Bewitched by Their Mate

Feral 1

Bewitched by Their Mate When witch Hewitt Moore helped his friends, the spirit wolves, he didn’t realize his assistance would draw unwanted attention to him. He becomes the target of the ferals, but Hewitt is completely capable of defending his life. He cannot, however, protect his heart. Not when he finds love in the most unlikely way. Devon Saunders and Mason Kale are ferals, banished by their own kind after losing themselves to their beast. When chance leads them to Hewitt, and each other, both men are shocked. Ferals don’t have mates, and they hate their own kind with a passion. However, their explosive connection cannot be denied. Fearing what their wild nature might do to Hewitt, the two ferals agree to cooperate with the spirit wolves. But there are more dangerous things in the world than ferals. When Hewitt is kidnapped by mysterious creatures, it will be up to Devon and Mason to rescue their mate. Note: this book contains double anal penetration. Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Shapeshifter Length: 37,174 words

BEWITCHED BY THEIR MATE Feral 1

Scarlet Hyacinth

MENAGE AMOUR MANLOVE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Ménage Amour ManLove

BEWITCHED BY THEIR MATE Copyright © 2012 by Scarlet Hyacinth E-book ISBN: 978-1-61926-876-0 First E-book Publication: July 2012 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers Dear Readers, If you have purchased this copy of Bewitched by Their Mate by Scarlet Hyacinth from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book. The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment. This is Scarlet Hyacinth’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Hyacinth’s right to earn a living from her work. Amanda Hilton, Publisher www.SirenPublishing.com www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION Thank you for buying the first book in my Feral series. I just have a brief important note to make. This story directly follows the thread of plot from the ending of the Spirit Wolves series. To fully enjoy Feral you must have read Spirit Wolves first. On that note, thank you to all those wonderful readers who asked for Feral. Enjoy!

BEWITCHED BY THEIR MATE Feral 1 SCARLET HYACINTH Copyright © 2012

Prologue Mason stood in front of his leader’s throne, watching all the young spirit wolves around him. They were all so anxious, as impatient as him, and for good reason. Today was the day when they’d finally embrace their inner wolves. He’d always felt his beast close to his heart and ached for the moment when he’d finally be granted his heritage. Now, that wish would finally come true. Mason couldn’t wait. It seemed to take forever until it was finally his turn. Magistrate Wolfram Rozenstadt stood in front of him and smiled. It was a kind, warm smile, intended to reassure him. For whatever reason, it failed, arousing an odd apprehension inside Mason. “Ready?” the Magistrate asked. Mason nodded and forced himself to smile back. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He didn’t know if the Magistrate had expected a reply or not, but nevertheless, the elder spirit wolf made no additional comment. Instead, he pressed his hand to Mason’s forehead like he’d done with all the young wolves before Mason.

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Mason closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. He felt the foreign power intrude inside his mind. His parents had pretty much told him how it worked. The Magistrate would ease Mason’s way through his first meeting with the wolf in the astral plane by means of his psychic abilities. Mason had been reassured that his leader would not read his mind, and in that respect, he accepted the process. Then why did he suddenly want to shy away? Why did this seem so wrong? Mason tried to accept the Magistrate’s help, but the wolf rejected the invasion. It howled, angry and wild, and all of a sudden, Mason found himself invaded by a strength he’d never known before. His beast burst into his mind, wildly snarling at his opponent. He sensed Wolfram retreat and opened his eyes only to see the other man stare down at him in shock. Mason got up, the heat inside his mind so intense it made him shaky. He didn’t understand anything anymore. He gathered something had gone wrong, but what? “My lord?” he asked Wolfram. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the wolf sneering at the show of subservience. Mason attempted to leash it in, but he didn’t know how. “My lord?” he asked again. “What’s the matter?” Wolfram didn’t give a reply. Instead, he frowned, and an odd, white glow began to emanate from his body. In a flash, Mason found that he could no longer move or speak anymore. The wolf howled at being imprisoned, protesting as the Magistrate’s power held him in an unbreakable hold. The unbearable heat increased more and more, and the beast inside Mason clawed to escape. In that moment, Mason understood. Somehow, his connection with his wolf had been too strong to contain. He’d gone feral. He didn’t grasp how and why. He was only eighteen, for crying out loud. He hadn’t even had time to find his mate, the mate he yearned for with such intensity, let alone be parted from him or her. He had

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absolutely no reason to lose it—except this strange, inexplicable power that not even the Magistrate could help him with. His fate was sealed. He knew that. Ferals had no room in the world of the spirit wolves. They were abominations who lived to kill. By rights, Mason should have accepted Wolfram’s decision and given up right then and there, but righteous indignation and fury rose within him, combining with his instinct of self-preservation. This was not his fault. He didn’t deserve to die for crimes committed by others. He didn’t deserve to be trialed before he’d even done anything wrong. The power burst out of him, and Mason’s form melted into that of the wolf. The Magistrate’s hold on him faltered, perhaps because of surprise, and in that moment of distraction, Mason broke the spell, using every ounce of anger and despair at his disposal. In the background, Mason registered screaming, chaos settling over a previously peaceful and reverent ceremony. Hastily, he rushed out of the hall, thankful for his luck when everyone moved away from his path. However, the guards were close behind him, and the Magistrate would not allow him a second chance. He needed to get out of there, fast. As he thought this, Mason heard his name being called out, his mother’s familiar voice reaching out to him, and he hesitated. He turned to look at her, even his wolf yearning for her warmth and affection. Surely, she would know what to do. She would help him. His family loved him. He caught sight of her standing in the doorway of the huge ceremony hall, and it distracted him enough that he missed the approach of the two wolves until it was too late. His father’s heavy bulk sent him crashing to the floor. It was only by virtue of Mason’s thick fur that he managed to avoid his sire’s sharp fangs. He almost could not believe what was happening. His wolf was torn between the sorrow of loss, the confusion of his new power, and the anger over being rejected. Mason focused on the anger and pushed his father aside.

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The guards were very close now, and Mason’s body went into survival mode. Without lingering on useless feelings, he started running faster than he had in his entire life. His path seemed to be blocked several times, as the Magistrate’s Den—their leader’s home and the place where all ceremonies took place—held hundreds of guards, in addition to the spirit wolves who’d come here for this special day alone. Mason prayed like he never had in his life. His wolf reached out to their creator, the Spirit Mother, begging for her to understand. At first, it seemed that he would not receive an answer, but unlike the Magistrate, she did eventually reply. A burst of energy not his own filled him, and before he knew it, Mason was out of the Den and into the neighboring forest, with the guards a long way behind him. He continued running until he felt reassured that they could not longer reach him. Finally, he stopped by a brook and drank some cool liquid, thankful when it soothed his parched throat. A ghostly voice sounded in his ears, whispering, “I know it hurts now.” Mason looked up, half expecting to see his mother there. Instead, a huge white wolf shone in front of the brook. Mason’s eyes hurt at the brightness, but he lowered himself on all fours for the Spirit Mother and bared his throat. “One day it will all make sense,” she said. Mason didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think his fate would ever make sense, and the Spirit Mother’s quizzical comment merely made him even more confused. An odd knowledge hit him, the realization that he was special, an Alpha feral. He would be hunted now. But of course, he could hunt in turn. He didn’t have to obey the rules. “Choose your path wisely, my child,” the Spirit Mother added, as if she’d guessed his thoughts. And then, she began to disappear until there was no sign she’d ever been there.

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Almost instantly, an acute loneliness hit Mason. His howl echoed in the forest as he acknowledged everything he’d lost. What was he going to do now?

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Chapter One A few hundred years later, present day The wolf carefully trudged forward through the shrubbery, his senses alert to every motion that might let him know something was not right. It was not safe for those like him to approach human towns too much. It represented the perfect way of getting oneself killed. He was a feral, a rogue who’d lost control of his beast. As such, he and all the others like him carried a deadly virus, one they often transmitted to the humans they bit. To avoid this, their former friends and allies, the spirit wolves, dispatched hunters to get rid of the threat. But there were millions of ferals all over the world, more than the spirit wolves even imagined. In time, a great number of them had learned to disguise their presence, to hide within their beasts until they seemed just wolves, at the same time lingering in forests rather than in settlements. Up ahead, the wolf smelled the distinctive scent of another beast in his proximity. He growled, knowing the second animal must’ve felt him, too. Even if he’d done his best to disguise his approach, his kind knew these things. An answering growl sounded, but it didn’t hold any particular hostility—at least, not more than normal. There was only one person who could find Devon even after all these years. His kind didn’t socialize, not like other shifters did. When they lost control of the animal, they also lost all desire to befriend others. Most everyone was seen as a threat. But those who’d known him once remained important, like his former friend, Roarke.

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Devon wanted to tear the other wolf’s throat out, but his memories from his life as a spirit wolf kept him from doing so. He and Roarke had been friends. In spite of everything, Devon still respected those times. What could Roarke want now? Shifting into his human form, Devon got out of the bushes and into a grove. Roarke waited for him, sitting on a tree stump. “Hi, Devon,” he said. “What’s up?” Devon shrugged. “Same old, same old.” He frowned at Roarke. “What are you doing here? What could you possibly want with me?” Roarke got up off the tree stump and sighed. “I just came to give you a heads-up. I hear the spirit wolves are planning a peace treaty with the ferals. I’m not sure what the Magistrate is trying to pull, but I just thought you’d like to know.” Devon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He gave Roarke a look of disbelief. “Peace treaty? Hah! Are you trying to pull my leg? It’s not funny.” The leader of the spirit wolves, Wolfram Rozenstadt, would never consider peace with the ferals. For crying out loud, he’d been hunting them through his dispatched soldiers for ages, even before Devon had become one. Even with all the time that had passed since then, Devon didn’t think Wolfram’s determination to protect the spirit wolves’ race would have dwindled. “I’m serious, Devon,” Roarke answered. “I ran into a hunter the other day. He tried to capture me, and when he failed, he told me about it. They also have some sort of drug that helps contain the feral madness.” Devon admitted the thought of his former friend confronting a hunter all alone made him uncomfortable, but he pushed the troublesome emotions away. Those times were long behind him, and while Devon didn’t want the man dead, he couldn’t stand the sight of Roarke, either. He did, however, need to find out the truth behind Roarke’s words. Naturally, he didn’t trust the Magistrate’s good

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intentions, and he had to know just what effects the development of this drug could have. “Thanks,” he grumbled reluctantly. He didn’t trust Roarke, not anymore, but any information was valuable. “I’ll look into it.” It was Roarke’s cue to beat it, but the other man didn’t take it. He just stared at Devon, his expression pleading. “When are you going to let this go?” he asked. Devon snorted. “You know better than to think that’s ever going to happen.” Ferals didn’t forgive. They lost their capacity after becoming what they were. The part of them that still held a measure of reason merely focused on their survival, and emotions mattered too little. “How long has it been now?” Roarke insisted. “Can’t we at least be civil?” Devon chuckled. “Seriously, Roarke? We’re feral. Civil doesn’t exist in our vocabulary. Deal with it.” Roarke glared at him. “It’s never too late to learn new words.” Annoyance coursed through Devon at Roarke’s refusal to back off. “You were the one who broke our friendship.” He growled. “You were the one who turned his back at me. Now go, before we do something we’ll regret.” Some spirit wolves went feral because of losing their mates. Others, simply because of poor control. For Devon, it had been quite anticlimactic. Nothing of import happened to push him into it. He’d simply become tired, too tired to pursue a life that held no meaning. He had dreamed of finding his other half, but instead of achieving this goal, he’d just lived to watch others have what he craved. He hadn’t been able to take it anymore, and he’d become a feral. Roarke had taken it as a personal betrayal and made it his business to hunt for Devon. But his little crusade didn’t last long, since shortly after, Roarke lost control as well and became the hunted instead. “You know I’m right,” Devon finished. “Now go.”

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Roarke took a deep breath, and Devon could tell his former friend was close to losing control. “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t ever say I didn’t try.” Devon shrugged while the other feral turned into his wolf form and took off. A few moments later, Devon changed shapes as well. He’d found it paid off to stay in shifted form more than in his human one. As long as he focused his primal instincts on the normal pursuit of prey, they didn’t accumulate in a tight ball of violence. But the balance was very tricky, since if he pushed his limits, he might forget he even possessed the consciousness of a rational being. Meeting Roarke had aroused old fury inside him, so Devon launched himself into a hunt. He ran through the vegetation, sniffing the air in search of an adequate meal. Finally, he detected the scent of a nearby rabbit. It wouldn’t be much in terms of a challenge, but dinner was dinner, and the beast would be satisfied with what it got. Devon made his way to the oblivious creature until he got so close its scent made his mouth water. But the rabbit must have sensed something, as it jumped away, just out of Devon’s reach. Snarling angrily, Devon started the chase. It didn’t take long. The rabbit was small and fast, but no match for Devon’s powerful paws. In no time, Devon pounced on it, killing the animal in one quick motion. As he feasted on his prey, his anger became a side thought, the beast temporarily sated with the kill. After finishing his dinner, Devon could finally recall Roarke’s words without wanting to hunt the man down and tear into his jugular. So the Magistrate had a serum he used on ferals. Well, Devon could not trust Roarke not to deceive him. He did, however, have an idea as to whom he could ask. As much as he hated leaving the safety of the wild behind, this couldn’t be avoided. After he found out what Wolfram Rozenstadt had in mind, he’d come back and become just another wolf once again. ****

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Enticing scents tickled at Devon’s nostrils as soon as he entered the familiar diner. From outside, it looked quaint, almost run-down, but the traditional mom-and-pop was actually very appreciated in the neighborhood for the high-quality meals and the dedication of the people running it. Devon knew the Tanners well, from the very first generation that built the diner in the first place. An exclusive group belonging to underground races often came here. In spite of the harmless appearance of the place, the main business of the family derived from a more important commodity—information. Devon wasn’t sure who started it, but the Tanners had somehow become involved in the lives of the paranormal community. In a sense, they represented a filter of communication, a place where information could be bought and sold, all for the right price. At the same time, Devon hadn’t been here in ages, so it didn’t surprise him that he could see some unfamiliar faces. He spotted a lithe figure maneuvering around the tables and smiled in bemusement when he identified the waiter as the family’s youngest child, Quinn. Last time Devon visited the diner, Quinn was maybe eight, running around the place in circles and fascinated with Devon’s hair. He used to ask Devon to change into his wolf form—apparently, the Tanners couldn’t keep secrets from their own—and Devon complied. In a strange way, Quinn reminded him of his old life, when he’d been carefree and happy. But Quinn had changed a lot since that time. He’d grown into a very handsome young man, and Devon regretted staying away for so long. Even if Quinn was human, Devon still cared about him. Shaking himself, Devon focused on the matter at hand. He made his way through the crowd and, when he saw Quinn had a free moment, caught up with the young human. “Hi, Quinn,” he greeted. At first, Quinn looked surprised, but then an honest, gleeful smile lit up his face. “Devon. Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. You’re back.”

