Jane Jamison Page 2

  In her dream, she walked toward them, not speaking, and opened her arms for them. They surrounded her, drawing her to the forest floor. Ripping her clothes from her, they would caress her body like a prized possession then lean over and use their tongues and their lips to tease and tempt her.

  She arched, pulling two of them to her nipples as the third man pushed her legs apart and pressed his mouth to her pussy. Opening for him, she closed her eyes and let the sensation of three pairs of hands, three mouths, and three cocks pleasure her.

  Giving in to their animallike instincts, they would take her, one, two, sometimes all three of them at once. Their cocks would invade her mouth, her ass, and her pussy, but it was she who was in charge. Her pussy creamed with one man’s kiss as she pumped a huge curved cock in and out of her mouth. Pushing herself on top of one man, she rode him while another slanted his mouth on hers for a deep kiss and the third man took her from behind.

  Even now, fully awake, she could feel them inside her. Her butt hole tightened over the imagined cock as her pussy heated, dampening her panties. Her pebbled nipples brushed against her shirt like the gentle touch of their fingertips caressing the hard buds.

  They spoke to her in whispers of sex, of loyalty, and of eternal devotion. What they did together was more than simple sex. For the first time in her life, she knew what real love felt like.

  She didn’t know why her nightmares had transformed into a dream about three sexy men. Was it just a dream, or was it reality trying to find her?

  You’re losing it, Sam. She trudged on through the woods and forced her mind to review the information that might help her.

  The man and his son, as she’d later found out, had taken her to the first campsite and called the authorities. Yet no one, not even the police, would tell her their names. She’d never understood that. Had they not given the police their names? Had they left her at the campsite before the police arrived? Why were the few news reports of the incident so vague? Not even one reporter had listed the names of her heroes.

  She wanted desperately to find them, to ask them questions about what had happened, to have them confirm that her own memory was correct.

  Sam leaned against the rock, closed her eyes, and drew her determination around her like a shield. She pushed away and started walking. Did she really expect to find the same werewolf again?

  She frowned and shoved the doubts away. Unable to explain the why of it, she’d known she’d have to come back to the rock. Where else would she start her search? If evidence that werewolves really existed could be found, she had a gut feeling she’d find it in the woodlands surrounding Passion, Colorado.

  She had a lot more ground to cover before she’d call it a night. Still, she needed to take a break. Dropping her pack on a large rock, she dug around inside and found a water bottle as well as a protein bar. She took a long drink then a large bite of the bar.

  The hills around the Denver area and the surrounding towns were beautiful. Even after her terrifying experience, she still loved to hike whenever she could. But today’s excursion wasn’t for pleasure. She’d done her research, checking the archives of the area’s newspapers as well as online reports, and knew that other people, mainly visitors, had reported seeing not only werewolves but other shifters.

  Tucking the bottle and the bar’s wrapping back into her backpack, she pushed away from the rock and started following the rough path that would lead back to her Jeep. Dark would come soon, and she wanted to get back to town before the light faded. Her shift at Tony’s Diner would start soon, and she didn’t want to be late. Not that she needed the job. Her family was wealthy by anyone’s standards. But waitresses often heard about events and people more than others. She’d take care of her customers and keep her ears open.

  She’d only gone a few yards when the sound of a growl brought her to a dead stop. Her breathing picked up, and her pulse raced as she turned around.

  The black werewolf’s tongue lolled out of its head as though it had just finished a hard run. Glowing amber eyes pierced her as she tried to remain calm. But her attempt failed when her gaze landed on the jagged white scar on its shoulder.

  Get the gun.

  Moving as slowly as she could, she shoved her hand into her backpack, keeping her attention on the werewolf. She searched for the gun, but instead, her hand caught on the scissors she’d shoved into her pack the night before. The backpack slid off her arm and fell to the ground. Crying out in pain, she dropped the scissors then closed her hand around her camera and yanked it out. Blood dripped from her hand onto the camera as she dropped to her knees, struggling to get the backpack’s flap completely open. She tried again to get her gun, still keeping her attention on the werewolf.

  What the hell is he doing? Is he posing?

  She forgot to keep digging for her gun as she gaped at the animal. Almost as though he realized she was holding a camera, he strutted back and forth, his head and tail held high, his ears pricked forward. Every few steps he would pause, going into a picturesque pose.

  Okay, big guy. Smile for the camera.

  Wiping the blood off the camera’s lens, she held it up and focused his image through the lens. She clicked pictures as fast as she could, hoping she’d get several good photos out of the bunch.

  Suddenly, he stopped, faced her, and she would’ve sworn he grinned at her. His image blurred. She looked at him over the camera and squinted, but the blurred image wouldn’t clear. One moment she saw the face of the werewolf, and in the next, she saw the arms and legs of a man. The white scar along his shoulder wavered, showing a flash of a human cheek, then the image swirled into the werewolf’s face again. The werewolf’s tail vanished then reappeared.

  Oh, God, it’s him.

  Her throat closed up as the memory of the man who had attacked her ten years earlier flashed through her mind. Her first instinct was the same as it had been that day long ago. She tensed, prepared to run.

