Tamed by the Mistress: BBW/Alpha Male Werewolf Romantic Erotica (Smut-Shorties Book 13) by Mina Carter Page B
Authors: Mina Carter
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infection… She shivered as a thrill chased over her skin. That meant he was going to be an alpha the likes of which came along once in a lifetime. A true bitten alpha. A man to match her.
If he survived the conversion. Not everyone did.
But there was a way to help…
“Out.” Her order rang in the close confines of the basement. “All of you. Out. Now.”
Isla stepped forward. “My lady…it’s too dangerous.”
“Why?” Archer’s mother broke in, confusion written on her features. “What’s she going to do?”
“Come along, dear.” Johnathon urged her toward the door, but she resisted, looking at Reena. “She’s not going to hurt him, is she?”
Reena turned to look the other woman directly in the eye, her own expression hard and unrelenting. “No, I’m not going to hurt him; I just might save him.”
The others filed out, leaving her alone with the man chained to the wall. Her heart sped, pounding in her throat as she finally allowed herself to study him.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his frame was packed with muscle. Way more than most wolves when they were human, and that difference made her mouth water and her fingers itch to explore again. The night of the ball seemed decades…centuries ago and she ached to touch him. She resisted, barely, and carried on her inspection. His smooth, tanned skin was marked here and there with scars, more evidence he hadn’t been born a wolf. Wolves hardly ever scarred, not without significant or sustained damage.
He stared back as she looked at him, eyes still bright amber. A predator watching his prey. This was the most dangerous part of the conversion process—when man and beast fought for supremacy. And it was more dangerous for men than women. Way more dangerous. On the whole, women were more grounded, less aggressive. They dealt with the violent tendencies of their wolf easier, could counter-balance the feral side with a calming, nurturing one.
Men…they could fall victim to the primal side of both man and beast. If that happened, they were lost. Mad. The only way to deal with them was to put them down. Permanently.
Their gazes locked for a few seconds, then she took a half step forward. He burst into movement, surging forward until the chains jerked him. Arms chained behind him, his body stretched in an arc of hard, muscle-corded masculinity. His breath washed over the skin of her neck, his lips mere inches away. If he wanted, he could close that little distance and bury his teeth into the soft flesh.
She froze. Waiting.
Slowly, he breathed in, inhaling her scent. A low rumble emanated from the broad expanse of his chest. He didn’t seem inclined to rip her throat out. Careful with her movements, she lifted her hand to touch his chest. He stilled, head up as he looked down at her. Even chained to the wall he towered over her, but she didn’t care.
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Archer?” she murmured, stepping forward. Even in high heels she had to lift on her toes to reach his mouth, pausing for a moment to search his eyes. “You remember me, remember my scent…remember what we shared.”
Then she kissed him.
Chapter Two
There had been too many people and too much noise, but they’d all gone now, leaving Archer alone with the little female who smelled delicious enough to eat. Good. Their talking, the words nonsensical and sharp, had hurt his ears and the fury—this snarling, rabid thing within him—surged to the fore. A demon beneath his flesh, it urged him to bite and tear, to claw and rend gobbets of flesh from their bodies so he could feast. It wanted to taste the heat of their blood as it slipped down his throat to assuage the thirst within him.
He’d almost done it, as well, but they’d clapped him in irons and bound him to the wall. It had taken six of them and a Taser before they managed to subdue him. Why, he didn’t know. He should, he knew he should, but the knowledge lay stubbornly out of reach, as if hidden
If he survived the conversion. Not everyone did.
But there was a way to help…
“Out.” Her order rang in the close confines of the basement. “All of you. Out. Now.”
Isla stepped forward. “My lady…it’s too dangerous.”
“Why?” Archer’s mother broke in, confusion written on her features. “What’s she going to do?”
“Come along, dear.” Johnathon urged her toward the door, but she resisted, looking at Reena. “She’s not going to hurt him, is she?”
Reena turned to look the other woman directly in the eye, her own expression hard and unrelenting. “No, I’m not going to hurt him; I just might save him.”
The others filed out, leaving her alone with the man chained to the wall. Her heart sped, pounding in her throat as she finally allowed herself to study him.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his frame was packed with muscle. Way more than most wolves when they were human, and that difference made her mouth water and her fingers itch to explore again. The night of the ball seemed decades…centuries ago and she ached to touch him. She resisted, barely, and carried on her inspection. His smooth, tanned skin was marked here and there with scars, more evidence he hadn’t been born a wolf. Wolves hardly ever scarred, not without significant or sustained damage.
He stared back as she looked at him, eyes still bright amber. A predator watching his prey. This was the most dangerous part of the conversion process—when man and beast fought for supremacy. And it was more dangerous for men than women. Way more dangerous. On the whole, women were more grounded, less aggressive. They dealt with the violent tendencies of their wolf easier, could counter-balance the feral side with a calming, nurturing one.
Men…they could fall victim to the primal side of both man and beast. If that happened, they were lost. Mad. The only way to deal with them was to put them down. Permanently.
Their gazes locked for a few seconds, then she took a half step forward. He burst into movement, surging forward until the chains jerked him. Arms chained behind him, his body stretched in an arc of hard, muscle-corded masculinity. His breath washed over the skin of her neck, his lips mere inches away. If he wanted, he could close that little distance and bury his teeth into the soft flesh.
She froze. Waiting.
Slowly, he breathed in, inhaling her scent. A low rumble emanated from the broad expanse of his chest. He didn’t seem inclined to rip her throat out. Careful with her movements, she lifted her hand to touch his chest. He stilled, head up as he looked down at her. Even chained to the wall he towered over her, but she didn’t care.
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Archer?” she murmured, stepping forward. Even in high heels she had to lift on her toes to reach his mouth, pausing for a moment to search his eyes. “You remember me, remember my scent…remember what we shared.”
Then she kissed him.
Chapter Two
There had been too many people and too much noise, but they’d all gone now, leaving Archer alone with the little female who smelled delicious enough to eat. Good. Their talking, the words nonsensical and sharp, had hurt his ears and the fury—this snarling, rabid thing within him—surged to the fore. A demon beneath his flesh, it urged him to bite and tear, to claw and rend gobbets of flesh from their bodies so he could feast. It wanted to taste the heat of their blood as it slipped down his throat to assuage the thirst within him.
He’d almost done it, as well, but they’d clapped him in irons and bound him to the wall. It had taken six of them and a Taser before they managed to subdue him. Why, he didn’t know. He should, he knew he should, but the knowledge lay stubbornly out of reach, as if hidden
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