf could shove his cock deep into his untried hole. No action Wyatt could take would prevent that from happening now. Or ever again.
The wolf didn’t rape him, though. Wyatt couldn’t see through the blindfold—God, Andrew was a vicious bastard—but he knew the wolf couldn’t have left him, wouldn’t have gone far. Was he staring at his prize? Reveling in Wyatt’s helplessness? Or deciding how to hurt and humiliate him first?
That question was answered when the wolf pushed him more firmly onto his back, the position uncomfortable with his bound arms stuck underneath. When the wolf had maneuvered Wyatt as he wanted, his touch—ripping claws now retracted—moved to Wyatt’s hips, pressing his ass into the rocks beneath him. A nudge on his thighs spread his legs, presenting his limp cock for the wolf’s inspection. Wyatt whined piteously through the gag. He couldn’t help it, but the wolf didn’t seem to pay that any mind. He held Wyatt splayed and wanton for moments that felt like lifetimes, until Wyatt’s noisy distress quieted.
When Wyatt’s tense muscles relaxed, then—only then—did the wolf react. “Good boy.”
A shiver of dread shot up Wyatt’s spine at the wicked sin in those two words.
Apparently satisfied with his new toy, the wolf lifted off Wyatt, but his relief was short-lived. Wyatt screamed as his doped senses took a chaotic tumble. The wolf heaved him into the air and slung him over what felt like the wolf’s shoulder, barren of fur, thank God. Wyatt’s blood rushed to his head. A fireman’s carry? He shrieked again at the crack of the wolf’s hand on his tender skin and the sudden sting in his ass cheek. “Settle down,” the wolf ordered.
Wyatt wanted to live. Very much. But it still took two more swats on his ass to convince him that wriggling and yelling would only result in displeasing the wolf, who would do what he liked with Wyatt anyway. Frustration burned his eyes behind the blindfold in odd juxtaposition to the burning from the smacks the wolf had landed on his upended ass, but Wyatt wrestled control over his terror. Somehow. He shut up, and when he stopped fighting the wolf, the hand that had abused his ass patted it instead. “Good boy,” the wolf said again.
They sprang forward. Behind his back, Wyatt’s hands clenched. He couldn’t see. The wild tang of the wolf’s scent flooded his nostrils. Leaves and thin twigs whipped his skin as the wolf raced through the woods. Wyatt concentrated on not throwing up or hyperventilating. He focused on doing whatever it took to stay alive.
He wished to God he’d surrendered to Andrew’s demands for more money.
He hoped, when they raped him, that it wouldn’t hurt too much, that he wouldn’t cry or beg.
The wolf finally slowed. The crackle of a campfire blended with the low murmur of others. Wyatt tried to count the voices so he’d at least know how many would fuck him, but he was too quickly distracted by the wolf stroking his ass. The wolf halted and dumped him, unceremoniously, to the ground. For the second time today, he landed on the earth, but this time his fall was cushioned by a thick carpet of grass. The background hum of voices didn’t falter or come closer as the wolf who’d captured him fisted Wyatt’s hair to pull him awkwardly to his knees. The wolf’s claws sliced a corner of the gag near his ear, drawing only a little wet blood. The foul twist of fabric finally fell away.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Wyatt tried to say, but the words came out in a slur, roughened by the dryness of his mouth and the remnants of the sedatives. He worked his jaw to try to relieve some of the ache and tried again. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
“Prove it,” the wolf said. “Lick.”
Chapter Two
Panting, Wyatt flinched when something hard but silky skimmed his parted lips. The hand in his hair quickly forced him back. He smelled piss and sweat as the brush of warm skin slid over his mouth again.
Oh God. The thing tapping against Wyatt’s lips was the wolf’s cock. Had to be. Wyatt’s gut knotted, stomach churning with sick fear. He would’ve cringed again if the wolf’s steely grip had allowed that, but the wolf only pulled Wyatt’s mouth nearer so the satiny tip rubbed more urgently against his face.
“Lick!”
Quivering all over, Wyatt struggled to relax the muscles that had bunched tight in instinctive resistance. He wanted to live. He must survive this. So he swallowed his pride and forced his stubbornly taut body to go lax. He did as he was told: He stabbed a tentative tongue from his dry mouth. And he licked.
