Wolf Wanted Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Wolf Wanted

  ISBN # 978-1-78651-410-3

  ©Copyright Marie Harte 2016

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2016

  Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz and Rebecca Scott

  Pride Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Mark of Lycos

  WOLF WANTED

  Marie Harte

  Book two in the Mark of Lycos series

  Only a sacrifice can break his curse, and only the love of a maddening werewolf can satisfy his heart.

  Trying to avoid an arranged marriage is easier said than done. But Anson seems to have accomplished the impossible. Now if he can put off fighting his twin to the death, he can avoid becoming alpha of his clan as well. The Wolf in the Forest hears and grants his unspoken wish, because one minute Anson’s in Alaska with his clan, and the next he’s in southern Germany surrounded by athmae—lust demons. One particular demon takes an interest in Anson, a very personal interest. Anson isn’t attracted to men, but around Liam, he can think of nothing but getting to know the demon in every way possible.

  Liam cast a spell for a wolf, and Anson exceeds his expectations. He’s golden, he’s sexy and he’s a werewolf—a unique being in the world of shifters. After a hundred years of cursed living, Liam has a chance to finally break free from the spell holding his inner wolf at bay and embrace both his wolf and demon heritage. He never planned on falling in love with Anson, or of taking the maddening werewolf to mate. But his plans for a happily-ever-after come to a screeching halt when the evil sorceress who cursed him returns. She refuses to take no for an answer, and then she sets her sights on Anson…

  Chapter One

  “Put your name in the goddamn box,” Michael Barton said through gritted teeth, teeth that looked much longer and sharper than they had just moments before. “The Wolf in the Forest is waiting, and you know the spirit has a lot of clans to visit tonight, Anson.” When Anson continued to ignore him, his uncle lowered his voice. “Everyone else is doing it.”

  Yeah, and everyone else looked downright miserable. Anson’s friends and cousins dragged their feet, forced into this stupid tradition because their elders had been forced into it. No escaping mandatory happiness, not for any of them.

  Except maybe for Anson.

  “Boy, move your ass.”

  He pretended not to hear his uncle and edged closer to his escape. He now wished he’d listened to his brother’s warnings. A few more steps and he could scurry between the raised dais and the outer edge of the crowd into the surrounding forest. As long as he kept out of sight until the moon waned from its peak in the cycle, he could avoid the matrimonial noose for another ten years.

  Everyone else is doing it. Please. He wanted very badly to answer, ‘If all my friends jumped off a bridge, should I do that, too?’ But poking a stick at an angry alpha in front of the pack didn’t make much sense, not since he wanted to live to see his twenty-sixth birthday. Hell, he’d only recently come into his full pelt. The pack barely recognized him as a voting member and wouldn’t have allowed him to attend the mating ceremony if he wasn’t directly descended from Lycos the Bold.

  He tried to step away, to follow his twin who’d made it as far as the woods, when his uncle grabbed his arm and held him there. Anson watched from a distance as Fenris, his mirror image in every way, mouthed something at him, flipped him the finger and took off while he still could.

  “Uh uh.” His uncle pulled him forward. “Don’t worry. Fenris isn’t as free as he likes to think he is.”

  “Come on, Uncle Mike. You know this is bullshit. I’m too young to be tied down.” Once mated, a wolf couldn’t stray. And if the great Wolf in the Forest decided against him, he’d be stuck with a shrew for the rest of his life. Considering Uncle Mike was just shy of five hundred, Anson didn’t think his request to wait a while was all that unreasonable. Hell, most of the other matrimonial sacrifices were at least well into their second century. What the hell was Uncle Mike thinking?

  He’s thinking the unmated females in this pack want Lycos’ kin. My damn birthmark is no blessing. It’s a curse.

  He glared at his right forearm, at the star-shaped mark that glowed like the sun in the face of danger. A direct link to Lycos the Bold, beloved wolf, leader and harbinger of doom to his enemies. A thousand years ago, Lycos had beaten back the sorcerers and claimed the heart of the forest for those with animal blood. Years later, his descendant, Uncle Mike, had thrust the bears, foxes and the Red Clan beyond the border, where the rest of the magic-bent lived, among the humans.

  “Boy, you will obey me in this. It’s time you passed on your legacy. Lycos lives on in you.”

  Shit. As he’d suspected. He was no more than a wolf out to stud. How embarrassing. Anson pretended to falter on his feet and tugged at his arm.

  His uncle tightened his grip and muttered under his breath, not impressed with Anson’s dramatics.

  “I’ll shrivel into the worst kind of creature,” Anson complained loudly, staring at a cousin who’d recently mated. Poor Shane. “A henpecked shell of a man forced to obey his mate’s every insane whim.” His cousin’s wife didn’t particularly care for his comment, nor did her three ugly-ass sisters hoping to snag him tonight.

  “Boy, pup or not, you’re going to obey me in this.” His uncle’s eyes glowed a bright green, a sure signal to back down.

