Lycan Lust

Lycan Lust Lycan -2 by S. K. Yule

Chapter One

Her scent faintly called to him, lulling him into a precarious state that teetered between domination and fascination. There was no doubt that she was his, but every time he’d closed in on her the past several weeks, she’d disappeared as if some magical force had removed every trace of her from the Earth. But, within a few days, he’d once again catch the sweet aroma of her, and then he’d continue on a trail that he would relentlessly follow until the day he found her or his heart stopped.

A pickup pulled out of a parallel spot in front of him just as he slowed down. He maneuvered easily into the spot that had a sign beside it that said one-hour parking. He smirked at the sign as he started down the sidewalk.

Another parking ticket was probably going to be waiting for him when he got back. He’d just add it to the pile he had already racked up.

He had to find her. One could argue that he had no right to claim her, that she deserved to choose her mate, that she had the right to reject him. He disagreed. The simple truth was, she was his, and he was hers. This fact was dictated by Fate Herself, and as far as he was concerned, no force in Heaven or Hell could alter the silent decree that had been imbedded in him since birth.

He’d been part of a pack that had considered a woman—especially one’s destined mate—property to be owned and commanded. He’d believed that himself at one time. But, now, he’d been alone for so many years, had longed for his mate for so long, a deeper desire culled from desperation made him yearn for more, need more. He wanted his mate to love him. He wanted her to respect him, fill his life with joy as he protected and cared for her. He wanted more than chattel he could order around.

The pack would ridicule him for such thoughts. Hell, the last few years he’d been with them, they’d ridiculed him about everything. He was just thankful that he’d been smart enough and had still held enough compassion that he’d understood their behavior to be a nasty side effect of the restlessness, an unease that gnawed at them all from the inside, and would never cease until they’d found their mate. He’d grown tired of their childish behavior and refusal to accept what could not immediately be changed.

Then, one day, he had simply walked away.

He’d realized he’d never needed them. But he needed her. A woman whose name and face was unknown to him, a woman whose simple presence in his life could bring him peace and happiness like he’d never known. He would find her. He’d never give up. And when he did locate her, he’d take her far away, and she’d learn to love him, because if she didn’t, he’d be subjected to a lifelong existence of emptiness. That he could not tolerate. He would rather die than spend hundreds of years with a black void in his chest where his heart once beat.

He took a deep breath. Her scent summoned him as effectively as a Siren’s call that he had no choice but to follow. She was close, closer than she’d ever been. He looked around. He hated the city. And Atlanta was one of the most smothering ones he’d been in while searching for her. He loathed the confinement, the stale air, and the ceaseless crush of thousands of bodies. He needed fresh, clean air and miles of wooded land. Seclusion . . .

and a mate. And he had the perfect place tucked away in Michigan just waiting to welcome the return of him and his woman.

He walked down the sidewalk, past law offices, bakeries, clothes shops, and about a million other stores that carried anything and everything anyone could possibly want or need. As much as he hated the milling crowd, he had to admit the aroma of food coming from the various restaurants smelled tantalizing. He was hungry, but he refused to veer even an inch from the path her scent was leading him down. There would be plenty of time for eating after he found her.

His heart started thumping faster. He was getting closer. The thought of finally seeing his mate tensed his muscles in anxious excitement. Day was fading to dusk rapidly, and the sky was tinted pink by the setting sun.

Tomorrow when the sun set, he’d be with her. He’d wondered millions of times what her name was, wished with everything inside him that he’d at least known that one small detail about her. A name he could whisper from his lips, a name that could linger in his mind as a promise of the life he would one day have—a life that would no longer be lonely.

Suddenly, fear beat through him. She was on the move again. He gritted his teeth and hurried his steps. He would not lose her this time. He followed her scent around a corner and caught a glimpse of pale hair as it disappeared through the side door of the back of one of the many buildings. He stood in front of the door and looked up. It was obviously an apartment building.

Four stories of wrought iron fire escape stairs led all the way to the top, stopping at various places on each level.

If she had gone in there—he sniffed at the door, and she had—he’d have no problem pinpointing her location in the building. The sun sank into darkness seconds before he stepped through the door. The drab entryway consisted of little other than a wall of mailboxes labeled with a number for each tenant and a staircase. A door to the right was chained and padlocked.

Taking the steps two at a time, he paused at the second floor. A long hallway ran from right to left, and across a small landing was another set of stairs that led to the third floor.

He smelled the air and followed the scent straight up the next staircase, and the next. On the fourth floor, he paused. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and turned left. He continued walking and sniffing the air until he made it to the end of the hall. Eyes now open, he stood in front of an old brown door. Paint was chipping off it in various places, and dents littered its ugly surface. The number four nineteen was tacked haphazardly toward the top middle, with the four hanging precariously sideways, threatening to plummet to the floor at any moment.

He laid his palms against the cool metal, and let his forehead rest momentarily between them. She was in there. As emotions bubbled to the surface, he fought the absurd urge to rip the ragged door from its hinges; stomp in, caveman style; throw her over his shoulder; and claim her as his own. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that he’d undoubtedly scare the shit out of her.

He took a deep breath, stepped back, and raised his fist to knock. Before his knuckles met metal, a loud bang followed by a cry sounded from inside.

Without any thought other than to protect his mate, he kicked the door open. Greeting him from the open window over the fire escape was the most luscious ass he’d ever seen, encased in black jeans. It took him a moment to recover his good senses enough to realize she was trying to escape.

She was hanging half out the window, and the chair lying on its side had obviously provided the loud bang he’d heard when it had fallen. In only a couple long strides, he stood directly behind her as she wiggled, trying to escape. He growled low in his throat, and his cock twitched at the site of her bent over in front of him. He circled her waist with his hands, his fingers not far from touching around its tiny circumference. She squealed and fought harder to get out of the window.

He easily dragged her back into the grungy apartment. She spun toward him, her eyes sparked with fear and probably anger. The crystal-clear gray color stole his breath and his good sense, because he didn’t even notice when she swung at him. She caught him in the nose, and the pain brought him back to reality with ease. She crouched, her hands clenched into fists, as she danced on the balls of her feet in classic boxer style. Holding her arms close in what he assumed was protection of her body and face, she kicked at him.

Luckily, his wits had returned by that time, and he dodged a kick aimed at his balls.