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Quinn’s enthusiasm made Devon a bit uncomfortable. “You know me. I like my privacy. You’ve grown a lot.” Quinn laughed lightly. “Twenty-three in a couple of days. Time flies so fast.” It did, indeed, especially for humans. Devon pushed away the sudden image of Quinn’s youth dwindling into old age. “Well, it’s really nice to see you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. He decided to pass to the actual issue and keep himself from stalling further. “Where’s your dad?” Quinn’s expression darkened. “He died. It’s just me, Mom, and Dawn now taking care of this place.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” Devon replied softly. He truly regretted the human’s passing. Beyond that, it reminded him far too much of how frail life could be. “Did you need information?” Quinn asked, his voice barely audible now. It seemed to Devon that the human didn’t want to talk about his father’s demise further. “Is there any place private we could talk?” he asked, allowing Quinn to change the subject. Quinn nodded and gestured Devon to walk with him. Devon followed behind the human, always keeping his senses alert. He didn’t feel anyone lurking about or watching him, but that didn’t mean he could let his guard down. At last, they reached relative privacy in the back room of the diner. “There’s been some commotion with the spirit wolves. Have you heard anything about that?” “It’s difficult not to hear about it.” Quinn sat on a crate and gave Devon a curious look. “Where have you been for the past month?” Devon arched a brow at Quinn. “Brat. I’ve been hiding from civilization.” He didn’t give any other explanation, and Quinn didn’t ask. “Now,” Devon prodded, “tell me what you found out.” “I’m guessing you know about the supposed peace treaty the Magistrate wants to sign with the ferals.” When Devon nodded, the

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human continued, “It seems he’s been trying to get ferals to listen to him, but with little luck.” Devon snorted. “That’s so surprising.” For crying out loud, the Magistrate should know better. There could be no peace between spirit wolves and ferals. The war between them extended from times immemorial, and it would go on for as long as shape-shifters would roam the planet. “I don’t blame your skepticism,” Quinn replied. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any details, but I can direct you to a person who might know.” Quinn retrieved a notepad and began scribbling something on a piece of paper. Devon waited patiently until the human handed him the note. It held a name and an address. Hewitt Moore, owner of the club The Witching Hour and residing in London. “Who is this guy?” Devon asked. “A witch,” Quinn replied. The answer surprised Devon. Witches were like Switzerland— neutral in all conflicts. They had too many problems of their own to get involved with the issues of other people. But the Tanners had never given Devon faulty information. He must have looked puzzled, because Quinn elaborated. “Wolfram Rozenstadt recently mated a witch, someone named Dietrich Dupont. Apparently, Hewitt is a friend of Dietrich’s because from what I hear, the Magistrate visited The Witching Hour at least two times.” The information intrigued Devon, at the same time awakening a darker instinct. This Hewitt person might be an indirect connection to Rozenstadt. Perhaps Devon could use him to finally get revenge. He could draw out Wolfram’s mate and hit Wolfram where it hurt the most. Devon shook himself, forcing the haze of anger out of his mind. He’d have enacted his revenge long ago, but he knew that if he did so,

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he’d take the last step into the feral insanity and turn into his own worst nightmare. Still, he could find out something important from Hewitt. He offered Quinn a small smile. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?” Quinn waved a hand dismissively. “It’s on the house. Just don’t stay away so long next time.” Devon couldn’t promise that, and neither could he allow Quinn to just do him favors. In the end, the Tanners were human, and getting too close could only result in pain for all of them. For that reason, Devon retrieved his wallet and wrote Quinn a check with a generous sum. He might live in the wild, but he still owned a small fortune, and he used it wisely. “Go on. Take it,” he urged Quinn. Quinn looked pained, but eventually agreed and pocketed the slip of paper. Sighing, he said, “Fine. Just…be careful, okay? You’re not the only one who’s suspicious of the Magistrate. I haven’t told others about Hewitt, but it’s only a matter of time.” The human had a point. In the end, the information Quinn provided came from ferals, shape-shifters, and paranormal creatures, and those sources could easily share their intel with others. Devon needed to hurry if he wanted to get to Hewitt first. “I’ll try,” he replied to Quinn. “You take care, too, you hear?” Quinn nodded, and on that note, they said their good-byes. Devon left the diner with renewed sense of purpose. He had a feeling Hewitt Moore would be very important from now on.

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Chapter Two Hewitt scanned the expanse of his club thoughtfully. As of late, he’d been restless. He sensed something coming, a shift in the spiritual realm. It confused and unsettled him. His vision seemed clouded, and his scrying didn’t help at all. As a witch with powers over the aether, Hewitt channeled the energies of the sun and moon. There were few things in this world and beyond that escaped him. And yet, this time, he couldn’t grasp the source of his anxiety. Reason told him what his magic could not, though. Just a little while back, he’d lent a hand to his friend, Dietrich, to find a certain errant spirit wolf. Generally, he preferred to stay out of such issues, but witches survived only because they supported each other in everything. Otherwise, they’d never have lived through the culling of the past. Hewitt did not regret helping Dietrich, but he suspected it might have drawn unwanted attention from enemies of the spirit wolves. He considered letting Dietrich know, but he didn’t actually have anything to go on, just an instinctual feeling. For all he knew, he might just be jumping at shadows. Regardless, Hewitt had strengthened the wards around The Witching Hour, and he kept an even closer eye on the comings and goings. So far, other than the regular incidents caused by the occasional intoxicated customer, nothing of concern had happened. Hewitt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, just enjoying the distant thrum of the music as it coursed through him. From his office above the club, the rhythm of the songs barely reached him, but what

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he did hear provided a perfect distraction for when he felt like this, and it gave him incentive when he needed to work. Focusing on the sound, Hewitt searched for the magic inside him. He delved deep inside himself, looking for an answer within his own person. Meditation always relaxed him, and if nothing else, it would help him clear his mind. A shock of power drew him out of his trance. Something or someone had disturbed his wards. Hewitt opened his eyes and looked out into the club once again. His office boasted bulletproof windows with a mirror effect. He could watch the customers without being seen, and this gave him an advantage when an enemy dared to interfere on his turf. The person who’d triggered the magic alarm was nowhere in sight. Hewitt frowned, uncertainty coursing through him. Could he have made a mistake? No, it was impossible. True enough, the wards might have been activated by accident or something like that, but Hewitt could feel power advancing toward him. Someone had indeed entered the club. But who? Hewitt shrugged to himself. He’d hired plenty of guards to keep watch over his customers at all times. Should this intruder attack, they would detect him and control him until Hewitt could get there. He might have gone ahead and joined them, but his magic told him his uninvited guest would come to him. For this reason, Hewitt sat at the desk and opened a folder with the club’s financial situation. The numbers were nothing but a blur, his senses focused on the approaching presence. A weird heaviness settled on his heart, a feeling Hewitt did not understand and never experienced before. He took a deep breath and tried to push it away, but registered little success. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms against the material of his slacks. Get a grip, Hewitt. What’s wrong with you? You can deal with this.

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The odd sensation only increased. And then, Hewitt heard the sound of voices outside his office. His guards were arguing with someone. “It’s all right,” he called out. “Let him in.” The door opened, and one of his subordinates led a tall man in. Hewitt struggled to control his breathing and not show his apprehension. He didn’t even look at the intruder, but offered his guard a smile. The guard seemed concerned, studying the new arrival in obvious apprehension. “Sir?” Hewitt waved the other man away. “It’s fine. Go.” The soldier hesitated, obviously disagreeing with Hewitt’s assessment. In the end, he left the office, regardless, and Hewitt allowed himself to get a better look of his guest. He wouldn’t have thought his anxiety could increase further, but it did. His mouth went dry as he took in every detail of the mysterious visitor. Dark blue eyes studied him with an intensity that pierced Hewitt, scrutinizing his soul. The man wore simple clothing, just jeans and a T-shirt, but they did nothing to disguise the hard body beneath. He’d tied his blond hair in a ponytail, but the naughty bangs refused to be tamed, insisting on shadowing the hard, stern features of his face. Hewitt wanted to thread his fingers through the stranger’s locks, push them out of his face to get a better look. Every fiber of his being urged him to submit to whatever this man wanted to do. But he didn’t. Instead, Hewitt forced himself to sound completely normal and aloof when he said, “I’m waiting.” He didn’t have to ask questions or elaborate. The stranger had come here for a reason, and it wasn’t to fuck Hewitt until neither of them could walk. “My name is Devon Saunders. You are Hewitt Moore.” It wasn’t a question, but Hewitt nodded anyway. “What do you want with me?” he asked. Simply the sound of Devon’s voice made his heart beat faster, but Hewitt focused on practicalities. Gently, he sent magic probes to study his guest. A spirit wolf, he decided. No,

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something else. There was a wildness and a sense of danger spirit wolves did not have. A feral. Hewitt knew many things about ferals, and none of them made him feel very comfortable with the situation. He supposed he should have expected this, and to a certain extent, he had. Besides, Devon didn’t fit with his image of an insane shape-shifter bent on killing and destruction. Hewitt had lived far too long to make rushed judgments, and he decided to wait and see what Devon would reply. “I just need to ask you a few questions,” Devon said. The reply almost sounded friendly, but Hewitt sensed something hidden beneath the words. Devon’s eyes seemed heated somehow. Energy crackled between them, and Hewitt saw in Devon’s eyes the same sexual awareness he felt within himself. Hewitt swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat and tried to focus on the conversation. “I’m an open book,” he replied with a smile. **** With a mix of lust and disbelief, Devon watched Hewitt lean against his desk. From the moment he’d come within view of The Witching Hour, he’d known his visit would be a bad idea—at least for what he’d meant to do. The club seemed surrounded by a hidden power, something that eluded Devon’s senses. He gathered Hewitt must have surrounded himself with all sorts of spells to ensure he’d be safe. By rights, Devon should have drawn his prey out of hiding, but he’d been unable to keep himself from going inside. An unstoppable force lured him into the club. Devon couldn’t have resisted to save his life, but now, he wished he’d have never left the wild to inquire into the mysterious treaty. Ferals didn’t have mates. They were lone wolves par excellence. Socializing of any type unavoidably led to conflict. This couldn’t end

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well. If he even tried to touch Hewitt, he’d just end up turning the other man feral. After all, witches were human, too. They might have magic, but, in the end, they remained vulnerable to the feral insanity. But Devon had come here for a reason. He’d ask his questions and leave before anything worse happened. His mate—fuck, his mate— wouldn’t even remember him after a month or so. Such a bond meant nothing more than chemistry to humans, and a man like Hewitt probably had dozens of men and women begging for his touch. The thought made him furious, and the beast within him howled in fury. He shook himself and gritted his teeth to force his mind away from the unreasonable abyss. “I hear the spirit wolves want a peace treaty,” he said. His voice sounded far too angry for his comfort, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “What is the Magistrate up to?” Hewitt arched a brow at him. “Why would you think I know anything about that? I am aware of the idea, yes, but beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m not exactly a member of the Magistrate’s inner circle.” “You’re a friend of his mate’s,” Devon shot back. The witch simply shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. Some things are kept private, even from the closest of friends.” Devon supposed the witch had a point. After all, Hewitt’s involvement in the world of the spirit wolves didn’t seem to be all that significant. Still, Devon couldn’t exactly ask Wolfram about his plans. He needed an intermediary. “Can you find out?” he inquired. Hewitt looked surprised. “Why would I want to do that? I’d much rather stay out of it, thank you. I think the issue is complicated enough without a bunch of witches getting involved, too.” The argument didn’t convince Devon. Witches had already become involved when Wolfram mated one. Besides, if Quinn’s information was correct, Hewitt already helped the spirit wolves with something. Doubtlessly, he kept in contact with his friend.

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“I don’t want you to spy for me,” he answered. “I know you wouldn’t. But witches are supposed to be neutral, right? I merely want an explanation.” Hewitt opened his mouth, obviously intending to reply. Just as he did so, Devon sensed an approaching presence. Another feral was near. Quinn’s warning returned in his mind, and he knew the human had been right. Hewitt’s involvement with the spirit wolves had drawn unwanted attention from others, as well. The witch seemed to have picked up on the new arrival right away. “Did you bring friends?” he asked Devon. Devon couldn’t suppress a grimace. “Ferals don’t have any friends.” If Hewitt felt any surprise at the reply, he didn’t show it. In fact, Devon found he had significant trouble reading the man. Sure, he sensed desire within his mate, but beyond that, Hewitt was, in fact, the opposite of the open book he claimed to be. “I see,” Hewitt said. “I suppose I should deal with this. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.” To Devon’s surprise, Hewitt actually made for the door. Devon intercepted the other man before he could leave. “No way. I won’t let you. Ferals are dangerous.” This time, Hewitt seemed amused. “So am I. Besides, this is my club, my turf. It would take more than a feral—no matter how powerful—to beat me here.” Devon reluctantly stepped away from the door and allowed Hewitt to pass. His apprehension didn’t go away, but he admitted he trusted Hewitt’s power. Still, that didn’t mean he’d let his mate out of his sight. In one single instant, his resolve to leave Hewitt fell. He could not abandon the witch in such a moment. They exited the office together, Devon following behind Hewitt. His mate didn’t seem concerned, but rather, decided. He moved like a man on a mission. Devon noted several of the guards giving them

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inquiring looks, but Hewitt just shook his head. Apparently, he could handle himself just fine. They reached the ground floor, and the beat of the music immediately assaulted Devon’s hearing. He suppressed a groan, unused to such loud melodies after so much time spent away from civilization. Hewitt seemed to sense his discomfort. “You okay?” he asked. Devon just nodded, and Hewitt didn’t prod further. Still, Devon suspected that once they investigated the new arrival, they’d have a talk—and not only about the peace treaty and the Magistrate’s plans. Thankfully, Hewitt led him away from the dance floor and through a secondary exit reserved for staff. They walked through a winding corridor, and at one point, Hewitt veered right and found a door. Devon followed his mate into an alley behind the club. Once outside, he spotted the spying feral. The man must have sensed the power of the witch just like Devon and seemed reluctant to come inside. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Hewitt called out. Wild, insane eyes turned toward them. “You’re the witch,” the feral said. Of course, it wasn’t hard to guess since Hewitt didn’t bother to hide his power. Devon supposed that at this point, it would be useless. Hewitt’s location had been revealed, and even if the witch might have been more discreet in the past, prudency wouldn’t help him now. “I am,” Hewitt replied. “Please leave. I have no business or quarrel with you. I advise you to go now, or suffer the consequences.” The feral ignored Hewitt’s warning. “I think not.” He looked toward Devon and bared his teeth in an animalistic grimace. “You’ve been marked, witch, and you will die.” Devon couldn’t suppress a growl at the other man’s words. Ferals were, by nature, vindictive, and Hewitt’s involvement with the spirit wolves naturally drew their anger upon him. But Devon would not

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allow any harm to come to the witch. Even if they couldn’t complete their bond, in his heart, Devon still acknowledged their connection. Hewitt shook his head at the feral. “I suppose I can’t let you go anyway,” he said. “You’ll just harm others, and I can’t allow that.” The feral lunged forward, changing forms midleap. He moved so fast Devon almost didn’t see him coming. On instinct, he turned into his wolf, too, prepared to attack. But he did not get the chance to protect his mate. Magic slammed against the feral, propelling him back. The insane wolf hit the wall so hard the bricks actually shattered and collapsed on top of him. Still, the feral crawled out from under the debris and prepared himself for a second attack. This time, Hewitt stopped him before he could even move. Devon heard his mate utter a stream of words—probably a spell. A pentagram appeared under the feral, flashing brightly. The wolf immediately froze, as if numbed by an unseen force. “There we go,” Hewitt said, sounding pleased with himself. He rummaged through his pockets and retrieved a cell phone. “Now, I’m calling the Magistrate to come pick up this guy.” The words were, in a sense, a warning. The Magistrate would clearly send hunters here, so Devon needed to leave before that happened. But Devon didn’t fear Wolfram. He’d known the man for too long and had escaped Wolfram’s hunters for decades. Still, Devon didn’t want his mate to contact Wolfram, not yet. He wanted to spend some time alone with Hewitt. He didn’t trust Wolfram, but Hewitt was a whole different matter. Devon turned back to his human form and smirked to himself when Hewitt looked away. He wasn’t shy or uncomfortable with his nudity, but humans didn’t share the same opinions. So, if nothing else, Hewitt was attracted to him. “But first, we need to get you some clothes,” Hewitt grumbled. “Can you carry him?” It meant a lot to Devon that his mate seemed willing to trust him, at least to a certain extent. He nodded. “Sure.”