  No, not this time. I’m ready for him this time.

  The werewolf was changing back and forth, going to part human, tempting her that he would change into a human. Then the image would abruptly revert to its werewolf form.

  Cursing that she’d gotten so entranced by the shifting images that she’d forgotten to take more pictures, she lifted the camera and took several more shots.

  All at once, the blurring stopped and the ferocious black werewolf remained. The grin she thought she’d seen was replaced by a snarl that exposed deadly fangs. He took a step forward, and she let the camera slip from her hand.

  Gun!

  She pulled the backpack’s opening wider, and, daring to take her eyes off the werewolf, she frantically dug for the gun. At last, her fingers closed around the weapon. She pulled it out of the bag, jumped to her feet, and pointed it at the werewolf.

  “No! Get down!”

  The werewolf jerked his head up to look past her just as the report of a rifle split the air. Startled, she ducked as the werewolf whirled around and dashed into the woods.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you all right?”

  Blake Branson hurried to the beautiful brunette and scanned her for any injuries. Other than the blood dripping from her hand, he didn’t see any bites or gashes where the werewolf might’ve injured her.

  He was sure it was the same werewolf that had killed his father. The scar along his right shoulder was a dead giveaway. If she hadn’t been in the way, he would’ve gotten the revenge he’d wanted for the past five years. During those five years, he’d seen the werewolf only once before, and that had been when he’d taken a tour group out on a hike. He hadn’t had a gun then, and the missed opportunity had haunted him ever since.

  Straightening to her full height, she spun around and faced him. Her hazel eyes blazed with anger. “I’m fine, and I would’ve shot him if you hadn’t decided to butt in.”

  Was she crazy? He’d saved her life, and she was giving him hell for it? Didn’t she know she’d messed up his shot? “
He was about to have your face for dinner, lady. You should be thanking me. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been hunting that wolf for five years. Thanks to you it’ll probably be even longer before I get another chance at him.”

  She bent and retrieved a handgun from her backpack. She thrust it toward him, making him take a step backward. “I was handling it. See?”

  She was definitely crazy. “So you think you were going to take down a wolf his size with that little pop gun? Hell, shooting him with that would’ve just pissed him off more.” He held up the rifle he carried. “Next time, don’t bring a toy to do a man’s job. Oh, wait. How about not having a next time?”

  He was fuming inside, but he had to hand it to her. She hadn’t backed down from the werewolf, and she wasn’t backing down from him, either. Even if she didn’t have any sense, she did have guts. Maybe too much guts.

  “Believe me when I say this little pop gun would’ve given him a lot to think about. After all, I’m shooting with silver bullets. Are you?”

  What would she say if I told her what I am? Would she want to shoot me? Should I tell her that the same werewolf who tried to attack her was the same one that killed my father and changed me?

  He followed her movement as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder. Her smallish, perky breasts thrust forward with the gesture, and he found he had a difficult time breaking his attention away from her chest. The silence, however, did the trick.

  He jerked his gaze upward. Hazel eyes, milk-honey skin with a few freckles across the bridge of the nose, and curly brown hair that hung down to the rise of her buttocks made his cock twitch to life. He’d always liked freckles on a girl. Her trim waist led to long, shapely legs that even her faded jeans couldn’t disguise. Her legs were exactly what a man wanted to have wrapped around his waist. If he could’ve described the perfect look for a woman, she would’ve met all his requirements. Aside from fucking up his chance to kill the werewolf, he couldn’t help but like her. God knows his cock was already responding to her.

  But it was more than simple attraction. There was something else about her, a familiarity like he’d known her before. His body felt alive, invigorated with the sharp sensation that acknowledged her physically, mentally, and emotionally. He felt like he’d finally found the one woman who would complete his life. He had to wonder if Victor and Reed would feel the same way. He hoped they would.

  “Well, are you?”

  He shook the errant thoughts away. “Am I what?”

  She narrowed her eyes, a look that he guessed came often to her. “Do you have silver bullets in your gun?”

  Does she know it was a werewolf and that my rifle is loaded with silver bullets? But how? He wasn’t about to admit that to a stranger no matter how hot she was. The question he wanted answered was why she had silver bullets. After all, they weren’t standard issue. “Why are you using silver bullets? Because they’re nice and shiny?”

  Damn, but he loved how her eyes sparkled when she was angry. He wondered how they’d look when she was turned on.

  “None of your damn business.”

  Really? So she can ask questions, but I can’t? Especially after she fucked up my chance to kill him? She has to know about werewolves. Why else would she be using silver bullets? He bit his tongue. If she did, she wasn’t admitting it, and he wasn’t about to tell her.

  If he hadn’t heard her cry, he wouldn’t have headed in the right direction and wouldn’t have seen the werewolf. He swallowed back some of his anger. Like his father had always said, “When it’s over, be done with it.”

  “Looks like you hurt your hand.”

  His abrupt change in tone had her frowning. She glanced at her hand then went to her knees to dig out a small first-aid kit. Opening the box, she found a packet of cleansing wipes and wiped her palm, clearing it of blood and dirt.

  He moved closer, stopping once when she glanced at him. When she didn’t tell him to stay back, he dropped to her side and held out his hand. “Let me.”