The wolf’s salty, bitter flavor swamped him, not entirely unpleasant or as horrible as he imagined the taste might be if he’d been given more than a few seconds’ opportunity to consider what a dick on his tongue would be like.
Wyatt wasn’t gay. He’d never had another man’s cock near his mouth before and didn’t especially want one there now, but no matter what, he had to comply with the wolf’s every demand. All the wolves of this pack, the voices in the background he hadn’t been able to distinguish, would require his unwavering submission. He wouldn’t become a statistic, another disappearance. He would get through this—and by the next lunar cycle, he’d be hiking to the desert where he would never worry or be afraid again. He’d be free of the city. Of the wolves too. For that, he’d give this wolf whatever he damn well wanted.
So Wyatt licked. He darted his tongue along the spongy head, tracing the ridged rim. He ruthlessly stamped down his screaming trepidation and heeded the wolf, whose fist in Wyatt’s hair slowly loosened. “Every man likes his dick sucked,” the wolf said. “Just do what you like done to you. Go on. Prove you’ll obey me.”
His own cock hung limp between his legs, but Wyatt didn’t want to hurt, so he gave the wolf’s cock all the avid attention he could muster.
He dipped the tip of his tongue into the center slit, heart thundering when he scooped out a droplet of sourness that must be pre-cum. He tightened his hands behind his back into fists, but he nonetheless leaned forward and chased that droplet, swiping the wolf’s slit for more. The wolf’s low moan whispered in his ears as he slid his tongue along the underside of the head, searching out the bundle of nerves that made Wyatt tingle and his arousal surge when Sandra sucked him.
The hand in his hair petted rather than restrained. Guided him rather than forced. “Open your mouth,” the wolf said, his voice gone guttural with lust.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips, and the wolf slid his cockhead right inside. Wyatt made a sound then, partially muffled by the wolf’s dick instead of the gag, but still discernible as a faint whine of protest, of plea.
The wolf chuckled. “Keep licking. And suck. Just the head. Dazzle me with how good you are going to be to us.”
More than a little afraid that he might be sick, Wyatt ignored the scared quivering of his body and gave the wolf his all. He sealed his lips around the meaty girth of the cock and sucked as though the wolf were candy. He licked, trilling his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks to vacuum more pre-cum. Remembering a trick Sandra had pulled on him that had rocked his world, he hummed as he sucked, knowing the vibrations would intensify the wolf’s pleasure. His jaw ached from the gag and his mouth was too dry for this, but he didn’t care.
If he submitted to the wolf, surrendered, showed him that Wyatt would apply himself to pleasuring him, maybe the wolf would take pity. Maybe the wolf would try to make Wyatt’s inevitable debauchery less painful.
Maybe the wolf would deem Wyatt worthy of his protection. Give Wyatt his token.
More of the length slid into Wyatt’s mouth, and he sucked, chasing the tip with his tongue as the dick withdrew, then returned. The wolf groaned and fucked Wyatt’s mouth, pushing a little more of his cock into him with each thrust. Wyatt curled his toes into the grassy earth to maintain his precarious balance as the wolf rocked in and out of his mouth.
What was his brother doing while a wolf used his mouth as a convenient fuckhole? Had he returned to the city yet? Or had another wolf hunted and caught him before he’d reached safety? Wyatt hoped another pack had ambushed the bastard. The only thing that made the wolf’s cock drumming against the back of his throat bearable was the notion that Andrew might be experiencing the same. As the wolf pushed his cock head forward, breaching Wyatt’s throat, Wyatt fantasized that Andrew might be on the receiving end of worse.
Wolves didn’t respect humans. They believed humans were weak, inferior creatures to be ruthlessly used. But they disliked predatory humans who sought to manipulate wolves into serving their own selfish purposes even more.
Wyatt choked on the dick forging a tight path down his throat. And feverishly wished for his brother to feel even a tenth of his own humiliation and fear.
“Relax your throat. Time your breaths. If you puke on my dick . . .” the wolf growled.