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Hewitt uttered another incantation, and the wolf went limp. Devon made his way to the feral’s side, feeling a bit apprehensive as the lingering traces of magic tickled at his senses. He ignored it and picked up the now-unconscious intruder. “Now what?” he asked his mate. “Follow me.” Without another word, Hewitt entered the club. Devon found himself forced to follow, although he remained puzzled as to how exactly Hewitt would deal with explaining a strange man in the buff carrying a wolf in the middle of a busy nightclub. Strikingly, no one paid them any heed. Even after they left the corridor, the guards and staff they passed just smiled at their boss and dropped the occasional comment, seeming relieved, but not surprised. Devon realized Hewitt must be using some sort of cloaking spell to disguise their presence. Before he knew it, they reached the office, but didn’t stop there. Instead, Hewitt revealed a second set of stairs Devon hadn’t originally seen. They climbed to a superior floor and to what Devon guessed to be Hewitt’s quarters. The suite was decorated in warm, calming colors, antique furniture complimenting a modern décor. Upon Hewitt’s instructions, Devon placed the unconscious feral on a couch. His mate disappeared through a doorway and returned a few moments later with a shirt and a pair of pants. “Put these on,” he said. Devon ignored the offered clothing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, aroused by the sight of his mate fighting, his mate in danger. His fangs dropped, and he took a few steps closers to Hewitt, invading the other man’s personal space. Hewitt blinked and stepped back. “What are you doing?” Devon grinned at his mate. “This.” Without further warning, he pounced on his witch, pressing his lips to Hewitt’s. Hewitt gasped, and it allowed Devon to slip his tongue inside, to take possession of his mate’s mouth. He crowded

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Hewitt against the wall, his hands already working at the witch’s clothing. Hewitt’s protests were weak at best. After a brief struggle, Hewitt wrapped his arms around Devon’s neck and pulled him close, giving as good as he got. Devon knew his mate could easily push him off by using magic, but it seemed Hewitt had no intentions of doing so. Reveling in this knowledge, he tore Hewitt’s shirt off, his claws skimming over the other man’s skin. He was careful not to push too hard or hurt his mate, but the beast inside him already wanted to claim Hewitt. What little patience he had was reaching its end. Breaking the kiss, he growled in the witch’s ear. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” Hewitt obeyed, his limber body rubbing against Devon’s as he shifted in Devon’s arms. As soon as he had a good grip on Hewitt, he got rid of Hewitt’s pants and underwear as well. Holding Hewitt upright with just his body and one arm, he spit on his fingers and reached down to Hewitt’s puckered hole, roughly inserting two digits into his mate’s anus. Hewitt winced. “Lube,” he whispered. “In the bedroom. Too big.” But Devon could not be bothered to lube himself up. He didn’t care about anything else except fucking Hewitt, getting inside the man’s ass. “It’s fine,” he snarled. “It’ll fit.” He pushed his fingers in and out of his mate’s passage, hissing at the tightness around them. It would feel so good. He just knew it. He wanted so badly, and he couldn’t wait anymore. With blood roaring in his ears, Devon removed his fingers out of Hewitt’s body and positioned his cock at Hewitt’s hole. But just as he readied himself to slide home, a powerful, invisible force threw him off Hewitt. Devon landed on his feet, growling at being denied. Hewitt was his mate, his. No one could refuse him the right he had to claim the witch.

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With decided steps, he stalked toward Hewitt, his anger pushing away all reason. Just as he reached his mate, Hewitt spoke. “Devon, stop,” he said. His voice sounded so gentle, and impossibly, it stopped Devon in his tracks more efficiently than any spell could have done. He froze and gave his mate a shocked look, truly taking in Hewitt’s appearance. The witch looked like he’d been mauled by a wild animal, scratch marks and bruises already forming on his skin. Devon gaped as he realized what he’d been close to doing. He stared at his hands, at the claws that had left marks on Hewitt’s hips. He remembered the way he’d refused preparing his mate for invasion, not caring about anything expect his own instinct and pleasure. He felt like for the first time, he was truly seeing what spirit wolves did when they looked at him. Sure, he’d always known he was a perversion of their kind, but that didn’t make the realization any less painful. Horrified, he backed away from his mate. How could he have ever thought he and Hewitt might have a chance together? Answer—he hadn’t been thinking. He’d ignored his rational knowledge, the one that told him ferals didn’t have mates. Devon had lost the right to one when he’d surrendered to the wildness inside of him, when he’d become nothing more than an animal. The pain and self-disgust were so intense he almost keeled over. The emotions he’d thought dead and buried choked him, and he couldn’t hold onto his human form. He’d lose it altogether if he did so. As quickly as he could, he changed into a wolf and made for the exit. But he was out of luck. Before he could reach the door, Hewitt muttered something that sounded like a spell. A magical barrier popped up between Devon and the hallway. “Devon, don’t run from me,” Hewitt said. “I won’t let you go. I want an explanation.”

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Devon knew better than to believe he could force his mate to do anything he didn’t want to do. Hewitt had proved that beyond any shadow of a doubt. Devon could try to wait it out, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to withstand Hewitt’s presence for so long and not jump him again. He turned and looked at his mate, willing Hewitt to understand. He needed to leave, before he fucked up again, before he made an even greater mistake. However, just as he thought this, his eyes fell on the still unconscious feral. He could not abandon his mate. Even if Hewitt managed to defend himself just fine, the thought of leaving him at the mercy of his attackers made Devon’s stomach turn. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Devon shifted back to his legged form. “All right. You win.”

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Chapter Three Mason growled at the feral female in front of him. “What do you mean he left and didn’t come back? Where did he go?” The woman cowered in front of his show of strength. “He said…He said he wanted to take revenge on the spirit wolves. He meant to attack that witch who helped them.” Mason took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He tried to find a measure of peace in the sound of nature, the feel of the wind on his face. As always, he failed. It was a feat of excellence that he even managed to cope with the presence of the other feral. As a rule, those of his kin disliked each other. Mason would have preferred hunting for a nice meal rather than chatting with the bitch, but he’d taken up a responsibility, and he couldn’t exactly refuse. Mason was an Alpha feral, one of the few of his kind who could cloak his and his inner circle’s presences from spirit wolves, including the Magistrate. He had been born with this potential for greatness, and this strength had been too intense to control during his young years. Unfortunately, this meant Mason needed to care for “his people,” a fact which, given their unsociable nature, was very problematic, indeed. He’d have preferred to be like the normal ferals, the lone wolves who cared about no one and nothing but themselves. But no…He needed to listen to the complaints of a feral female who inexplicably still cared for her young. Mason had no idea what urged her to become feral in the first place and couldn’t care less. The woman had requested an audience,

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and he, as their unofficial leader, needed to look into the disappearance of the bitch’s spawn. “Fine,” he told her. “Get out of my sight. I’ll look into it.” The bitch shifted into her wolf form and rushed out of the clearing. Mason considered the information he had to go on in his unpleasant quest. He kept himself informed with the comings and goings of the paranormal world and knew all about the famous Hewitt Moore, who’d aided Wolfram Rozenstadt in defeating a feral who got too ambitious. Just because of this aid, Mason already disliked the witch. He had beef with Wolfram that wouldn’t go away, and any ally of his was Mason’s enemy. Perhaps Mason should pay a visit to this Hewitt, if only to give him a lesson as to why it was better to stay out of the affairs of other races. Mason smirked, already feeling much better about the whole thing. Sure, it would be a drag to go all the way to London, and Mason hated big cities—what feral didn’t?—but it would be worth it. With that in mind, Mason left his sanctuary, the age-old forest that had protected him for so long, like it did for so many animals here. As a natural reserve, the Virgin Komi Forest kept them safe and away from civilization. But as any feral, Mason knew how to move around and blend in. This goal gave him focus even while he made his way out of the forest and into civilization. The thought of this hunt managed to keep his good mood up until he left Russia. He hated airplanes, hated the crowded space and the humans around him. But he didn’t have private jets or expensive cars like the Magistrate. As a rule, he didn’t need it, and property of any kind could be traced. He’d have foregone his bank accounts if he’d thought he could live and make do without them. Unfortunately, not even a feral could isolate himself in the wild, and Mason’s money allowed him slightly more bearable incursions into human cities.

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He didn’t know how he managed not to snap during the journey. Objectively speaking, he knew it wasn’t too long, but he’d have preferred a month-long trek through the continent to the airplane trip. At last, the jet landed on the runway. As soon as he got the “all clear,” Mason burst out of his seat, grabbed his small pack, and shot out of the plane, receiving disgruntled looks from the rest of the passengers and the crew. He didn’t care. If he were forced to stand the close quarters for any longer, there would be considerably fewer humans in London. Compared to the flight, the taxi ride to the famous club owned by Hewitt Moore was a breeze. It was early morning now, and the city was waking up, but at least the car didn’t have any other passengers. Still, as it approached their destination, Mason began to feel something strange, an ache in his chest. His beast paced, snarling to get free. He wanted to hunt, to fuck, to feed. His instincts were on the edge. Had the plane trip affected him so much? He needed to get out of the forest more often. It wouldn’t do to lose touch with civilization so much. The driver gave him cautious looks, a clear sign that Mason wasn’t doing a very good job in disguising his emotions. Thankfully, it also made for a shorter drive to The Witching Hour. He paid the human without really looking at the number of bills and left the car. It drove off in a rush, but Mason had already ceased caring. His full attention was on the building ahead. As an Alpha feral, Mason had traveled a lot before he’d decided for his permanent residence to be in Russia. He could sense others of his kind from longer distances, and because of this, he was well acquainted with ferals all over the world, including here in Britain. Many deferred to him, his superior strength having earned their begrudging respect. However, this was the first time he had experienced such a sensation, a heady rush of attraction and need.

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Something from inside that building drew him like a moth to the flame. It was with great dismay that he finally acknowledged the source of it. Mate, the wolf within howled. Mate. He’d always thought ferals couldn’t have mates. It had been one of the things that hurt him most. He’d never even had the chance to find his mate, since he’d turned feral upon reaching his coming of age. Mason still remembered that night, the only night he’d met his leader, and he’d almost been killed by those he considered his kin. To think that all this time he’d been wrong, that ferals did indeed have mates waiting out there, shocked him beyond belief. His body moved without him even telling it to. He didn’t care about anything else except seeing, feeling the person meant for him. What would his mate be like? Would he or she be a feral like him, or a shape-shifter? Or perhaps even a human? Anything was possible. Mason hoped his mate wouldn’t be a human, but he felt certain he’d figure things out somehow. After all, he’d done well for himself even as a feral, and his mate could do the same. Predictably, there were bouncers at the entrance into the club, and he even felt magic sizzle over his skin. A ward, he realized. The witch seemed to be resourceful, but no shield, be it physical or otherwise, could keep Mason from his mate. “Hey, you,” one of the bouncers told him. “Just where do you think you’re going?” Mason didn’t even bother to answer. He just punched the guy in the face, and the strength of the blow made the man slump to the ground unconscious. The second bouncer cursed and retrieved a gun, but didn’t get the chance to use it. In a few well-placed kicks, he took out his opponent, without even breaking a sweat. Another time, he might have enjoyed grinding their faces in, just for standing in his way, but now, he was too keen on getting inside. Just as he thought this, the door to the club opened, and a handsome human appeared in the doorway. He looked irritated.

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“What do I have to do for you people to get the message? You’re not welcome here.” Mason froze. His muscles and his vocal chords simply refused to work in the face of his mate. The man was everything Mason had yearned for once upon a time, and still wanted now. Sure, he seemed a bit upset at the moment, but surely, if Mason mentioned the bouncers’ hostility toward him, his mate would understand. However, things didn’t happen the way he predicted. The human said something Mason didn’t understand, and he found himself propelled ten feet away by an unseen force. He shook himself and got up, finally grasping his predicament. It seemed fate had a way of toying with him. Hewitt Moore was his mate. “Well, hello to you, too, little witch,” he said, grinning. “My apologies for the slight…rudeness. It seems you just can’t find good help these days, and I may have lost my temper.” A vein twitched in Hewitt’s temple. “Right. Well, I didn’t ask for your approval. Please leave, or I’ll find myself forced to do something truly unpleasant.” “I very much doubt I could dislike anything you did,” Mason answered. It was so strange. He’d come here to kick Hewitt’s ass, and now he was flirting. What in the world was wrong with him? He should be swooping in and taking what belonging to him, exchanging pleasure not words. True, the banter did feel kind of nice, but that was beside the point. But there was something else not immediately apparent bothering him. Even with Hewitt right there in front of him, the beast felt restless. The intensity of the pull seemed to be amplified by a factor other than Hewitt. Just as Mason wondered what this could be about, he felt it, the presence of another feral. It was a testament to Mason’s distraction that he’d only noticed now. He or she was closing in fast, approaching Hewitt. Mason frowned, the wolf’s hackles rising. Mine, it roared. Stay away.