  He could almost see her mind whirling, trying to decide whether to trust him or not. Finally, she stuck out her hand and winced when he took it.

  “We’ll get you cleaned up for now, but you really should see a doctor.” Taking the bottle of rubbing alcohol, he gently poured some of the liquid over her cut. Giving it a moment to dry, he placed a clean square of cotton over the wound and started wrapping it with gauze.

  She shook her head, making the colors in her hair dance. Her hair along with her freckles reminded him of another girl. But who?

  “I just moved here. I don’t have a doctor, and I’m not going to the emergency room for a minor cut.”

  He didn’t respond, instead taking in her plain clothes and lack of jewelry. Maybe she didn’t have the money for a doctor. “I’m not sure it’s a minor wound. Do you work?”

  He wanted to find out if she had medical insurance without having to ask her directly. Passion was a town that attracted a wide variety of people, from millionaires with mansions to artists who rarely had enough money to pay the rent, much less to shell out dough for insurance.

  “I just started working at Tony’s Diner on Fifth Street.”

  “I know the place. Good food for reasonable prices.”

  Her wariness and anger dipped a little in intensity. “That’s Tony’s slogan.”

  Blake knew Tony, all right. He was a standup kind of guy, but he was tightfisted with money, and he’d never provided any type of health insurance for his employees. “So you’re a waitress?”

  “Yeah.” She held her head high as though challenging him to call her job menial.

  “Tell you what. I know a doctor who’ll look at your hand without charging much. By the looks of things, he might want to put in a few stitches.” He secured the gauze with a strip of tape.

  She looked at her hand before answering. “I don’t want any charity, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

  “Nope, it’s not charity. You pay what you can afford. Besides, he’s a buddy of mine. He’ll fix you up in no time.” He flashed his best “trust me” smile. “Name’s Blake Branson.”

  She took the handshake he offered. “Samantha Chambers. My friends call me Sam.”

  “How about it, Sam? You know you need it looked at.”

  “I don’t know.”

  * * * *

  He’d gone from angry to caring in only minutes. Sam studied his face. He looked like a good guy, like the handsome boy-next-door kind of guy she’d always found attractive. His blue eyes were friendly and caring. His sturdy chin and high cheekbones were the stuff male models yearned for, and his white teeth were straight and even. He had short hair with most of the top of it sticking out in a haphazard way some men paid stylists to achieve. But she had a feeling that the look came naturally to him. He didn’t seem like the type to spend time looking in a mirror.

  She swallowed, suddenly very aware of the tingling in her body. No doubt she was attracted to him, but she’d never felt this way before. It felt like she was drawn to him, like lovers from a past life who’d finally found each other. She blinked, wiping away the silly idea.

  Did he realize he’d shot at a werewolf? Is that why he’d wanted to know why she was using silver bullets? She’d blurted out the question before thinking, but she didn’t want to tell him why she had silver bullets. He’d either think she was crazy like her parents had, or she’d have to make up a dumb story, like how they were shiny and pretty.

  Fuck that. She wouldn’t play dumb for anyone.

  “Come on, Sam. You can follow me there if you’ve got a car.”

  She busied herself with repacking the backpack. Unable to resist the urge, she glanced at the photos she’d taken. Every one of them was blurred, showing neither man nor werewolf. What the hell had happened to her camera? She cursed and kept her head lowered as she tried to decide. If she’d met him at a bar with friends, she wouldn’t have hesitated to dance and share a drink with him. But out in the woods? Could she tru
st him? She paused and listened to her inner voice. So far that little voice had kept her out of trouble, providing she paid attention to it.

  She looked up and found him watching her. The expectant, even hopeful expression on his face almost made her laugh. Some memory tugged at the fringes of her mind, telling her that she could trust him. “Okay. But, yeah, I’ll take my own car and follow you.”

  “Fair enough. Where are you parked?”

  “In Parking Lot A.”

  She stood along with him and hefted her backpack over her shoulder even though he offered to take it from her. The T-shirt he wore was tight across his chest and showed his pecs. She’d bet a toned abdomen lay under the cotton material, and his jeans were tight enough around his strong legs to make her wish he’d worn shorts. Sturdy hiking boots that put her walking shoes to shame completed his carefree outfit.

  “Me, too.” His smile widened to give her a grin that could melt any woman’s heart. “Ready?”

  “Lead the way.” She tried not to act too friendly, just in case he turned out to be a creep in the guise of a good guy. Her gaze dropped to his butt as he turned around and started trekking down the rugged trail.

  Nice and firm. He is definitely one good-looking piece of male animal.

  She even liked his name. Blake Branson. It had a good reliable air to it without sounding uptight or boring.

  The narrow trail wouldn’t allow two people to walk side by side, but she didn’t care. The view from where she was made the hike more than enjoyable.

  “So, Blake, why have you been hunting this were—um, this wolf for so long?”

  The steady pace he’d taken faltered for a moment. “Let’s just say you’re not the first person he’s cornered.”

  “Wow. I would’ve thought he’d have a bounty on his head with lots of hunters wanting to add another trophy to their wall and the reward money to their pockets.”