Since he didn’t want to find out what might happen if he puked on the wolf’s cock, Wyatt wrestled his gag reflex under control and sucked as best as he could. Fortunately, the wolf didn’t take much longer to ejaculate. No warning. He simply withdrew his cock until only the tip breached Wyatt’s lips, and sprayed spurt after spurt of sour, sticky semen onto Wyatt’s tongue. Tasted horrible. Nasty. The gobs were thick goo in his mouth. His face must have indicated his repugnance because the wolf pinched Wyatt’s chin between two hard fingers. “Swallow,” he snarled.
Belly roiling, Wyatt did what he said. He hated the salty, gamey taste and the slimy texture. More than all else, he loathed the necessity of survival forcing him to complete an act he’d never, ever wanted. But he gulped the load of semen down anyway.
The wolf let his dick fall from Wyatt’s lips and patted Wyatt’s cheek. “Good boy.”
“Well, well, well,” another voice drawled. “What do we have, hmm?”
Wyatt stiffened, alarm zinging through him. Had this wolf watched him suck the other one off? Enjoyed the show?
“Straight, judging by the lack of finesse. A virgin. Human in a red Mercury abandoned him along the access road.”
“A generous gift,” the newcomer said.
“Very,” the wolf whose cum now warmed Wyatt’s stomach said. “I got the car’s tags.”
Startled, Wyatt tipped his head up, as though the blindfold weren’t there anymore. Andrew? They’d identified his brother? Evil satisfaction exploded inside him.
“Probably stolen, but we’ll inform the Elders. They’ll track that car to the source.”
The wolf who’d used Wyatt’s mouth grunted in agreement. “What this human lacks in skill, he makes up for with desperate enthusiasm. Gives great head.”
Wyatt trembled.
“Is that so?” the second wolf said, a smile creeping into his voice that chilled Wyatt’s blood.
“Petrified we’ll hurt him,” Wyatt’s wolf confirmed. “You should try him. He’s nervous, but deliciously obedient.”
Another dick pressed against Wyatt’s lips.
Both wolves laughed as he opened wide.
Sweat trickled down Wyatt’s temples and pasted the thin cotton of his oxford to his shoulders and spine. Muzzy headed, arms and legs as heavy as cement, he fought to swim up from the deadening lethargy, but it was no use. He must’ve been drugged. He didn’t remember that happening, only his brother’s jeering voice reverberating inside the hood that had dropped over his head in the parking garage at work.
Whatever Andrew had injected into him had numbed the fear, or he’d be pissing in his pants right now.
Judging by the puff of humid air that whispered across his brow, he was free of the burlap shroud, but more fabric pressed his eyelids shut, so Andrew must have blindfolded him after he’d passed out. Gagged him too. He yanked his hands, but his wrists were bound tightly behind his back. He couldn’t budge his legs, either. The steady engine rumble and vibrations under his aching body suggested he was in a car, probably the trunk. The lack of traffic noise told Wyatt they were outside the city.
During the onset of the full moon.
The gag muffled his scream. Damn Andrew’s greed! As Wyatt struggled, he knew there would be no escape, just as he knew the fault lay on his shoulders as much as his brother’s. Andrew was dangerous. Impulsive and reckless. Occasionally cruel. But Wyatt hadn’t wanted to believe his brother was ruthless enough to throw him—a source of steady income—to the wolves. At best, his brother would seize his property and obtain a few years’ access to the whole of his income rather than the monthly payments he made to buy his safety. His brother’s profit would end when either the wolves or humans in the city inevitably killed Wyatt—and the longest a caught human had lasted was a scant three years. With Wyatt’s long-term earning potential, he was more valuable to his brother alive, as a free man. So he’d been certain Andrew wouldn’t dare.
Wyatt had rarely been so catastrophically wrong.
Tiring under the dizzy spin of drugs, he stopped struggling. He wouldn’t get away. Andrew was feral, but smart. He would’ve arranged this betrayal too neatly. Wyatt had to relax and find a plan. What had the firm’s security expert advised in abduction scenarios?
Acceptance. Passive submission. Wolves might let him live if he didn’t fight them. Human enemies were far less merciful.
And if he was careful, if he was clever, he might one day escape. Like everyone who could afford to, he’d prepared for the possibility of fleeing the city by hiding money and supplies. If he made it out of the next three days alive, and if he could evade his brother, other humans, and the wolves who secretly prowled the streets to keep a possessive eye on those who’d already been claimed as theirs . . . Running to a place no one knew he’d ever been the plaything of wolves and humans alike would be his only chance.