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In a flash, Mason reached Hewitt’s side. The witch’s eyes widened, and he seemed moments away from casting another spell, but Mason moved too fast. He placed himself between Hewitt and whatever feral came his way, ready to take on the threat. Unfortunately, the wolf felt both angry and puzzled. The aggression that always appeared when he faced one of his own reared its ugly head just like he expected, but there was something else, a heat that he couldn’t comprehend. Seconds later, another man joined them in front of the club. He glowered at Mason, his blue eyes seemingly throwing daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from him.” Hewitt drew an irritated breath and stepped out of Mason’s reach, although Mason was fairly certain the man’s order had been directed at him, not at Hewitt. “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?” Hewitt asked. “I’m not your puppy.” The second feral growled. “Who is this guy?” “Mason Kale, at your disposal.” Before the other man could say anything else, Mason attacked. He could sense hostility, and he knew he had to establish dominance now. The wolf within howled as their bodies came into contact. He shifted into his animal form just as his enemy did the same. Jaws snapped at fur-covered flesh, claws scratched, looking for vulnerable spots. Mason didn’t know who drew first blood, but he couldn’t care less. Angry satisfaction coursed through him as he battled his opponent. He was stronger. He knew. He could feel it, and he sensed the other feral acknowledged it as well. And yet, the man didn’t give up. He struggled with a despair Mason admired, the same one Mason himself experienced at the thought of his mate in danger. All of Mason’s primal instincts rose inside of him. He was an Alpha. He wanted to dominate, to have the other wolf bare his neck and raise his tail for him. The desire to fight and to couple mixed together. Mate, his wolf howled again. My mate. Surrender.

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Not giving the other feral a chance to keep fighting, Mason moved faster than lightning and pinned his opponent down, fangs at his jugular. He snarled, sending a clear message. Yield. A few tense seconds later, his opponent shifted into his twolegged form. “All right,” he said between gritted teeth. “You win. Do whatever you want to me. Just don’t hurt my mate.” For whatever reason, Mason had not expected the man to say that, but even so, it didn’t surprise him. His wolf had known about this before Mason himself found out. He shifted as well, but didn’t get up, grinning as the current position made their naked bodies come into contact. “Oh, I plan to hurt Hewitt,” he murmured. “I’ll hurt him real good—and I’ll do the same to you.” His cock throbbed between his legs, and he rubbed against the other feral. Yes, it was strange. Yes, he shouldn’t be in the situation in the first place. But who gave a fuck? Certainly not Mason. He was too lost in his instincts to care. He’d claim his mate and get rid of anyone who stood in his way. “You should at least ask my name before you suggest fucking me,” the other feral commented sarcastically. His eyes, however, were glazed with lust and suppressed aggression. Oh, yeah, Mason would very much enjoy taming the bastard. He would enjoy it a lot, indeed. He reached for his mate’s prick, smirking when he found it hard and leaking. “I might not know your name, but I know something more important.” He moved his hand up and down the man’s shaft. What need did they have of social conventions like names when they had this? The only other thing they needed was Hewitt’s acceptance. But just as Mason thought this, Hewitt’s angry words echoed in his ears. “What in the world are you doing? Get off him.” Mason felt Hewitt’s power accumulate a second before it threw him off the other man. Like before, he landed on his feet, and he glanced at his witch mate. Hewitt looked furious, and it occurred to Mason that he and the other feral were brawling naked in front of a

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famous nightclub in central London. They’d even shape-shifted, for fuck’s sake. Sure, it was early, and no customers were around, but such carelessness could be a death warrant for a feral. What a mess. “Sorry about that,” he said, knowing he sounded anything but honest. “I guess I got a little carried away.” “I’ll say,” Hewitt grumbled. “Get the fuck out of here, both of you. I don’t need this.” With a flick of his wrist, Hewitt sent the unconscious bouncers floating inside. Looking furious, he stalked inside the club and shut the door behind him. For a few seconds, the fact that he’d been essentially shut out by his mate didn’t really compute for Mason. He shared a look with the other feral and asked, “Is he serious?” His second mate sighed. “Apparently. So, what do we do now, smart-ass?” Mason considered the question and decided the first order of business was to dress up. Thankfully, he still had his bag, although he’d dropped it when he’d first attacked the bouncers. His mate was a little slimmer than him, but even so, he would be able to fill out Mason’s clothing quite nicely. Then, they’d camp out in front of the club until Hewitt finally let them inside. It wasn’t like the witch could keep the ward up forever. He had a business to run. Perhaps Hewitt realized this as well, because a few seconds later, the door opened once again, and the witch appeared. “Just get in here before I change my mind,” Hewitt said tiredly. “We need to talk.” **** Devon followed Mason and entered the club once again. He felt more than a little confused at the appearance of this man. He was an enigma, and he only worsened the already problematic situation. Devon’s wolf answered with additional restlessness, wanting to both claw Mason’s eyes out and bare his throat at the man. And when

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Mason stepped into Hewitt’s personal space, Devon was torn between being aroused as hell and wanting to pull them apart. He couldn’t be happier when the door to the club closed again, but this time, after allowing him inside the building. Thankfully, the staff—or what little of it remained to man the club during the day— had made themselves scarce. It was a good thing, too, because Devon didn’t think he could face anyone else without snapping. There was no sign of the bouncers Mason had taken out. Devon frowned. Even if he disliked the arrogant fuckers, they were only humans and could be seriously hurt in the fight against a feral. “Where are your men?” “They’re fine. They’re recovering, and I told them to get some rest in the staff room.” Hewitt scowled. “Now you want to tell me what that was all about?” Devon resisted the urge to fidget. He knew it was a bad idea to stay with Hewitt. This could be his chance to leave, to allow his mate a normal existence—insofar as a witch could live normally, at least. But he’d been running away for so long, from hunters, from Roarke, from civilization itself. He needed to face this head-on, if only because Hewitt had given him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, he’d regret it forever. “You wanted an explanation? Well, here it is. You’re my mate, but so is he.” He nodded toward Mason, who just stood there, looking smug and completely comfortable in his nudity. Not that Devon blamed him. The bastard was fucking gorgeous, and he knew it, all hard muscle, not one inch of fat on that godlike body. Devon wanted to lick him, suck the thick cock protruding from between the man’s thighs, bury his face in Mason’s brown hair and just inhale. It was fucking strange, and he hated it. Shaking himself, Devon did his best to focus less on the sexual awareness and more on the seriousness of the situation. It wasn’t easy with both his mates there, and the lingering arousal from his little roll around with Devon. But ferals weren’t exactly known for their

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resistance to their impulses, so Devon found himself taking a step forward toward Mason, almost against his own will. “He’s right,” Mason said, “although I suppose these conditions are far from ideal. Like hunk-alicious there said, we are mates. Personally, I came here on account of a missing feral who was supposedly intent on coming here to pay you a visit. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?” Hewitt groaned. “He attacked me. I was going to alert Dietrich…” He trailed off, as if realizing what he was saying to whom. “You’re putting me in a very difficult position here.” Anyone reasonable would have understood all the reasons why Hewitt should be on the phone with Dietrich now. Even with the few things Devon knew about his mate, he’d still come here with the clear knowledge that the witch was very close to the Magistrate’s mate. But again, Devon was not a reasonable man. “I’ve heard enough about Dietrich.” He growled low in his throat. “You’re supposed to be focusing on this. Didn’t you say you would not let me leave? Where is that determination? Do you need Dietrich to hold your hand?” Mason narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Why do I have the feeling I’m missing something here?” His green gaze seemed to reach out to Devon’s very soul. “And why would you ever want to leave our mate?” “News flash, Mason. We’re feral. If we claim him, we’ll drive him insane, remember?” Mason looked thoughtful. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he finally said, “but running away is not the solution.” “Yeah, I already figured that out.” Devon stared at Hewitt. “But neither is turning to the spirit wolves. I don’t trust them.” Hewitt threw his hands in the air. “So what do you propose we do, Devon? It’s not like I can just up and leave my business and start a secret liaison with you. And besides, we hardly know each other. How would that even work?”

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“You’re our mate,” Mason said practically. “Of course it would work.” Hewitt passed a hand through his hair, and Devon could sense the witch’s agitation within him. “Well, that might be enough in your world, but in mine, I’d prefer to know a man for at least twenty-four hours before deciding I want to spend forever with him.” Devon’s wolf cowered in front of what it perceived to be his mate’s rejection. He shared a look with Mason. Everything Hewitt said was true. The witch lived in a world different from theirs, and he could not be expected to accept them just like that. Still, Devon might not know how to woo their mate the human way, but he could do it the wolf way. After all, both he and Mason were beasts at heart, and Hewitt seemed to acknowledge it just fine. It stood to reason that anything they’d share together would be under the mark of that beast. It still scared him, and the memory of what he’d nearly done to Hewitt made him reluctant to try. But he encouraged himself with the thought that the witch could clearly take care of himself and, if either Mason or Devon lost it again, could push them away. With that thought in mind, Devon went with his instinct and slowly approached his mate. At first, the witch looked curious, confused, and somewhat frustrated. “What are you doing?” he asked. Pleased that his mate didn’t seem frightened, Devon pressed their bodies together and rubbed his face against Hewitt’s cheek. His mate smelled so good, like moonlight would if it had any scent, so addictive that the beast inside Devon awoke fully, demanding that he claim his mate. Instead, when he saw Hewitt didn’t shy away, Devon shifted into his animal form. He felt the moment when Mason did the same, the awareness of the second feral shifting slightly. Devon playfully nudged Hewitt’s leg with his snout, while Mason joined them and did the same. Hewitt blinked, but reached down to pet them. “So you’re suggesting we

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bond like this?” Hewitt laughed lightly. He had a beautiful laugh, Devon noted, crystal clear, yet all male. “It might be a good idea.” Satisfied with Hewitt’s acceptance, Devon jumped on his mate, paying close attention not to send the witch falling to the ground. For a few moments, the three of them simply enjoyed each other’s presence. It was very strange, with Devon and Mason in wolf form and Hewitt still a human, but somehow, it worked. At last, Hewitt seemed to take a decision. “Give me a moment, all right? I think we need a different space if we’re going to do this.” Devon watched as his mate padded toward the back, where he assumed the staff room would be. He hadn’t actually explored the entire club, and he mentally shrugged as he followed after Hewitt. As he approached, he overheard Hewitt talking to one of the bouncers from before. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I appreciate you staying to watch over the club.” “It’s not a problem,” the bouncer replied, “but I’m still concerned about those wolves.” Devon peeked into the room and bared his fangs when he saw the bouncer far too close to his mate. A low growl from behind him alerted him Mason had seen the same thing and was not pleased, either. It seemed that Hewitt heard them, because he turned away from the bouncer and toward the door. “Like I said, I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” Thankfully, Hewitt said his good-byes and left the room. He didn’t look surprised when he saw them outside. Instead, he just arched a brow, but made no comment. “Come on,” he said instead. “We’re going on a field trip. But first…” Hewitt went up the stairs. “What do we do with this guy?” Mason shifted, his playful demeanor gone. “He attacked you, didn’t he?” When Hewitt nodded, Mason continued. “Well, he’s better off with the spirit wolves now.” Claws emerged from his fingers. “If I get him, he might not live to tell the tale.”

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Devon nudged Mason’s leg with his snout. It wouldn’t do to scare Hewitt, to freak him out more than he already was. Hewitt didn’t acknowledge the latter words, however. He probably felt relieved that he could hand in the feral to Dietrich. “I’ll contact them now to send someone. I do believe they have people in the vicinity, so it shouldn’t take them long to get here. In the meantime, he’ll be safe under my wards.” Half an hour or so later, Hewitt, Devon, and Mason left The Witching Hour, after the witch bound the imprisoned feral with several strong wards. Devon didn’t know where they were headed, but he didn’t care, as long as he had his mates with him.

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Chapter Four Hewitt had seen a lot in his life and gotten used to the oddities of living a life among paranormal creatures. Even if his people generally kept out of trouble, he’d still come into contact with all sorts of beings. But none of what he’d seen had prepared him for this day, for the day he met his mates. By his side, Devon yipped happily, taking hold of Hewitt’s pants and pulling at them playfully. Mason watched them with undisguised amusement and occasionally joined in. At one point, he jumped on Devon, and they rolled on the grass together in a sort of mockery of the battle before. It was surreal, and Hewitt had no idea what he was doing. He’d brought them to Epping Forest, on the basis that here, they would at least be in the middle of nature. If anyone asked what wolves were doing here, Hewitt could claim they were his pets. Of course, given their size and their aggressive behavior, he’d also have to use some magic to make it plausible. “Hey, careful now,” he shouted. “Don’t hurt each other.” He didn’t actually believe they would, at least not now. They seemed to be completely focused on a sort of courtship ritual Hewitt only knew about because he watched the Discovery Channel. Hewitt had never felt stranger. Still, as the minutes passed, he found himself relaxing. He sat under a tree, feeling safe in the presence of his mates. His mates…Could he get used to this? What would it be like if he belonged to them? Could they truly make it work? Their warm bodies cuddled closer to him, and Hewitt absently petted the silky fur. It was definitely not like having a pet, he decided.

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Devon and Mason could kill—had killed, most likely. But who could judge them? Hewitt had been involved in some pretty questionable things throughout his life. As a young witch, he’d been forced to do so if he wanted to survive in a world full of suspicion. Now, he’d managed to become free of all that, but ferals still bore the same stigma. Hewitt felt ashamed of himself. He’d only ever seen Dietrich’s point of view, believing ferals were all insane and evil. In a sense, he’d always known the world could not be judged with black-andwhite standards, but now, all the limits and concepts he’d thought true and valid seemed to be falling apart. Certainly, the man who’d tried to attack him seemed out of his mind. However, that feral would be in spirit wolf custody by now. It was the second reason why Hewitt wanted to get Devon and Mason out of the main city. They simply were not safe in London. And didn’t it speak volumes that they already meant so much to him that he was willing to hide them no matter what it meant for him? He was snapped out of his musings when the furry animal bodies next to him changed into men—very naked men. “What are you thinking about so hard, my mate?” Mason asked. His breath was hot in Hewitt’s ear, and Hewitt unwillingly trembled. Just like that, he went from feeling safe, but concerned, to aroused as hell. He tried to find an answer, but when Mason and Devon sandwiched him between their hard bodies, his mind short-circuited. “Uh,” he said intelligently. Mason chuckled and licked his neck. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll take care of you.” Devon pressed his strikingly soft lips to Hewitt’s cheek in a whisper of a kiss. His hands worked at Hewitt’s clothing, threatening to tear them apart. It reminded Hewitt of where they were, and of the fact that he needed those clothes to go back to London.