  Anson’s hackles rose as his uncle tried to put the fear of the Wolf into him—an alpha’s power, to instill fear and subservience in those he led.

  The pack didn’t know that his uncle’s mojo didn’t work on him, a sign that meant Anson could take up the mantle of alpha when the time came for Mike to pass it on. A circumstance Anson wanted to avoid at all costs. Better Fenris take over. He had the fortitude, stubbornness and dominance bred into every male alpha of the Silver Clan—probably why he and Uncle Mike butted heads so often.

  Anson aspired to nothing so grand as being clan alpha. He wanted to travel the forests, to revel in the chase. He wanted to be Master of the Hunt, a title reserved for a lesser wolf than one who was kin to Lycos. But the job would enable him to run through the woods and thrill in the chase with some legitimacy, and without his uncle’s constant complaining that he didn’t do enough for the clan.

  His uncle prodded him once more. Realizing that if he continued to deny his alpha, wolves would
talk, Anson swore under his breath and feigned submission.

  When Uncle Mike took a step closer and sniffed him, Anson forced himself to think about mating a wolf like Shane’s mate. Fear, pure and strong, wafted from his pores, and he felt his uncle’s tension fade.

  Apparently satisfied by the display, Mike pushed Anson ahead of him toward the box sitting on a large, green vine. Shaped in a square and made of overlapping brown petals with the strength of solid oak, the box sat above a green stalk of Living Wood, an ancient gift from a time when those in the cities and the wolves had been friends. A dozen bound clumps of hair lay in the box, over which their priest impatiently waited.

  “Anson?”

  Anson glanced from the priest to his uncle and sighed, long and loud.

  His uncle growled, bared his teeth, and Anson hurriedly complied. He vaulted onto the dais, ignoring the steps, and accepted the dagger the priest held out for him. He didn’t need the knife, but allowing his fingers to become sharp claws would only further remind the crowd that Lycos lived strong in him. The ability to maintain that transitional form between man and wolf was so rare as to be almost nonexistent. Wolves were either wolf or human, not both at the same time.

  Werewolf—the reason his uncle pushed him into this stupid ceremony. Werewolf—the justification for the many prayers their females whispered to the Wolf in the Forest. They wanted the Mark of Lycos for their future progeny. Anson wouldn’t have minded a mating if the female truly wanted him. But none of them did. They only wanted Lycos’ power.

  He sliced through a small portion of his hair and watched the golden strands fall into his hand. Anson still had time to escape. He glanced at the Living Wood, then at the forest that beckoned.

  A growl interrupted his fantasies, and he glanced over at his uncle and swallowed around a ball of nerves. Mike’s eyes looked like twin beacons promising hell. Hurrying to comply before Uncle Mike tore out his throat, Lycos or no Lycos, Anson sighed and tossed his hair into the box. In seconds, all the offerings disappeared, fading into the Living Wood’s petals.

  The priest stepped forward once more and chanted the words the crowd gathered closer to hear. Praise to the Wolf in the Forest, thanks to the Living Wood, cries of joy that the Silver Clan would continue to thrive and populate a world needing the rawness only natural creatures, like the wolf, could bring.

  Anson felt a spark deep within, a burning that seared him from his heart, through his blood and lungs and brain. No, not the claiming. I have no mate in this pack! None of these females is worthy of Lycos’ heir.

  His brother had seen a glimpse of his future, and it wasn’t tied to anyone here that he knew. Twin orbs of red would light Anson’s way, whatever that meant.

  Concentrating, Anson pushed past the pain filling his body. He jumped to the ground and watched as several women flocked to the dais, around which stood the other helpless candidates. The newly mated wolves tried to look brave. A few managed grins, pretending enthusiasm for their mated status. But Anson knew what they truly felt, what he felt. Dread. Oppression. Doom.

  The seconds ticked into minutes as he continued to wait next to his uncle. Another woman claimed her mate, dragging him with her back into the woods. Older wolves laughed, enjoying the ceremony. A few couples began mating in earnest, undressing and fucking before one and all. With their young tended to in the deep forest, what few inhibitions the wolves held disappeared. Soon, the festivity turned downright carnal as an orgy unfolded.

  And still, no one stepped forward to claim Anson. The tightness in his chest eased.

  “I don’t understand how you did it.” His uncle growled. “Damn, Anson. You really are a stubborn bastard. Just like your father.”

  “Who was your identical twin.”

  Mike shook his head. “Go find your brother. I’ll give you three days. Then I expect you home. And tell Fenris his bride will be waiting for him.”

  Anson stared in horror. “You contracted a match for Fenris? You can’t do that.”

  Mike shoved Anson to the ground and put his hand around Anson’s neck. “I love you, pup, but you really have to stop telling me what I can and can’t do.”

  The urge to snap at his uncle shocked him, and Anson deliberately shrank into himself. “Sorry, Uncle Mike,” he rasped.

