Legend of the White Wolf

Page 26

"Are you sure you can find the way at night?"
"Yeah, we'll make it now."
She sure hoped so because she didn't relish sleeping out in the open another night. At least a building would offer them further protection.
Then she nestled tighter against Cameron's warm body. If Kintail or his men tried to follow them, they didn't have sleds or dogs, and Faith and Cameron would hear snowmobiles from a mile away forewarning of their approach. That was if they used snowmobiles, and not skis.
She tried to close her eyes, to rest, to shut off her mind, but she couldn't. His eyes closed, Cameron was still touching her hair with one hand, his other stroking her back, his fingers drawing lower to the tip of her spine, stirring a compulsion to feel him deep inside her again. She lifted her head and he looked down at her, his expression half quizzical, half hopeful she wanted him again. She reached up and kissed his lips, his mouth soft and warm. His skin smelled soap fresh, and his body heat wrapped around her in an enjoyable way. A shiver of pleasure stole through her. But his blue eyes were what caught her attention the most—dark and beautiful, and quickly turning from intrigued to lustful. She nibbled his lower lip. His mouth curved up slightly.
He closed his eyes, slipped his other hand around her back, and pulled her tight against his chest. His full blown erection speared her belly, and she rubbed her body gently against his arousal. A low moan escaped his lips and he took charge, licking the seam of her mouth, tugging at the waistband of her pants, trying to lower them past her hips. And she responded, touching her tongue to his, licking his lips back, pressing her mouth to his. Her hands jerked up his sweater and then his shirt so she could feel his skin.
The aching need he'd awakened in her pushed her to roll off him and reach for his jeans. Verging on panic, she yanked at his belt buckle, but he quickly unbuckled the belt and continued the sensual onslaught, pressuring her mouth with his, getting her worked up, her panties growing damp in response. His breathing and hers were labored, her body burning with need. Every touch sent her head spiraling, making her want more. Before she knew it, their tongues were mating in a teasing, heated dance again, as she struggled to pull off her pants.
They bumped heads as he tried to help her remove her panties next, his actions just as frantic as hers. The air from the stove kept the tent warm and a slight breeze brushed against the silky walls and rustled through the branches of nearby trees, but mostly all she noticed was Cameron, his hands yanking at her sweater to remove it, his fingers fumbling with her bra—now she wished she hadn't worn one.
She struggled to help him remove his sweater and shirt, but he wasn't cooperating. Instead, his hands were on her breasts, weighing them, massaging them, playing with her nipples, his smoldering gaze slipping from her nakedness to her eyes. Something about the look on his face warned her their relationship had taken a drastic turn, that he didn't plan to let her go anytime soon. Which was crazy. They didn't even live in the same state.
But for the moment, she didn't care. And when he drew her down onto her back and pressed her legs apart with his knees, nothing mattered, but feeling him deep inside her. The tautness in his actions fed into hers, her hands reaching to touch his skin, to feel the muscles in his arms beneath her fingertips, tensing as he centered himself between her legs.
And then he thrust deeply with raw desire, no measured moves, no gradual accommodations. Too late for anything but primal fulfillment. She surrendered to his frenzied pace, drove herself to meet it, her pelvis angled to feel the urgency, to glory in the experience. For the first time in her life, she felt wanted, needed, loved, as crazy as it might sound.
She felt the exquisite peak of the sexual experience just beyond reach, and then as if he instinctively knew, he slowed his pace, slipped his fingers between her legs and touched her. Just that simple touch nearly pushed her over the edge. But she wanted more and pushed against his fingers, begging for fulfillment. And he obliged, rubbing and stroking and didn't let up until she moaned out with pleasure.
He watched the expression on her face, as if her orgasm was the most precious thing he could have ever done for her. Her lips curved up a bit, her skin flushed, her fingers instantly grappling for him to finish what he'd begun.
He didn't hesitate, diving into her again and again, his mouth on her lips, the nape of her neck, her breast. Then he groaned out loud, "Sweet love of…"
But he didn't say another word as he tackled her mouth one last time, thrusting again until he was done. Spent, and looked totally satiated, a small smile lifted his lips, his eyes saying she was the best thing in his life right now. Rolling over on his back, he pulled her tight against his heated body. "I don't… think… we needed the heat from the stove," he said, brushing her damp hair behind her ear. "God, you feel good."
"And you," she whispered, loving his sentiments, not wanting to break the spell. She hugged him tight, wondering where their relationship was headed, but despite feeling he wanted something more, she wasn't sure if it was still just a case of rebound—for both of them.