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Somehow, he managed to snap out of his lust-induced trance and say, “The clothes. Need the clothes to get back.” He panted as Mason rubbed his hard prick against the crease of his ass. “Oh, God, yes…I mean, no. This is a bad idea. Someone is going to see.” “No one is around,” Devon murmured. It was true. At this hour, this part of the park seemed to have few visitors. “And anyway, if someone did show up, we’d feel him or her.” Any other time, Hewitt might have pulled away. He had clear rules against drawing attention of any kind to himself. But with Mason and Devon touching him, those rules faded into the background of his mind. He must have been crazy when he’d said he didn’t want to rush into things. Now, he couldn’t think of any better idea. As if sensing his desire, Devon pressed his mouth to Hewitt’s. As his mate’s tongue licked across the seam of Hewitt’s mouth, he gladly parted his lips, allowing Devon entrance. The feral didn’t delay in taking advantage of the given opportunity. He thrust his tongue inside the wet cavern, exploring every inch of Hewitt, taking no prisoners. Meanwhile, his clever hands continued working on Hewitt’s clothing, aided by Mason’s. Distantly, Hewitt noted that, in deference of his wishes, his mates refrained from tearing apart his clothes, actually taking it slow—far too slow, in Hewitt’s opinion. Thankfully, Devon’s delicious kiss distracted him. The man tasted wild, like nature itself, and Hewitt enjoyed himself immensely. Before he knew it, he was naked, his skin touching Devon’s and Mason’s. Devon reached between their bodies and wrapped his hand around Hewitt’s prick. Hewitt gasped, moaning into their kiss. Devon broke away from him, allowing him to breathe, while Mason massaged Hewitt’s buttocks. He separated Hewitt’s ass cheeks, his dry fingers prodding at the opening hidden there. Hewitt wanted to push closer to both of them. His mind whirled with the onslaught of sensation, and he didn’t even know what he

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wanted. The two ferals didn’t seem to have that problem. They toyed with him as if in a perfectly orchestrated play. Devon’s mouth advanced from Hewitt’s lips down toward his Adam’s apple, then lower and lower. His tongue trailed lines of fire on Hewitt’s skin, and he licked Hewitt as if he were a delectable morsel just waiting to be feasted upon. When his mate zeroed in on his nipples, Hewitt couldn’t help a cry. He wrapped his arms around Devon, wordlessly begging for more. But after a few more licks, Devon abandoned the sensitive nubs. Hewitt tried to make his mate retrace his steps, but Mason’s hands tightened on his hips. “Shh, my mate,” Mason murmured. “Let him take care of you.” The tone of Mason’s voice was like melted chocolate, dark and sweet, and Hewitt found himself falling under its spell. He relaxed in Mason’s arms while Devon continued his exploration. Mason’s hard hands caressed his sides, and his wicked hands went to Hewitt’s nipples, much to his enjoyment. He was so lost in the pleasure that he completely missed Devon’s plans until the other man’s mouth engulfed his cock. Hewitt howled, the pleasure more intense than he’d ever expected. He’d gotten a taste of what it could be like between him and Devon back at the club, but that memory was shadowed by Devon’s loss of control. Now, however, all that seemed so distant, like an upsetting cloud looming over someone else that Hewitt could acknowledge without really caring. “Shh,” Mason repeated. “You said it yourself. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear, now would you?” Hewitt bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He’d have very much liked to be in private with his mates now, but since that couldn’t be achieved, he did indeed need to be quiet. It was easier said than done, especially with the delicious suction around his prick. Devon did something mind-numbingly amazing with his mouth, and Hewitt

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couldn’t help another cry, “Oh, God. Please. Please. Please. Fuck me.” The next few seconds reminded Hewitt who he truly was with. His demand seemed to make something snap in both Devon and Mason. Devon removed his mouth off Hewitt’s cock, and Hewitt found himself being flipped on his back. Mason’s hard fist moved up and down Hewitt’s dick, jacking him almost roughly. Mason’s green eyes pinned Hewitt to the ground, promising wicked delights and freezing every muscle in his body. An orgasm tingled at the base of Hewitt’s spine. He felt it approach more and more with every harsh pull of Mason’s hand. He would have reached for Mason, but Devon held him down immobile, leaving Hewitt at Mason’s mercy. Sure, if he’d truly wanted to, Hewitt could have easily pushed them away through magic, but of course, that was the last thing on his mind right now. Mason gestured for him to spread his legs wider, and Hewitt gladly obeyed. As Mason’s wicked fingers massaged his testes, Hewitt could not take it anymore. Crying out his lovers’ names, he came all over Mason’s fist. It was not, by far, the kinkiest thing he’d done in his long life, but it offered a pleasure beyond the pure carnal one, one that was heightened by the knowledge that his mates weren’t done with him. His orgasm swept over him with striking intensity, so much so that for a minute, he lost track of his actual location. Perhaps it was for that reason that he missed what Mason intended until he felt its results. Slick fingers rubbed his taint, making new sensations course through him. They didn’t linger too long, however, progressing toward Hewitt’s hole. “I’m sorry, my mate,” Mason said. “I just don’t think I can take it much longer.” Two digits thrust inside Hewitt’s passage. They were wet with his own cum, Hewitt realized, and for some reason, that made his body

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respond. His cock—spent from his orgasm—went rock hard once again. Mason chuckled as he pushed his fingers in and out of Hewitt’s anus. “Would you look at that? Someone got all excited again.” He lowered his large body over Hewitt’s and brought their lips together, at the same time lifting Hewitt’s ass and continuing with the prep. Hewitt had trouble processing how exactly Mason managed to do it, but he decided he’d worry about it later. He parted his lips, allowing the other man entry. Just like Devon, Mason devoured him, but it was a lazier exploration, as if the other man had all the time in the world. He teased Hewitt, perhaps knowing how much Hewitt truly needed him and enjoying that knowledge. Hewitt wrapped his legs around Mason’s waist and clutched his mate’s shoulders with his arms, digging his fingernails into the hard flesh. Mason groaned, obviously enjoying the display. He broke away from Hewitt and flipped him on all fours. In the process, his hold on Hewitt’s ass faltered, and Hewitt couldn’t help a moan of protest. Still, the new position had many advantages, as he found himself facing Devon’s very hard cock. He looked up to meet Devon’s eyes, finding them almost black with the lust the other man irradiated. Mason caressed his buttocks, murmuring slightly, “Come on, little witch. Suck him.” Hewitt didn’t wait to be told twice. He opened his mouth and waited for Devon’s next move. He didn’t delay, and seconds later, Devon’s cock thrust in the provided opening. As he did so, Mason worked three fingers inside Hewitt’s ass. Hewitt moaned around Devon’s cock. He wanted to tell Mason to get on with it, but he had a feeling that the feral would just drag the torture on forever if Hewitt pushed him. Then again, he very much doubted Mason could let them wait for much longer. They were all too needy, too desperate for each other. Indeed, just as he’d expected, Mason removed his fingers from Hewitt’s ass. “Ready?” he growled.

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In answer, Hewitt just moaned again and wiggled his ass, and he couldn’t help a feeling of wicked satisfaction when both his lovers groaned. But all his thoughts melted when, without warning, Mason thrust into his ass. Damn, it hurt, but it hurt so good, so very good Hewitt could not get enough. Mason’s prick stretched him to capacity, the burn so intense it scorched Hewitt inside out. From the very first thrust, Mason hit his prostate, making pleasure explode at the bottom of his spine. Even as Mason fucked his ass, Devon fucked his mouth. They moved in and out of him, using him, driving him crazy with pleasure. Mason’s somehow-clawed hands squeezed Hewitt’s hips, while Devon pulled his hair, making Hewitt’s scalp ache and tingle. Hewitt lost himself in the ecstasy, in the beauty of the moment. He could not even focus on working on Devon’s dick anymore, but thankfully, his mates took over. He gladly surrendered all control, allowing them to do as they willed. Over and over, they fucked him, moving in and out of his body in perfect synchrony. It was raw, and wild, and so hot it threatened to melt Hewitt’s brain cells. His senses were invaded by the scent of sex, man, and nature, moist grass and sweat mingling together in an intoxicating perfume. He’d have thought his first orgasm would help prolong the experience, but all too soon, he felt a second one approach. Hewitt buried his fingers in the humid earth under him, trying to find an anchor in a world that was quickly fading, rotating just around his two men. Unsurprisingly, he failed. As much as he attempted to hang on, when Mason roared and thrust hard inside him, Hewitt could no longer withstand the onslaught of pleasure. He came, his ass clenching around Mason’s spurting cock as his mate filled him with his seed. Their joint climax triggered Devon’s, and the other feral sent hot cum down Hewitt’s throat.

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Hewitt greedily took it all, loving the taste as much as he loved the knowledge that he’d brought both Mason and Devon pleasure. Drugged by his own orgasm and those of his mates, he almost lost his balance and didn’t collapse only because Devon held him up. As their cocks slid out of his body, his mates helped him lay down, caressing Hewitt’s sides with striking gentleness. They didn’t speak, but it truly wasn’t necessary. Hewitt knew what they were thinking. They’d only just met, and yet, it felt like they’d known each other for ages. Was this what it meant to be mates? If so, Hewitt would do whatever it took to preserve it. Unfortunately, their postcoital bliss was soon shattered. All of a sudden, Mason and Devon tensed. “Someone must have heard us.” Hewitt secretly thought the other visitors of the park couldn’t have missed the noise they’d been making. Sighing, he rushed to clean up as quickly as he could and pulled his clothes on while his mates shifted back into wolf form. By the time the group of alerted people arrived, they’d pretty much covered all traces of what happened between them. A helpful spell ensured that no one even saw them go. And as they retreated toward Hewitt’s car, he couldn’t help but feel happier than he had in ages. **** That night “Are you certain?” Hewitt asked, looking anxious. “No one will sense you if you’re here?” “Positive.” Mason grinned and cupped his mate’s cheek. “Now stop worrying about us and go do whatever it is a filthy-rich club owner does.” Hewitt smiled tightly, but nevertheless obeyed. Apparently, the wards needed strengthening, and more so with the ferals and the spirit

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wolves hanging around. On the way back from the forest, Hewitt had manifested his restlessness regarding the possibility of Mason and Devon being sensed. Thankfully, Mason’s abilities allowed him to cloak both his and Devon’s presences. Hewitt seemed to trust him and left him and Devon in his quarters above the club. Now alone with Devon, Mason knew it was time to have a nice chat with his feral mate. He plopped down on Hewitt’s couch and waited as Devon did the same. He’d seen the marks on Hewitt’s hips, both those made by him and previous ones, which he could only guess came from Devon. While they had aroused him at the time, he could now say with clarity that the situation concerned him. At this rate, they would hurt Hewitt badly. He didn’t blame Devon for what happened before Mason’s arrival. There were no explanations needed, not in this. The two of them were simply two ferals who wanted their mate, but could not have him. “We need to do something about this,” he began without preamble. The need to claim Hewitt was so intense it hurt, but his resolve and conviction were faltering. He simply could not be certain Hewitt would be fine as a feral. In fact, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he knew all too well ferals originating from spirit wolves were different from those who’d once been humans. If either he or Devon bit Hewitt, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that the witch would lose his mind. But their aggression was already harming Hewitt, so they couldn’t perpetuate this situation forever, either. Devon nodded. “We can’t risk claiming him, but if we don’t, it’ll just be worse.” He hesitated slightly before speaking again. “But the spirit wolves seem to have found a way.” Mason couldn’t believe that he was actually considering the suggestion. Once the very thought of appealing to Wolfram Rozenstadt’s help would have made him furious. “I know,” he answered. “It’s one of the reasons why Hewitt is in the limelight in

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the first place. They’re blabbing about it to all the wrong people.” He sighed in frustration. “But, Devon, I don’t really think Wolfram will help us. I’m not exactly on his list of favorite people.” “Join the club,” Devon muttered. “But if he is trying to make a peace treaty, perhaps we have a chance.” Mason remembered the day he’d last seen the Magistrate and gritted his teeth. “Perhaps. I just don’t trust them.” For all their supposed morals, they’d had no trouble stabbing an eighteen-year-old in the back when he hadn’t even known which way was up. “They betrayed you, too, didn’t they?” Devon asked. Mason looked at his mate, surprised at the man’s perception. He supposed he shouldn’t be, not really. After all, Devon was his mate as well, and as a feral he must have gone through a similar experience. Still, he this was not the time for heartfelt confessions. They needed to come up with a plan if they hoped to make their relationship work. Leaving Hewitt was out of the question. Did the spirit wolves have a cure, or were they all talk? “They did betray me,” he answered Devon, “but I suppose we’ll never know if we don’t ask. And Hewitt is their friend, so things might have changed.” As Mason considered how to proceed, he found himself relaxing. Remembering the day of his exile had put him on the edge, but Devon’s presence and quiet understanding made him feel better. Before he knew it, he and Devon cuddled close together on the couch. It was so very strange, since the beast inside Mason had always rejected others such as him. Now, his wolf acknowledged the fact that his mates had accepted his domination and had quieted down. In fact, with each moment that passed, even the beast seemed to understand how right they were for each other. In the end, their wild natures couldn’t be changed. They reached for each other at the same time, and their mouths came into contact in a clash of flesh and teeth. Mason bit Devon’s lip so hard it bled, and

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the metallic taste that exploded on his tongue combined with the flavor that was simply Devon. Their tongues entangled, dueling in a dance of passion that became a quick game. Mason growled, wordlessly demanding surrender, and Devon granted it. Mason explored the warm recesses of his mate’s mouth, reveling in Devon’s taste, all man, all feral. With both of them acknowledging each other’s need, they didn’t require gentleness or caution. They got rid of their clothing in a few hard rips, tossing the scraps of material on the floor. In almost insane lust, Mason rubbed against his mate. He reached between their bodies, bringing their hard pricks together. The pre-cum leaking from the glans of his cock and Devon’s smoothed the way, but it was still rough, almost to the extent of pain. Devon grunted as he thrust against Mason, his claws sinking into Mason’s shoulders. The ecstasy combined with the pain, and Mason felt his climax approach, just within his reach. His fangs lowered, aching to sink into Devon’s flesh. And after all, why not? He had the right to claim his man. Devon belonged to him, just like Hewitt did. But as the thought passed through his mind, Mason sensed Hewitt’s presence approach, and he faltered. Now more than ever, he yearned to claim both his mates, but somehow, it didn’t feel right. The beast inside him snarled, telling him to just take what was his, overwhelming the part of Mason that clung to reason. Mason moved against Devon harder and harder, the instinct to copulate and to mate mingling together. And then, the door to the room open, and Hewitt stepped inside. Mason met his eyes over Devon’s shoulder, and in Hewitt’s black gaze, he saw the same lust and yearning he himself passed through. Hewitt made no move to join them. He just closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, watching in silence. Even so, Mason could feel his witch’s arousal echoing inside him. He was not surprised when he saw Hewitt undo his pants and release his beautiful prick from its confines.