He just had to survive this full moon. Only three days. If he won a wolf’s token, the city’s citizens wouldn’t risk harming him. Once he could retrieve his emergency fund and supplies, he might be able to finesse an opportunity to slip away.
But the next three days would change him forever. The life he’d known was over. The first wolf hadn’t even touched him yet, and already his world had disintegrated to dust. No more plans for attaining a corner office. No more dates with Sandra ending in a sated and sweaty tangle in her bed. The Mustang convertible he’d driven, the Italian shoes lined up neatly in his closet, the partnership he’d been working toward—all of that was gone.
If he survived the full moon, cameras at the city gates would record his return. Andrew would loot his property. Only the few survivors who earned a wolf’s token were permitted to work for wages, which were turned over to the survivor’s next of kin. And if he didn’t earn the token, he’d be trading his mouth and his ass to colleagues for a dirty corner of the firm’s basement between full moons. But life with his brother would be worse. At least the firm wouldn’t whore him to outsiders if he failed to earn a token. Peterson, from the tax division, hadn’t been prostituted, anyway. He served his typical ninety-hour weeks, except now for free, and bent over for the firm’s senior partners alone. Not that Wyatt had ever been tempted to try him, or any other survivor who’d returned without a token. Watching his father, who had been lost to the wolves when Wyatt was just fifteen, fade and die by inches in the slow aftermath of the full moon—until he’d just disappeared completely—had cured Wyatt of that. But he numbered among the very few who didn’t join in such abuses.
Maybe dying quickly would be best.
No!
Wyatt had never backed down from anything in his life. He hadn’t given up after his dad had been taken. He hadn’t stopped scrabbling for a better life in college, and he sure hadn’t let the smear his father’s fate had left on his reputation stop him from attaining a position in the city’s most prestigious law firm. He wouldn’t give up now, either.
The only way out was through.
He’d be compliant. Meek. He’d do whatever he had to do to stay alive and keep the wolves happily entertained. Because his best and only chance was to return to the city in three days wearing that token in his ear. When the rabid attention on him slackened, Wyatt would grab his bugout bag and run. Not to the neighboring city, which was too close. Maybe the other side of the country would be safe. Wolves didn’t like the desert, or so gossip said. Wide open spaces without concrete, noise, and pollution sounded amazing. A place where no one would hurt him. He could live simply and in peace. That was worth fighting for. Even if wolves chased him or humans killed him in his trek to safety, he had to try.
First, though, he needed to become a pack’s bitch.
His heart beat a frantic tap against his rib cage when the car slowed and the crunch of rocks under the tires overwhelmed the roaring of his pulse in his ears. He forced his taut muscles to unclench, made his body loose. Andrew would abandon him in wolf territory faster if he believed Wyatt was unconscious. When the trunk lid squealed as it rose, he schooled his features as best as he could, tried to ease his trembling.
Andrew snorted. “I know you’re awake.” But his brother didn’t waste time taunting him with his helplessness or gloating over his looming debauchery. He didn’t land unnecessary slaps and kicks as he muscled Wyatt’s deadweight from the trunk. He simply dropped him to the gritty earth, the impact shooting pain down his arms bound at the base of his spine. “Be as smart as you think you are, for once. Trussed up tight, there’s no reason you can’t earn a token from one of them.”
Wyatt’s rage flashed hot, but his brother only laughed at the taut stiffening of Wyatt’s muscles. “Fail to win a token and I’ll be the least of your worries. You’d never reach your condo without a pack’s protection. The crowd would take you first. If it wasn’t for your salary, I wouldn’t mind watching them wreck you.” Andrew laughed and roughly patted Wyatt’s head, snorting when Wyatt jerked away. “But I want your pay more. Your assets will settle my gambling debts, and your salary will stake me for a few more years. So get a token . . . or don’t bother coming back to the city at all.” He tugged hard at Wyatt’s so-far bare earlobe. “Have fun, Counselor.”
The muffled thump of the car door closing followed moments later, then the revving of the engine. His brother, his last link to the human world he had scrambled his way to the top of, disappeared down a country road Wyatt couldn’t see around the blindfold.