  His uncle let him go and yanked him to his feet by his shirt. “You don’t fool me, Anson. I know you don’t fear me,” he said in a low voice as he tugged Anson close. “You and Fenris are one day going to fight to rule. And I couldn’t be prouder that a Barton will once more lead the clan.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Anson looked anywhere but at his uncle. No way would he ever fight Fenris to the death, and especially not for a title he didn’t want.

  His uncle sighed and gave him a gentle shove. “Go on. Keep to notions of freedom for as long as you can. But you can’t outrun the Wolf in the Forest. It’s in your blood. You’ll do great things someday, pup. Great things.”

  Panicked at the yoke of responsibility drawing close around his neck, Anson tore off his clothing—the damn ceremonial garb clung to him like a second skin—and shifted into his wolf. He didn’t plan on going after Fenris just yet. Anson needed time to digest all that had happened tonight. Racing on four feet through the forest, he settled into a comfortable gait, away from the sexual energy frothing in the pack. Unfortunately, some of it remained within him, the urge to fuck, to take pleasure in the joining of souls.

  Magic still burned in his blood, and the taste of brewing power called to him. Since he’d never gone through the ceremony before, he didn’t know if what he felt was normal or not. But he’d never heard a wolf mention so much heat inside him when he mated.

  To his surprise, thoughts of the burn caused it to flare. Enflamed with lust, Anson slowed down. Running with an erection was less than comfortable. Shit, he really ached. Pausing, he wondered just how badly he’d offended the Wolf in the Forest by rejecting the notion to mate. He said a silent prayer asking for forgiveness.

  Between one blink and the next, the forest changed. Then it changed again, as if Anson had leaped miles away from the familiar. Beyond the trees he smelled oil, the rot of excess and decay—humanity—and knew something was seriously wrong with him. Because despite his alien environment, his body trembled with the need to release.

  A sudden blow knocked him off his feet and singed his fur. After rolling to his side, he tried to rise but couldn’t. Then his vision faltered and his nose filled with the overpowering scent of sandalwood—nonwolves. Enemy spore.

  Shit.

  He snarled but could manage no more than a halfhearted yip before strong arms lifted him and pressed him to a broad chest. Muscles rippled under his fur, and without meaning to, he shifted back into his human form. A steady heartbeat thrummed against his ear.

  “So pretty,” a deep voice rumbled. Others joined him, commenting on everything from Anson’s unusual golden hair to the size of his shaft, which to his embarrassment swelled with his every inhalation. Thankfully, the man holding him didn’t seem to notice. He stroked Anson’s forearm, over the Mark of Lycos. “My wolf is truly a prize.”

  Before Anson could question his circumstances, time and space compressed around him and he knew nothing more.

  Chapter Two

  Anson woke in a room that smelled like earth and spice. A trio of candles burned on a table across from the bed on which he lay, illuminating what looked like someone’s bedroom. The sheets under his naked body felt soft and silky. But when he turned to see more, stars exploded behind his eyes. Terrific.

  He groaned and clutched his head, irritated that the ache increased with every brush of his hair against his temples.

  “Easy, pup.”

  Pup? Anson blinked in the dim lighting and saw a man’s form parting from the shadows, appearing as if by magic. Though extremely tall, he moved with an unconscious grace, like a wolf. Yet he didn’t smell like kin. At the moment, he didn’t smell like much of anything, which was ve
ry odd. He wore a black pair of trousers and nothing else. Bronze skin covered a broad chest and muscular arms corded with strength. Long, black hair framed his masculine face and stubborn chin. He regarded Anson with interest, and when Anson sat up too quickly, the man narrowed his bright-green gaze, as if concerned.

  The physical aspect of the stranger said ‘I’m human’, but those eyes screamed wolf. Anson lifted his head and sniffed again, irritated when the man smiled and stepped closer.

  “Stop.” Anson growled, perceiving the hidden power of a dangerous threat. When the male moved again, Anson forced himself off the bed to his feet. Dizziness assailed him, followed by a swift, piercing carnal ache.

  “Very nice indeed,” the man murmured, his gaze on Anson’s thickening shaft. “The Wolf in the Forest is a blessed lady, isn’t she?”

  “She?” Anson took deep breaths, trying to regain his wits. “The spirit has no gender. It’s Wolf and all that wolf entails.”

  “And what is that, my pet?”

  “I’m not your pet.” Anson shifted to the balls of his feet, ready to leap to his defense if need be. He felt like shit but he was uneasy that the stranger continued to advance. The door to his left looked to be the exit. “Who the hell are you? Where am I?”

  “And why are you here, I suppose? All great questions.” The giant toyed with the waistband of his trousers, forcing Anson to notice the large cock straining the material.

  Hell. The guy was huge and aroused. Definitely not a wolf then, because male wolves didn’t engage other male wolves for sex. At least, not that he’d ever noticed.

  The male continued, “You’re just outside the city, near the humans across the world from your precious forest.”

  “Sorcerer. I should have known,” Anson sneered, while stunned to be so far from home. But how else to explain his sudden shift in location?