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Simply the sight of it was enough to push Mason over the edge. With another thrust against Devon’s sweat-slick body, he came, barely managing to suppress the urge to sink his fangs into Devon’s shoulder. If he did that, he would be unable to keep himself from completing their bond, from claiming Hewitt, too. Wet heat splashed against his stomach as Devon found his peak as well. Mason held the other feral through the shudders of the afterglow, all the while watching Hewitt jacking himself off slowly. He beckoned Hewitt closer with the crook of a finger. “Don’t you want me to help you with that?” Hewitt grinned. “I like that idea.” He made his way to the couch while Devon and Mason pushed away from each other. Hewitt knelt at their feet, licking every drop of cum from their stomachs and their spent cocks. Unsurprisingly, Mason’s body responded, his cock hardening again. Mason pulled his mate into his lap, groaning at the feel of Hewitt’s tight ass against his prick. The temptation to take Hewitt again felt strong, and so did the need to claim him. He gripped Hewitt’s hips, and instantly noticed his mate tensing up. His heart fell as he realized his mate was in pain, and his arousal began to fade. Mason took a deep breath. He knew he needed to approach the possibility of a discussion with the spirit wolves. Gently, he pushed his mate away. “Sorry. Maybe later.” Hewitt frowned. “All right. What’s the matter?” “Devon and I have been talking,” Mason answered. “Perhaps we should reach out to the spirit wolves after all.” “You meant to call Dietrich,” Devon added. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Hewitt arched a brow. “What brought this on? I thought you didn’t want to talk to them.” When they didn’t answer, realization seemed to dawn. “I see. You don’t know how to approach this…relationship.”

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For a few moments, they all remained quiet, until Hewitt finally broke the thick silence. “I trust Dietrich. He won’t betray me. But I can’t guarantee the spirit wolves would do the same. Should we try anyway?” “I don’t believe we have much choice,” Devon said. Hewitt nodded. “In the end, it’s only a matter of time until the spirit wolves here report in to Wolfram.” Hewitt got up and retrieved his cell phone. Mason waited while Hewitt dialed his friend’s number. The phone rang a couple of times, and after a few moments, a male voice replied. “Hi, Hewitt. What’s up?” “Hey, Dietrich. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Dietrich chuckled. “Not at all.” His voice turned more serious, even concerned. “Is everything okay?” “I’ve been receiving some surprising visitors these days,” Hewitt replied. “They seemed to be very interested in my connection with you.” At the other side of the line, Dietrich cursed. “Are you all right? I just knew something like this would happen.” “It’s fine,” Hewitt answered. “I can take care of myself. I’ve already talked with your people here in London. We just needed your input on an issue. “ “We?” Dietrich repeated inquiringly. “You and who else?” Hewitt didn’t get the chance to reply, as Wolfram’s voice replaced Dietrich’s at the other side of the connection. “Hello, Hewitt. What’s going on? Were you attacked by ferals?” “Again, don’t worry about me. I just needed some information.” “What are you hiding, Hewitt?” Wolfram growled. Mason hated the tone the Magistrate used with his mate. Furious, he snatched the phone from Hewitt. He took a deep breath and focused to keep control of the beast that was very close to bursting out of him. The recent events set him on the edge, and Wolfram’s voice brought back vivid memories he hated and feared at the same time.

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“Hello, Magistrate,” he greeted his former leader. “I hear you’ve been busy.” For a few seconds, Wolfram didn’t answer. “Mason?” he asked at last. “Is that you?” “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Devon replied. “And yet, nothing’s really changed. You’re still the same arrogant, bossy bastard. Do you really think you can change the world?” “You don’t know until you try,” Wolfram replied. “Mason, surely you understand why I’m trying to do this. So many people have suffered. So many have died, mates and children lost.” Mason chuckled bitterly, remembering all too well the way he himself lost his family. “Indeed. But we didn’t contact you for that. I hear you came up with a way to claim your mates, some sort of miracle to help the ferals. We’d be interested in what you have to say.” “Truly?” Wolfram sounded skeptical. “Very well. It’s like this. We finally found a way to control the virus. It might not be perfect, but it can help us all.” Mason’s anger just increased. “How could a drug possibly help? How can it erase the past? You’re a fool, Magistrate. Either that, or you’re a fucking liar and a traitor.” To Mason’s mind, both were equally possible. At the other side of the connection, Wolfram took a deep breath. “I know I’ve disappointed many people, including you. But you asked Hewitt to contact me for a reason. So whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me.” Mason hated to admit the other man had a point. “Fine,” he growled. “But this changes nothing, Magistrate.” Hewitt intervened before the conversation could deteriorate any further. “Could I suggest a meeting?” he asked, his gaze holding Mason’s pleadingly. “Here, at The Witching Hour, on neutral ground.”

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In spite of Hewitt not actually having the phone, Wolfram still heard him. “Very well,” the Magistrate answered. “We can be there by tomorrow, at this hour.” Mason could do nothing else but agree. The call ended, and he was left staring flabbergasted at his mate. “Why did you do that?” Hewitt cocked his head at Mason inquiringly. “What do you mean? You wanted to meet up with the Magistrate. This place is safer than any other suggestions the spirit wolves might make.” Mason supposed his mate was right, but even as he thought so, Wolfram’s words finally registered. The spirit wolves would come tomorrow. What would he and Devon do until then? They couldn’t stay here with Hewitt, that much seemed clear. They would be unable to keep themselves from claiming their mate. Obviously sharing his fear, Devon sighed and reached for his clothes. Their pants had survived the flurry of passion, and Mason watched with regret as all that gorgeous flesh was covered up. Sighing, Devon looked at Hewitt. “I hate leaving you, Hewitt, but until the Magistrate shows up, I’m afraid I’m going to have to.” He shared a look with Mason. “And so is Mason.” Hewitt gave them both confused looks. “But why?” “Because we both desperately need to claim you, and that would only harm you.” Mason rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Believe me, the last thing I’d have wanted to do is to ask for that prick’s help, but there is no other way.” After a brief pause, Hewitt nodded. “All right. I understand. Go. But stay safe. Other ferals might not be happy about you cooperating with Wolfram. And who knows what else is out there?” Personally, Mason didn’t fear the things that went bump in the night. He considered himself scarier than anything that could attack him. What frightened him was that someone might seize the moment and attempt to hurt Hewitt. This brought the three of them to a vicious circle. If he and Devon stayed, they would not be able to control

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themselves, and they’d end up hurting the witch. If they left, one of their numerous enemies might do something worse. As if guessing his thoughts, Hewitt offered Mason and Devon a small smile. “Don’t worry about me. The wards around The Witching Hour are very strong. I can protect myself.” Of that, Mason had no doubt. Hewitt had held his own against both him and Devon, not to mention the other feral who’d come here purely to cause trouble. Still, possessiveness came naturally to spirit wolves and was even more intense in ferals. His urge to stay by Hewitt’s side was only matched by the one he sensed coming from Devon. Sadly, they had no other choice but to go with their previous thought. Leashing the beast inside him as best he could, Mason brushed a brief kiss against Hewitt’s lips. Devon did the same, his entire being irradiating need and frustration. The witch wasn’t immune to their emotions, even if their bond hadn’t been completed. He looked visibly pained when he spoke again. “We’ll see each other soon.” The words seemed to be meant both as a promise but also as a self-encouragement, as if Hewitt was trying to convince himself their departure would truly be something temporary. It pained Mason deeply to know he and Devon were the reason of Hewitt’s uncertainty and yes, his sorrow. But for the moment, they had no other options. They’d just have to find a compromise. “We will,” Devon confirmed. “Once the spirit wolves get here, we’ll meet and find a permanent solution.” “How will you even know when they’ll come?” Hewitt inquired, a tinge of confusion and apprehension in his eyes. “We’ll know,” Mason replied simply. Even if they hadn’t completed their bond, Hewitt was still Mason and Devon’s mate. The witch’s feelings still reached out to them both. Besides, Mason had no intention of leaving the city or anything like

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that. The best thing he could do right now was to keep a reasonable distance from Hewitt and watch him from afar. Mason shared a look with Devon and saw the same knowledge in the other feral’s eyes. He forced himself to turn away from Hewitt, and without allowing himself to hesitate further, he rushed out of the office and into the main club. From there, he burst out into the street with Devon following right behind him. Every step he took away from Hewitt was harder than the previous one, but Mason forced himself to keep going. He would rather die than allow his feral nature to hurt Hewitt. “So what now?” Devon asked him once they were a safe distance away from the club. “I’m guessing we need to find a place to stay somewhere around here.” Mason nodded, his mind already working even as his beast strained to break free. “Come on,” he told Devon. “I think I know a place where we can crash.” Devon wordlessly followed, and Mason couldn’t help but be thankful that he had the other feral by his side. He’d never in his life thought that he would ever feel something like this, not for another of his own kind, but there was no denying that Devon and he fit together. All three of them did, in a way Mason would have never dreamed would be possible for a feral. His mate smiled at him, obviously guessing what Mason was thinking. “Lead the way,” he told Mason. “I’m right behind you.” There were so many things Mason wanted to say, but he’d never been one for effusive romantic declarations. Instead, he gestured his mate in the direction of the small, discreet hotel he knew in the area. In spite of the time he’d been away, it hadn’t gone bankrupt. Mason had caught a glimpse of it while he’d been on his way to the club. As they walked in silence, questions riddled Mason’s mind. What would the spirit wolves bring with them? Mason still didn’t trust Wolfram, and having to put his fate in the Magistrate’s hands irked

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him greatly. He only hoped this time he would find understanding, and not betrayal, among those who were supposed to be his kin.

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Chapter Five Hewitt struggled to make sense of the numbers on the paper, but it was pointless. The most recent financial report of The Witching Hour seemed to mock him, the stats and figures blurring in his vision. He felt restless, the absence of his two lovers like a physical ache. Even the presence of his normal customers bothered him. He could sense them as they passed through his wards, and it irritated him to no measure. Under normal circumstances, he had no problem with it, but today, he couldn’t focus for the life of him. The spirit wolves of London had briefly been here during his absence and taken away the feral who’d attacked him. Others like that man might be out there, but Hewitt wasn’t too worried about being assaulted again. What did concern him was not knowing what to do about Mason and Devon. With an irritated sigh, Hewitt abandoned the report on the table and looked at the clock. It was quite late already. Hewitt got up, deciding there was no point in trying to do any work today. No matter how much he tried to think about something else, his mind always returned to Devon and Mason. But how could he possibly forget about the two ferals? Their appearance in his life had been so unexpected and, in a way, devastating. They’d swept aside everything Hewitt had considered true and certain. Hewitt’s world had always struggled within shades of gray, but now, the lines between good and bad, friend and enemy, had been blurred so much that he simply couldn’t figure out which path to take.

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At the same time, Devon and Mason reached out to a part of him Hewitt had never even realized existed. When they touched him, Hewitt forgot about everything else except taking them inside his body, being claimed and claiming in return. Just the memory of what they’d done made Hewitt’s prick harden. Groaning, Hewitt left his seat and sat on the couch. He undid his zipper, reaching into his underwear to grip his own shaft. At the same time, he lifted his shirt and pinched his nipple, releasing a soft gasp as pleasure coursed through him. In his head, it was not his own hands pleasuring him, but those of his mates. Devon and Mason. So wild, so untamed, so passionate. Perfect for Hewitt, and everything he’d ever dreamed before he’d even realized it. He swept his thumb over the head of his cock, toying with the slit and losing himself in the sensation. Generous amounts of pre-cum already leaked from the tip, and Hewitt used it to move his hand up and down his shaft. How he wished his lovers were here. Even if they’d just met, he felt them so close to his heart, as if they’d known each other forever. Pleasure gathered in his balls, and Hewitt increased the speed of his strokes. He was just moments away from orgasm when, all of a sudden, he felt something was very wrong. His arousal died as his wards started to scream at him, Danger. As quickly as he could, Hewitt arranged his clothing and shot to his feet. Hastily, he left his office and ran into the main club. He was almost instantly struck by an even worse feeling of doom. The blinding lights of the club suddenly seemed ominous. From the direction of the club’s entrance, Hewitt sensed an incoming presence, one of pure evil. Screams started sounding in the area as foul beasts invaded the first level of the club. They moved so quickly that Hewitt couldn’t even tell what they were. He just saw a blur of bowlegged, humanoid creatures scattering about like cockroaches. The electrical equipment faltered under their assault, and the music stopped. It only made the

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cacophony of shouts sound louder, and the grotesque symphony of cries was made even worse by the inarticulate screeching and grunting coming from the creatures. Hewitt’s guards tried to fend the attackers off, but they were simply outnumbered and overpowered. Furious, Hewitt focused on his wards and summoned the magic within him. He called upon the elements that always did his bidding and ordered them to destroy the things that had invaded his home. To his surprise, the beasts were not deterred in the slightest by the spell. It did, however, have the effect of drawing their attention toward Hewitt. “There you are,” one of them said. As they rushed toward him, Hewitt at last managed to put a name to his foe. Their misshapen forms, sallow skin, and wide, fanged mouths reminded Hewitt of the nightmarish descriptions he’d once read in his most-ancient tomes. The only thing that came close to their disgusting appearance was the orcs. Hewitt had thought them to be a legend. Humans had quite an imagination, and while oftentimes they hit the nail on the head with regards to some paranormals, more often than not, superstitions could be just that. But these creatures were definitely flesh and blood, and they were right here, with Hewitt, coming toward him. Struggling to keep a calm head, Hewitt tried another, even more powerful spell. His eyes widened when the first orc just grinned at him and licked his lips. “That won’t work on me, pretty,” it said. Fuck. That had never happened to Hewitt, not once in his entire existence. Having mastered the magic of the aether, Hewitt was one of the most powerful witches in the world. The energies of the sun and the moon were at his disposal, unending sources of energy he could use at his beck and call. And yet, no matter how much he tried, his spells didn’t work on the orcs. They kept coming at him, and there was nothing he could to stop them. In a final desperate attempt, Hewitt ordered the floor to move, sending the creatures falling into the ground. They were very agile,