That's when she realized that in their enthusiasm, they had forgotten to use a condom this time. Faith slept half on top of Cameron snuggled in his double wide sleeping bag. He was torn between staying with her and enjoying her comforting heat, the sound of her steady heartbeat, and her subtle fragrance, the tantalizing smell of her arousal still lingering—and squelching the craving to ditch his clothes no matter how cold it was and run like one of the sled dogs.
The dogs were quiet and he planned to leave in another hour or so after they'd had some rest, concerned Kintail or his people might still catch up to them. Plus, he did worry about losing Charles's tracks if the winds grew. But he couldn't suppress the restlessness growing in his blood again.
Trying not to disturb Faith, Cameron slipped out from under her and ducked out of the tent.
He wanted to run in the worst way, to stretch his legs, and something new—claim the area while they stayed here as if he was a conqueror and wanted to leave his mark.
Giving in to the urge, he started pulling off his clothes as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. And at once, he had the eerie feeling he'd done this before. The cold chilled him instantly, the dogs all watching him with interest, expectant, their eyes alert, ears perked. Then heat sifted through every muscle, through every blood vessel, and Cameron stretched his arms out as if he were reaching for the moon, visible in the distant sky.
In the next instant, he was standing on all fours, his fur white, his body perfectly warm, his elongated snout sampling the crisp, cold air. His footpads felt fine against the snow, which made him look back at the dogs, all sitting up now.
Why would they need booties when he didn't?
When he started to leave the campsite, the dogs ran after him, but he growled at them to stay behind, to protect Faith. They stopped and stayed.
He swung around and raced off again. He didn't have to look to see their reaction. They were silent, standing there still, waiting, like he'd commanded them.
It didn't take long for him to cover about a mile. His toes digging into the snow, he lifted his nose and smelled the scents—a rabbit, fishy odor of the frozen lake they'd left behind, even the dog's food, and—Nikki's scent. What the—
He whisked around and she bowed her head slightly to him. She hadn't been with his team. Initially, yes. But now she was supposed to be with Charles.
Hell, Charles and his team had to be close by. Cameron opened his mouth to ask where Charles was, but as soon as he tried to speak, his words ended up sounding like a huffing noise, not quite a bark, more like a woof, a breathy cough. Nikki circled around in front of him as if she was trying to tell him something, but he wasn't sure what she was attempting to say. She gave a little bark and pranced around some more. He huffed back, wondering why his bark didn't come out the same. Then Nikki headed away from him and when he didn't follow, she returned, wagged her tail, and turned and headed in the same direction.
Follow her, that's what she was trying to tell him. But as soon as he ran up behind her, the dogs in his team began barking, warning of an intruder.
Faith. His heart in his throat, he raced back toward camp in hunting-to-kill mode.
It was only another dream, he reminded himself. A really vivid dream, but he couldn't help feeling Faith was in danger. And what about Nikki? How had she found Cameron? Was Charles in trouble?
More dogs barking. Hell, it was the other team from somewhere in the distance. Charles's team.
His heart wildly pounding, Cameron had another eighth of a mile to go when he spied Faith emerging from the tent. Four wolves were skulking toward her.
His blood on fire, Cameron would kill every one of them before they touched her. The dogs circled the wolves, barking and growling in a mad frenzy, protecting Faith, protecting their territory. Cameron bolted for the wolves.
Faith dove back into the tent, but the lightweight fabric designed for cold weather conditions wouldn't deter the wolves. She reemerged with the pepper spray and his gun, and he couldn't believe her tenacity. She was no match for a pack of feral wolves. Neither were the dogs. She had a chance against one of the wolves, maybe. But she couldn't fight this many.
Racing toward them as if his life depended on it, he vowed to reach her before any could hurt her.
One of the bigger wolves tried to cut Faith out of the pack. Cameron's heart pounded even harder. Hold on, Faith. Hold on.
She hesitated to shoot the predator with either weapon.
The wind is blowing the wrong way. Don't use the pepper spray!
And the gun. She couldn't aim with any accuracy without using both hands.
Faith.
The wolf separated her from the huskies, snarling and snapping his jaws, his nose puckered, his hackles raised, pelt bristling, creeping closer, ready to lunge.
Cameron did what he never thought possible, leapt nearly sixteen feet into the air at his prey, his own fur raised, his canines bared—ready to kill.
Chapter 11
WITH HER HEART IN HER THROAT AND NO SIGN OF CAMERON, Faith backed away from the Arctic wolf targeting her. Her chances of survival were slim at best. The way his narrowed amber eyes pinned her with promise— glowing menacingly in the moonlight—she'd be dead within seconds.