On the positive side, Andrew hadn’t shot him in the head and then blamed his murder on the wolves.
On the negative, Wyatt’s ability to move freely was limited to shaking.
Had the sun set yet? Did that even matter?
Three days. Everyone in the city locked themselves behind fortified doors for the three days the wolves ran freely under the sway of their cursed full moon. Seventy-two hours. Wyatt just had to hold on that long.
Cold sweat slicked him at the snap of twigs and the steady cadence of breathing marking someone’s approach. He froze, still as a statue, hoping Andrew hadn’t left him in an open area, vulnerable to whatever wolf happened to be nearby, but knowing his brother had. The sooner his deflowering and humiliation began, the better from Andrew’s perspective.
He told himself not to panic, not to flinch, to take whatever they dished out to him, to survive, but he shuddered at the brush of hands up his chest, the press of a thankfully still-human nose in the crook of his neck. The stranger sucked in Wyatt’s scent, his touch turning rough as it skated across his shoulder. Wyatt froze, heart pounding madly. Waiting to see what the wolf would do. Then he yelped at the first slash of claws.
The wolf was careful. Wyatt had to give him that much credit, but stoned and ruled by mindless fear, he cried out at the rip of fabric and cringed from scratches as the wolf efficiently shredded Wyatt’s clothing.
“Be still and I won’t hurt you,” the wolf said with a low growl, and slowed to take greater care slicing the cloth. That the beast was preserving the bindings that immobilized Wyatt’s wrists and ankles didn’t occur to him for terrifying minutes. He squirmed a little more, earning a few nicks and cuts when his writhing fouled the wolf’s precise slashes that freed the remains of Wyatt’s trousers.
“Be still!”
Gasping in great gulps of air, Wyatt froze. The wolf removed the rest of Wyatt’s pants and then his underwear by strips. He tugged to pull loose tattered cloth under Wyatt’s bared backside.
He tried not to think about how vulnerable he was, his ass naked in the stony dirt. Just a nudge. That was all it would take. Push Wyatt onto his side and the wolf could shove his cock deep into his untried hole. No action Wyatt could take would prevent that from happening now. Or ever again.
The wolf didn’t rape him, though. Wyatt couldn’t see through the blindfold—God, Andrew was a vicious bastard—but he knew the wolf couldn’t have left him, wouldn’t have gone far. Was he staring at his prize? Reveling in Wyatt’s helplessness? Or deciding how to hurt and humiliate him first?
That question was answered when the wolf pushed him more firmly onto his back, the position uncomfortable with his bound arms stuck underneath. When the wolf had maneuvered Wyatt as he wanted, his touch—ripping claws now retracted—moved to Wyatt’s hips, pressing his ass into the rocks beneath him. A nudge on his thighs spread his legs, presenting his limp cock for the wolf’s inspection. Wyatt whined piteously through the gag. He couldn’t help it, but the wolf didn’t seem to pay that any mind. He held Wyatt splayed and wanton for moments that felt like lifetimes, until Wyatt’s noisy distress quieted.
When Wyatt’s tense muscles relaxed, then—only then—did the wolf react. “Good boy.”
A shiver of dread shot up Wyatt’s spine at the wicked sin in those two words.
Apparently satisfied with his new toy, the wolf lifted off Wyatt, but his relief was short-lived. Wyatt screamed as his doped senses took a chaotic tumble. The wolf heaved him into the air and slung him over what felt like the wolf’s shoulder, barren of fur, thank God. Wyatt’s blood rushed to his head. A fireman’s carry? He shrieked again at the crack of the wolf’s hand on his tender skin and the sudden sting in his ass cheek. “Settle down,” the wolf ordered.
Wyatt wanted to live. Very much. But it still took two more swats on his ass to convince him that wriggling and yelling would only result in displeasing the wolf, who would do what he liked with Wyatt anyway. Frustration burned his eyes behind the blindfold in odd juxtaposition to the burning from the smacks the wolf had landed on his upended ass, but Wyatt wrestled control over his terror. Somehow. He shut up, and when he stopped fighting the wolf, the hand that had abused his ass patted it instead. “Good boy,” the wolf said again.