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but Hewitt managed to trap a good number of the creatures. As he closed the ground over them, though, more came at him. He heard the captured orcs screeching below, clawing their way back to the surface, while their companions continued advancing toward him, undeterred in their pursuit. Hewitt knew he didn’t have much time. The good news was that they seemed to be after him, so they’d left the customers and the guards alone. The bad news was...well, the same as the good news, really. In his long life, Hewitt had learned many things. He’d long ago realized that sometimes, discretion was the better part of valor. While he’d have liked to stay and defend his home, he preferred to live to fight another day. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared to face this threat, and he knew better than to try to face a swarm of orcs when they seemed immune to his magic. He could, however, use the various items in the club as weaponry. They couldn’t oppose blunt force and the laws of physics. But first, he just needed to draw them out of here, pull them away from the injured, and grant the rest of the people a chance to escape. Turning on his heel, Hewitt fled back up the stairs. He heard them following, but he kept his head. They were faster, so Hewitt had to get to his car, or else he was toast. Using various spells, he sent all sorts of objects toward his pursuers, hoping to at least slow them down. He reached his office in no time and hastily locked the door. Using a telekinesis spell, he placed several pieces of furniture in front of it. That wouldn’t stop the orcs, but it would slow them down. That taken care of, he grabbed his car keys and headed toward the secondary exit, hoping that the creatures had been stupid enough to miss it. Indeed, there seemed to be no one around as he slipped through the hidden door. His hands sweated terribly as he rushed to the first level once again, but this time, to the underground garage. Once he reached his destination, he couldn’t help but notice the strange, almost eerie silence. In fact, it was far too quiet, and Hewitt

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easily understood he might be walking into a trap. But there was no going back now, and Hewitt ran to his car, expecting to be jumped any moment now. To his shock, he reached the vehicle safely. He managed to insert the key in the lock and slid inside. Surprised at this turn of events, Hewitt nevertheless started the car and drove off, not willing to question his good fortune. But just as he left the main building, an orc jumped on the hood of his car, punching at the metal and glass angrily. Hewitt swerved, trying to dislodge the creature with an abrupt motion of the car. He succeeded, but even as the orc flew off his car, more appeared, surrounding him. Hewitt sped up, attempting to escape his pursuers. However, his haste proved to be counterproductive. When another group of creatures jumped on the car, Hewitt lost control of the vehicle. The car crashed against the wall of a nearby building and pain exploded through Hewitt as his body flew through the windshield. He had enough time to wish he’d remembered his seat belt before everything went dark. **** “Can I get you anything else?” Devon looked at the feral in front of him, still puzzled by the man’s existence. He had no idea how one of their kind had managed to control the beast within them and have a hotel in London, out of all places. Sure, there were many places like that hidden all over the world, but Devon had never expected a feral to have founded one. Placing his beer on the bar table, Mason gave them both an amused look, as if guessing Devon’s thoughts. “Thanks, JC,” he told the feral. “We’re good.” JC just grimaced and disappeared behind the bar. Obviously, he didn’t appreciate their presence, or at least Devon’s. Ferals in general

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disliked each other, so the feeling was completely mutual on Devon’s part. Once JC was gone, Devon turned toward his mate. “Who’s he?” “I’m an Alpha feral, so I know a lot of our kind,” Mason replied. “They might not like me, but they obey me because they know I can protect them from the hunters.” “And do you?” Devon asked. “Protect them from the hunters, I mean.” “Sometimes.” Mason shrugged. “I don’t actually have an organized pack, so when some of them go on a rampage, they’re likely to be caught.” “Why do I get the impression that JC is different?” Mason leaned in closer, invading Devon’s personal space. “Jealous already? I like that.” The wolf inside Devon might have submitted to Mason’s more powerful beast, but that didn’t mean Devon’s animalistic nature didn’t manifest just as strongly. In fact, just the thought of either of his mates being touched by someone else made him growl lowly in his throat. “Did you fuck him? Did you fuck JC?” “A long time ago.” Mason smirked. “Quite a memorable experience, if I might add.” Already on the edge due to being apart from Hewitt, Devon suddenly had the urge to follow after JC and tear the other feral’s throat out. Perhaps he’d have done just that, had Mason not pulled him close and crushed their lips together. The kiss drew on Devon’s angry passion, feeding on it, fueling the fire growing inside him. At the bottom of his mind, he felt something else, an arousal not his own, or Mason’s. It was something different, a sweet perfection that Devon identified as Hewitt. For a few moments, he thought his mate might be with someone else, but his instinct pacified him. Hewitt was thinking about Devon and Mason, touching himself and wishing they were there. Devon might not be able to connect with the

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witch fully, but in spite of that, their unformed bond still echoed within him, transmitting Hewitt’s emotions. Mason pushed Devon off the barstool he’d been sitting on and against the table. The other feral swept his hand over the wooden surface, sending the bottles flying and creating more space for them. Somehow, Devon ended up lying on his back, with Mason on top of him, ravaging his mouth. They might have ended up fucking right there, in the deserted bar of the small hotel Mason had taken him to, had Devon not felt something was wrong. Mason tensed above him and broke the kiss. “Hewitt,” they both said at the same time. They separated, and after Mason left a few bills on the counter, they rushed out of the small hotel. They hadn’t gone too far from The Witching Hour, but that was by London standards. This meant they were still a good distance from the club, much farther than both of them would have liked in such circumstances. Uncaring as to who might see them, Mason and Devon used their supernatural speed. They were urged on by an increasing feeling of doom, and a calm but very real fear they sensed coming from Hewitt. The emotions were distant, as if through a veil, due to their incomplete bond, but they were there, and undoubtedly true. What had happened? Had the spirit wolves done something against Hewitt, or had there been another feral attack? Devon was inclined to believe in the latter option. As treacherous as the spirit wolves could be, Hewitt had helped them in the past, and they had no reason to go against the witch. Mason and Devon had almost reached the club when a shot of excruciating pain struck them. Devon’s beast immediately identified the source as Hewitt and panicked. In fact, he might have shifted into his wolf form had Mason not been there to anchor him. And then, Hewitt’s presence in their minds dwindled to nothing. Even as he ran, Devon gasped, the shock of his mate’s absence so intense it nearly made him keel over. It was only the knowledge that

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Hewitt needed them that kept him from collapsing. In that agony, he found renewed strength, and together with Mason, he ran even faster. In spite of their race, however, their efforts proved to be futile. When they at last reached the club, signs of devastation were everywhere. Sirens sounded in the distance, the authorities having probably been alerted. Devon followed his instincts to his mate’s trail and soon found a crashed car just a few blocks away from the club. Its windshield was shattered, and it looked like someone’s body had flown through, propelled by a powerful impact force. Devon scented Hewitt’s blood in the area, and knew without a doubt who the person in question had been. Twin roars echoed in the area as Devon and Mason screamed their pain and anger. For the first time since he’d become a feral, Devon turned into a rabid beast, unable to control the power inside him. This time, the knowledge of what had happened to Hewitt sent both Devon and Mason into a frenzy. The humans around them suddenly seemed like prey, perfect targets for Devon to release his aggression on. There was a foul stench in the air, though, something evil that gave Devon pause. A creature like he had never encountered had been behind this attack. Lost in his madness, Devon pursued the scent, with Mason right by his side. He no longer cared if the humans saw him, or if the spirit wolves decided to hunt him. His mind had been completely taken over by the instinct to kill. Deep inside, he still sensed Hewitt, and he somehow knew the witch was still alive. That, and Mason’s presence, anchored him and kept him from completely losing himself in his beast. Whoever had taken Hewitt seemed to have been very fast, but Devon didn’t give up. He snarled at whoever tried to get in his way. Everyone except Mason was an enemy. Nothing else mattered except getting to their mate and rescuing him. Alas, the trace seemed to grow ever fainter, disappearing into the numerous scents of the city. God, they wouldn’t be able to find Hewitt. They didn’t have a chance.

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And then, all of a sudden, the world froze. Blinding light filled his vision, and he stopped, no longer able to move a muscle. A white, translucent wolf appeared in front of him. Devon’s reason might not know who it was, but his soul did. Every spirit wolf knew the story behind the creation of their species. They had been brought into this world by the Spirit Mother, the only one of them who was not bound by limitations of the flesh. Devon had never actually seen the white wolf before, and sometimes, he’d had doubts that she existed at all. Ferals, at least, seemed to have been abandoned by her. But if he wanted to be completely honest, from time to time, he had felt the support of a hidden presence, someone unseen, far greater than him or any earthly force, for that matter. In this moment, though, not even the Spirit Mother could calm him down. He rebelled against her power, trying to break free of her hold. Why was she keeping him from Hewitt? Could she truly be so cruel so as to grant Devon and Mason a mate, then separate them? “You must remain calm,” her voice sounded softly, like a spring breeze reaching out to soothe Devon’s senses. “You can’t help your mate if you lose yourselves.” How could she say something like that? Didn’t she know that the pain he and Mason experienced now was like having a thousand needles piercing their bodies? Devon’s very soul writhed in agony. Even so, the certainty in her words gave Devon pause. She could help them. She could help Hewitt. Surely, she must know who had taken the witch. Clinging to his mate’s image, Devon managed to change back into his human form. It was harder than it should have been, harder than ever before. The sheer difficulty of it illustrated how close Devon was to completely surrendering to his beast. As Mason did the same, Devon realized his feral mate was in the same situation. “What would you have us do?” Mason asked, his voice a low growl. “Wait?”

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“No,” the Spirit Mother replied. “You merely need to work with the same people you hate. I will guide you, but you must make haste. There isn’t much time.” That wasn’t very comforting for Devon. Taking a deep breath, he fought to control himself. “Just tell us what to do,” he said to the white wolf. “Relax and close your eyes,” the Spirit Mother said. “Remember, this won’t be easy, but it needs to be done.” Devon shared a look with Mason and nodded. Of course it would be difficult. He’d already hated asking for the Magistrate’s help with regard to the famous serum. But if Wolfram could help them find Hewitt, Devon would grovel, plead, and even die. Obeying his goddess, Devon allowed his eyes to drift shut. Relaxing was impossible, but he did reach out for Mason’s hand and hoped that would do. As he did so, he felt the very fabric of reality tilt and shift. Even if his senses were screaming danger, he ignored his own instincts of self-preservation and surrendered his very being to the Spirit Mother. He didn’t know how much time passed, but at last, the world seemed to be come stable again. “It’s all right,” the Spirit Mother said. “You can open your eyes now.” Devon did, already knowing what he would find. His beast had felt the presence of spirit wolves even before she had spoken. And indeed, for the first time in many years, Devon found himself in the presence of Magistrate Wolfram Rozenstadt. The older spirit wolf had not changed much since Devon had last seen him. The only visible trace of his age was his salt-and-pepper hair and his eyes, those eyes that had always seemed so old. But even the wisdom and power of the Magistrate could not intimidate Devon. He’d been brought here for a purpose, and he fully intended to reach that goal. To his surprise, Devon also realized that they were not in a normal room. Rather, the Spirit Mother had taken them to an airplane,

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obviously the one the Magistrate and his entourage meant to use to get to London. And there were certainly plenty of people around. Devon didn’t know them, but then again, he’d been gone a long time. New generations of hunters had emerged, some of them notoriously skilled. Devon had never faced any of the spirit wolves here in a battle, something he felt thankful for. Naturally, though, the exchange between two parties that had lived in conflict for centuries wouldn’t have gone well. It was very fortunate that the Spirit Mother hadn’t left them, instead appearing in the middle of the plane in her white wolf form. “Well, it appears introductions need to be made,” she said, the disembodied voice echoing through the plane without seeming to actually come from her mouth. “Wolfram, if you would do the honors.” The Magistrate might have been surprised to see them there, but he nevertheless followed the Spirit Mother’s suggestion. “Right,” he said. “Everyone, these two gentlemen are Devon Saunders and Mason Kale.” As he spoke, he wordlessly handed Devon and Mason a pair of shirts. They weren’t much, but they’d at least cover Devon’s and Mason’s nudity. Pointing to the two men closest to him, the Magistrate then said, “This is Fritz Bauer and Dietrich Dupont, my mates.” “You must be Hewitt’s ferals,” the dark-haired man identified as Dietrich said with a frown. “I’m Dietrich Dupont. Where is Hewitt?” “He was kidnapped by someone, or something,” Devon replied as he buttoned his shirt. “Ferals?” another of the Magistrate’s companions asked. Devon turned toward him and found himself facing a blond, slender human. “Oh, I apologize,” the man added. “I’m Doctor Andrew Blunt.” Devon guessed the other two men around the doctor to be Andrew’s mates. His suspicion was confirmed when the duo introduced themselves as Valerius D’Averam and Trent Hart.

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Once that was out of the way, Mason finally replied to the doctor’s question. “We don’t know. It must be, but I can’t understand how ferals could defeat Hewitt’s wards.” “That’s because it wasn’t them who attacked The Witching Hour,” the Spirit Mother finally spoke out. All of the men present turned toward the white wolf. Devon held his breath, waiting for the explanation he had been denied. “Then who?” he prodded. “To answer that, I must begin somewhere else,” the white wolf replied. “You see, the world’s creatures as a whole are a mix of flesh and spirit. Humans, for example, have very strong souls, but they don’t have the ability to control that strength and oftentimes allow other factors to pollute it. Some, like Hewitt, are stronger, and their magic stems from that. Beasts are to a certain extent similar, but their souls lack the focus and the reason required for a true balance. Spirit wolves represent a middle ground, but one that can be destroyed if they lose themselves to that part of them that is purely animal.” The Spirit Mother seemed to consider her words, as if wondering just how much those present could process. “There are many other examples that could be given, but I won’t delve into that. Instead, I have to say that there are also beings that are purely spirit or purely flesh. I and others like me are soul alone, but soulless beings also exist. And one of these creatures has taken Hewitt.” “A soulless being?” Mason repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean?” “Creatures only of the flesh. Due to their affinity, they are immune to Hewitt’s magic, or any type of magic for that matter, and can only be hurt by blunt force. They are called Oriakai, by their ancient name, but you’re probably more familiar with the word orcs.” “Orcs?” Devon couldn’t believe his ears. He’d always thought there were some legends the humans had come up with that weren’t actually true. For him, those foul little creatures were just the stuff of stories. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

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He didn’t doubt the Spirit Mother, however, and it made sense that Hewitt would have had trouble to fend off creatures immune to his magic. Devon had no such problems, though. He understood blunt force, and he just ached to sink his fangs and claws into those who’d dared to take his mate. “All right, then. Where do we find them?” he inquired. “Not so fast,” the Spirit Mother cautioned. “They are stronger, faster, and more agile than you. In current circumstances, you will not be able to defeat them.” Devon was beginning to get irritated. No, more than irritated, he was out of his mind with concern for his mate and tired of riddles. He just wanted to be pointed in one direction and start slashing. Whatever the Spirit Mother said, he was convinced that between him and Mason, they would be able to tear apart whoever stood between them and Hewitt. “I know what you’re thinking,” the white wolf told him in a reprimanding, but gentle tone. “If you run ahead without knowledge of how to deal with this threat, you will not be able to help your mate.” “Spirit Mother,” the Magistrate said at last, “tell us what we must do. We will contact every spirit wolf if it’s required.” “I’m afraid it’s not that easy. It’s not about your core ability to fight. No, it’s much more complex than that. To be brief, the leader of the orcs needs spiritual energy to fully escape the prison he is currently held in. If you went as you are, you’d only make things worse, as he is very powerful. To defeat his minions, you have to become flesh like them,” she replied. “You have to surrender to your basest instincts and turn into what you fear most.” Silence fell, the roar of the plane’s engines sounding almost obscenely loud. Devon couldn’t believe his ears. All his life, he’d been berated for becoming a feral, and now, it seemed that to beat the worst threat ever to cross his path, he needed to embrace what he was. He’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.