They sprang forward. Behind his back, Wyatt’s hands clenched. He couldn’t see. The wild tang of the wolf’s scent flooded his nostrils. Leaves and thin twigs whipped his skin as the wolf raced through the woods. Wyatt concentrated on not throwing up or hyperventilating. He focused on doing whatever it took to stay alive.
He wished to God he’d surrendered to Andrew’s demands for more money.
He hoped, when they raped him, that it wouldn’t hurt too much, that he wouldn’t cry or beg.
The wolf finally slowed. The crackle of a campfire blended with the low murmur of others. Wyatt tried to count the voices so he’d at least know how many would fuck him, but he was too quickly distracted by the wolf stroking his ass. The wolf halted and dumped him, unceremoniously, to the ground. For the second time today, he landed on the earth, but this time his fall was cushioned by a thick carpet of grass. The background hum of voices didn’t falter or come closer as the wolf who’d captured him fisted Wyatt’s hair to pull him awkwardly to his knees. The wolf’s claws sliced a corner of the gag near his ear, drawing only a little wet blood. The foul twist of fabric finally fell away.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Wyatt tried to say, but the words came out in a slur, roughened by the dryness of his mouth and the remnants of the sedatives. He worked his jaw to try to relieve some of the ache and tried again. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
“Prove it,” the wolf said. “Lick.”
Chapter Two
Panting, Wyatt flinched when something hard but silky skimmed his parted lips. The hand in his hair quickly forced him back. He smelled piss and sweat as the brush of warm skin slid over his mouth again.
Oh God. The thing tapping against Wyatt’s lips was the wolf’s cock. Had to be. Wyatt’s gut knotted, stomach churning with sick fear. He would’ve cringed again if the wolf’s steely grip had allowed that, but the wolf only pulled Wyatt’s mouth nearer so the satiny tip rubbed more urgently against his face.
“Lick!”
Quivering all over, Wyatt struggled to relax the muscles that had bunched tight in instinctive resistance. He wanted to live. He must survive this. So he swallowed his pride and forced his stubbornly taut body to go lax. He did as he was told: He stabbed a tentative tongue from his dry mouth. And he licked.
The wolf’s salty, bitter flavor swamped him, not entirely unpleasant or as horrible as he imagined the taste might be if he’d been given more than a few seconds’ opportunity to consider what a dick on his tongue would be like.
Wyatt wasn’t gay. He’d never had another man’s cock near his mouth before and didn’t especially want one there now, but no matter what, he had to comply with the wolf’s every demand. All the wolves of this pack, the voices in the background he hadn’t been able to distinguish, would require his unwavering submission. He wouldn’t become a statistic, another disappearance. He would get through this—and by the next lunar cycle, he’d be hiking to the desert where he would never worry or be afraid again. He’d be free of the city. Of the wolves too. For that, he’d give this wolf whatever he damn well wanted.
So Wyatt licked. He darted his tongue along the spongy head, tracing the ridged rim. He ruthlessly stamped down his screaming trepidation and heeded the wolf, whose fist in Wyatt’s hair slowly loosened. “Every man likes his dick sucked,” the wolf said. “Just do what you like done to you. Go on. Prove you’ll obey me.”
His own cock hung limp between his legs, but Wyatt didn’t want to hurt, so he gave the wolf’s cock all the avid attention he could muster.
He dipped the tip of his tongue into the center slit, heart thundering when he scooped out a droplet of sourness that must be pre-cum. He tightened his hands behind his back into fists, but he nonetheless leaned forward and chased that droplet, swiping the wolf’s slit for more. The wolf’s low moan whispered in his ears as he slid his tongue along the underside of the head, searching out the bundle of nerves that made Wyatt tingle and his arousal surge when Sandra sucked him.
The hand in his hair petted rather than restrained. Guided him rather than forced. “Open your mouth,” the wolf said, his voice gone guttural with lust.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips, and the wolf slid his cockhead right inside. Wyatt made a sound then, partially muffled by the wolf’s dick instead of the gag, but still discernible as a faint whine of protest, of plea.
The wolf chuckled. “Keep licking. And suck. Just the head. Dazzle me with how good you are going to be to us.”
More than a little afraid that he might be sick, Wyatt ignored the scared quivering of his body and gave the wolf his all. He sealed his lips around the meaty girth of the cock and sucked as though the wolf were candy. He licked, trilling his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks to vacuum more pre-cum. Remembering a trick Sandra had pulled on him that had rocked his world, he hummed as he sucked, knowing the vibrations would intensify the wolf’s pleasure. His jaw ached from the gag and his mouth was too dry for this, but he didn’t care.
If he submitted to the wolf, surrendered, showed him that Wyatt would apply himself to pleasuring him, maybe the wolf would take pity. Maybe the wolf would try to make Wyatt’s inevitable debauchery less painful.
Maybe the wolf would deem Wyatt worthy of his protection. Give Wyatt his token.
More of the length slid into Wyatt’s mouth, and he sucked, chasing the tip with his tongue as the dick withdrew, then returned. The wolf groaned and fucked Wyatt’s mouth, pushing a little more of his cock into him with each thrust. Wyatt curled his toes into the grassy earth to maintain his precarious balance as the wolf rocked in and out of his mouth.
What was his brother doing while a wolf used his mouth as a convenient fuckhole? Had he returned to the city yet? Or had another wolf hunted and caught him before he’d reached safety? Wyatt hoped another pack had ambushed the bastard. The only thing that made the wolf’s cock drumming against the back of his throat bearable was the notion that Andrew might be experiencing the same. As the wolf pushed his cock head forward, breaching Wyatt’s throat, Wyatt fantasized that Andrew might be on the receiving end of worse.
Wolves didn’t respect humans. They believed humans were weak, inferior creatures to be ruthlessly used. But they disliked predatory humans who sought to manipulate wolves into serving their own selfish purposes even more.
Wyatt choked on the dick forging a tight path down his throat. And feverishly wished for his brother to feel even a tenth of his own humiliation and fear.
“Relax your throat. Time your breaths. If you puke on my dick . . .” the wolf growled.
Since he didn’t want to find out what might happen if he puked on the wolf’s cock, Wyatt wrestled his gag reflex under control and sucked as best as he could. Fortunately, the wolf didn’t take much longer to ejaculate. No warning. He simply withdrew his cock until only the tip breached Wyatt’s lips, and sprayed spurt after spurt of sour, sticky semen onto Wyatt’s tongue. Tasted horrible. Nasty. The gobs were thick goo in his mouth. His face must have indicated his repugnance because the wolf pinched Wyatt’s chin between two hard fingers. “Swallow,” he snarled.
Belly roiling, Wyatt did what he said. He hated the salty, gamey taste and the slimy texture. More than all else, he loathed the necessity of survival forcing him to complete an act he’d never, ever wanted. But he gulped the load of semen down anyway.
The wolf let his dick fall from Wyatt’s lips and patted Wyatt’s cheek. “Good boy.”
“Well, well, well,” another voice drawled. “What do we have, hmm?”
Wyatt stiffened, alarm zinging through him. Had this wolf watched him suck the other one off? Enjoyed the show?
“Straight, judging by the lack of finesse. A virgin. Human in a red Mercury abandoned him along the access road.”
“A generous gift,” the newcomer said.
“Very,” the wolf whose cum now warmed Wyatt’s stomach said. “I got the car’s tags.”
Startled, Wyatt tipped his head up, as though the blindfold weren’t there anymore. Andrew? They’d identified his brother? Evil satisfaction exploded inside him.
“Probably stolen, but we’ll inform the Elders. They’ll track that car to the source.”
The wolf who’d used Wyatt’s mouth grunted in agreement. “What this human lacks in skill, he makes up for with desperate enthusiasm. Gives great head.”
Wyatt trembled.
“Is that so?” the second wolf said, a smile creeping into his voice that chilled Wyatt’s blood.
“Petrified we’ll hurt him,” Wyatt’s wolf confirmed. “You should try him. He’s nervous, but deliciously obedient.”
Another dick pressed against Wyatt’s lips.
Both wolves laughed as he opened wide.
Kari Gregg lives in the mountains of Wild and Wonderful West Virginia with her Wonderful husband and three very Wild children. When Kari’s not writing, she enjoys reading, coffee, zombie flicks, coffee, naked mud-wrestling (not really), and . . . coffee!
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EMAIL: kari@karigregg.com
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