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“Fight fire with fire, you mean,” he said, breaking the ominous quiet. “Indeed. It will not be easy. You might not realize it, but deep inside, you are still spirit wolves. To do this, I must completely remove my hold over you, and you will feel it.” “Anything for Hewitt,” Mason answered without missing a beat. “I didn’t expect anything less. You will need help, though, as the orcs are very numerous and would overpower you.” “That’s where we come in,” Wolfram concluded. “We have to become feral as well.” A gasp escaped Doctor Blunt, and Devon knew the former human must be remembering the other times he’d seen ferals. It couldn’t have been pretty, and Devon had no doubt some nasty testing had been involved while perfecting the famous serum. “Only those with mates can do this,” the Spirit Mother added. “Two can turn for each pairing, as they need an anchor to come back to.” “Dietrich and I will go,” the Magistrate’s second mate, Fritz, said. “The spirit wolves can’t afford risking their Magistrate.” Wolfram looked like he was about to protest, but the white wolf didn’t give him the chance. “You are still human, Fritz,” the Spirit Mother said. “I’m afraid you cannot help in this. Our people would not take kindly should they hear of this, but we have no other choice.” Devon agreed. Spirit wolves weren’t fond of ferals, and having the Magistrate become one would plunge their entire fabric of society into chaos. To a certain extent, Devon was shocked that the Magistrate’s mates had offered to do this in the first place. True, Dietrich was Hewitt’s friend, but Devon had long ago learned that friendship didn’t mean squat when real challenges appeared. Devon only hoped no one ever heard the Magistrate had become a feral. “You can count on Val and me,” Trent Hart said. The doctor seemed upset, but he didn’t comment, having obviously expected this turn of events.

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“Good,” the Spirit Mother replied approvingly. “I will get the reinforcements. Remember that once you’re inside their lair, you’ll have to stay in separate groups, or you’ll attack each other. Devon and Mason will follow the trail to Hewitt, while the rest will have to distract the orcs.” She paused, as if considering her next words. “You can do this, my children. There is no doubt in my mind that you can beat them, if only you stand together.” Devon had the strangest feeling that she’d known about this for quite a while. But deities were supposed to be like that, weren’t they? They provided more questions rather than answers, and when they did offer solutions, they left those who believed in them without an explanation. In spite of this, Devon trusted the Spirit Mother. Hearing her say that they could save Hewitt encouraged him. Nodding briskly, he took one more look at the gathered spirit wolves. He still didn’t trust them, but the idea that they would give up their hard-earned control and become what they most feared, just to help Hewitt, made him see them differently. The increasing urgency he felt to find his mate didn’t allow him to dwell on that further, though. “Let us go,” he told them. Mason nodded, obviously thinking the same thing. “Hewitt could be hurt. We must hurry.” “All right. Close your eyes, my children,” the Spirit Mother said again. “And remember, stay together and don’t lose sight of your goal. Your mates need you.” Those words were meant not only for Devon and Mason, but also for the others. However, Devon could no longer focus on anyone’s presence but Mason’s. The world shifted once more, and Devon was propelled through time and space from the spirit wolves’ plane to a much darker, dangerous spot.

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Chapter Six When Mason opened his eyes, the darkness enshrouding his new environment took him somewhat by surprise. The air smelt humid and nasty, the acrid stench telling Mason exactly where they were. Why wasn’t he surprised the filthy creatures that had taken Hewitt lived in a sewer? Orcs. Mason had never thought he would ever have to face those creatures of nightmare, but he didn’t fear them. He only feared that they would be too late. What if they didn’t arrive in time to save Hewitt? Already, his incomplete connection with Hewitt told him the witch was in pain. Just that knowledge had Mason on the edge, terrified of what could happen. Mason shook himself, struggling to keep a clear mind. He and Devon were here, and they had support from Hewitt’s friends. They had not arrived together, but that was normal, given that the Spirit Mother had told them it would be best to approach their enemies in pairs. Mason still had many questions, one of them being who the famous leader of the orcs was. But there had been no time to go into details regarding that. He only knew that the guy was badass, and somehow trapped, possibly in some sort of magical prison. If that was the case, it might be why Hewitt had been taken in the first place. Mason couldn’t be sure, but right now, his priority was getting his mate to safety. He’d worry about the rest later. Together with Devon, Mason started walking down the sewer passageway. The smell irritated him, as it blocked his senses.

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Nevertheless, his instincts told him exactly where he needed to go and in what direction he would find his mate. The Spirit Mother’s voice appeared in his mind. “Ready?” she asked. Hell, yes. Mason might not know what he was getting himself into. Even after he’d become a feral, he’d always retained a portion of his spirit wolf nature. But Hewitt and Devon were relying on him, and Mason would give his very life for his mates if it was needed. After sharing one last look with Devon, Mason melted into his wolf form. Devon did the same, and for a few moments, they waited. Uncertain as to what would follow, Mason carefully started walking forward. And then, it happened. A wave of power swept over him, then returned, like a vengeful tide. It drew at something deep within Mason, snapping a cord inside him. A strange presence that Mason had never truly been aware of disappeared. The pain of it was staggering and so intense that Mason couldn’t even vocalize it. But no, he was no longer Mason. He was just a wolf, an animal whose territory had been encroached upon. The pain dissipated, and he bared his fangs in the darkness. In a strange way, it seemed that his whole outlook on reality had changed. He saw the world in different terms. He remembered his target, but they now represented prey, not enemies. There were only two things that remained the same. The wolf by his side, and their mate. In this form, they could very well be nameless, but that spark was still there, the only piece of their souls that had survived the shock. They started running, fully focused, every doubt and fear becoming pure, beastly determination. The orcs were close now. He could smell them even in spite of the putrid stench of the sewer. He couldn’t wait to rip them to pieces, tear them apart, and teach them that no one ever touched something that belonged to him and lived. Well, no one except his mates.

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Strange gurgling sounds echoed in front of him, and instinctively, he knew there were orcs waiting in the darkness. They hadn’t sensed him and his mate, however. The wolf could grasp the savage satisfaction in the air, but no apprehension, and certainly not that knowledge another predator had whenever an opponent approached. He saw several orcs standing guard, blocking his way. They were far uglier than he had expected, but his wolf didn’t care about their looks. His instincts took in the creatures, finding the most vulnerable spots, the places where he should strike. They did indeed seem quite powerful, their limbs and bodies built to maximize strength and agility, without care to appearances. Under normal circumstances, he’d have kept his distance, but today, he’d come here to take back what was his. And he had his mate by his side. He felt confident that the two of them could take down the group of orcs. As one, the wolves lunged forward, pouncing on the creatures in front of them. The first few went down without being able to fight back. The wolf instinctively knew that they would have put up a great deal of resistance, and as such, ripped the creature’s jugular in two brusque motions. His mate did the same, and so they took out the first two with ease. After that, however, the rest of the creatures snapped out of their shock and attacked. Like the Spirit Mother had said, these beasts were strong. However, the wolf found a new source of energy within him, pure brute strength that hadn’t been there before. He felt larger than before, his canines sharper, his senses fine tuned and able to detect even the slightest shift in the air. He intercepted two of his attackers and dodged them, drawing angry snarls from the creatures. Their claws could have easily torn into the wolf’s flesh, but he managed to avoid that. The beasts seemed surprised at the fluidity of his motions, obviously not knowing how to deal with him and his mate, and that gave the two wolves the advantage they needed. Faster than expected,

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the group of orcs were taken care of and left lying in the smelly sewer water. Satisfied with the outcome, the wolf didn’t feel particularly tempted to consume the flesh of his prey. Even the brief taste of the orc’s blood had been foul. Besides, the last spark of soul that remained within him beckoned him to advance, urged him forward. Hewitt was waiting for him, and the wolf’s need for his mate overcame everything else. There was something else, though, a growing fear, a terror that had not disappeared when he’d changed from a normal feral to…this. Hewitt’s pain was still there, more intense than ever, threatening to break what little control the wolf had left. With every second that passed, the agony increased and the bond between the three mates trembled under its weight. The two wolves rushed forward, occasionally running into more packs of orcs and eliminating them like they had the first. Some sort of distant knowledge made him aware that there were others like him within the premises of the area. The memories of his time as Mason identified them as the other former spirit wolves, probably in the same condition as him. At last, after what seemed like forever, he and his mate reached a large chamber filled with the nasty creatures. This time, taking the orcs out wouldn’t be easy, as they had sensed the intrusion in their territory. From several other corridors, more groups of wolves appeared, however, distracting and confusing the wicked beasts. Sadly, it seemed that all their efforts might end up for naught. Hewitt was in the middle of the chamber, lying on a slab of stone. Thick chains bound him, leaving him unable to move. Large incisions had been made against the full length of his arms, and blood dripped into the filthy water, making the entire picture look even more grotesque. The agony the wolf felt knew no bounds. He attacked, no longer being able to register anything else except the pain, the desire to kill,

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and his feral mate’s echoing urge. The orcs that fell in their path no longer moved fast enough, and their strength became useless in the face of the wolf’s anger. That boundless fury was something visceral, but also rooted in that small part of him that remained connected to his true self. To a certain extent, it couldn’t even be fully processed. The wolf just knew he needed to protect his mate, and avenge him. But there were so many foes in their path, and oddly enough, something else in the air and in the water, like a wave of energy that attempted to reach out to something deep within the spirit wolves. It was futile, as the magic of the powerful souls had disappeared behind the mask of the animal. For his part, the wolf understood little of the spirit-aimed spell that hunted him. He didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t care, just like he didn’t care about any of the creatures who lunged toward him, intending to stop him from achieving his goal. His animalistic anger swept away everything in his path. Still, it seemed to take forever until at last, he and his mate reached the slab where Hewitt lay. The witch was so still and so pale, no longer the man the two wolves had met and fallen for. Hewitt had been so full of life, of magic and beauty, that it was hard to believe these beasts had dared to destroy him. The sight of him crushed something within the wolf, and all of a sudden, he once more became Mason. The Spirit Mother’s voice echoed inside his mind. “Take him and get out of there. Hurry!” Mason knew what she meant and what she feared. This time, the magic that had attempted to stop him and failed could echo within that part of him most needing his mate. Unwilling to allow his despair to wreck what little chances he had, Mason changed into his human form. He ripped apart the chains holding the witch, hissing when ice-cold fingers seemed to wrap around his spine. Devon helped him, fully focused on Hewitt, even if he was probably suffering from the same thing.

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At last, Hewitt was free. Mason took the witch in his arms and, followed by Devon, started to run in the direction of the exit. Behind him, he sensed an ominous presence following. Wicked howls sounded all around him, and whatever being meant to catch them backed off, distracted. Mason and Devon managed to leave the chamber safe and sound. Once they were out of the strange power’s reach, the Spirit Mother spoke to them again. “Open your minds to me. Don’t lose yourselves. Reach out and you will be safe.” It was easy for her to say. Even if Mason had regained his identity, the almost insane terror he felt for his mate’s life had him on the brink of completely losing it once again. He focused on complying, knowing that it was the only way they could get out of there safe and sound. Devon squeezed his shoulder, and Mason found comfort in that brief touch. He allowed his eyes to drift shut, and once more, he was propelled beyond the boundaries of space. When he broke free of the trance, he found himself in the spirit wolves’ plane once again. The aircraft was quite luxurious, boasting armchairs and comfortable settees in the main room and even small bedrooms farther back. A couple of people were still here, the mates of the men currently risking their lives for Hewitt. Doctor Blunt approached Mason and Devon, giving them a serious look. “Take him to one of the rooms. I’ll check him over.” Mason chose a random chamber and placed Hewitt on the bed. In spite of having escaped the orcs, they were not out of the woods yet. Hewitt was gravely injured, and Mason had no idea how to save him. Doctor Blunt looked over Hewitt’s injuries, his expression grim. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do with the equipment I have here. Even if the Spirit Mother takes us to the hospital, I’m not sure I would be able to help.”

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As if summoned by the medic’s words, the white wolf appeared there, watching them with luminous, caring eyes. “You do know what you must do,” she told Mason. Mason shook his head. “It will crush him. There’s no way his body and soul can survive a change in his condition.” “He will die either way,” the Spirit Mother pointed out. “Won’t you take the chance for him?” The problem wasn’t that Mason didn’t want to take the chance. His instincts screamed at him to claim Hewitt, turn him into a feral, and give the witch the healing abilities he would need to survive this. It was almost impossible to keep himself from doing so, as his wolf was already begging, whining for him to act. But at the same time, something held him back. Turning Hewitt into a feral could break the witch, kill him beyond what the orcs could possibly do. Mason had seen many bitten humans, and they were no longer the same people they’d been before. While spirit wolves turned feral often managed to skirt the edge of madness and retain some of their reason, the former humans had no such luck. Mason dreaded turning Hewitt into that. “He will live through it,” Devon told him with more certainty than Mason felt. “We won’t let him leave us.” As Andrew discreetly left the room, Mason nodded, even if he knew Devon’s words to be an encouragement his mate didn’t truly believe in. In all his life, Mason had never felt so afraid, not even when he’d been a newly emerging feral, banished by his own kind. He realized all too well Devon was going through the same horrible moments. But what choice did they have? They couldn’t leave Hewitt to die, and at this point, the witch was beyond medical assistance. Both he and Devon climbed into the bed with their mate. Devon gathered the injured witch to his chest, and Mason lowered his mouth over Hewitt’s neck. His feral mate did the same at the other side of Hewitt, and together, they bit down, finally claiming the witch.

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Mason would have done anything to change the circumstances. They should be enjoying this, reveling in finally completing their bond, not fearing it, not pushed into it by factors beyond their control. Either way, the moment Hewitt’s blood hit his taste buds, Mason knew he and Devon had done the right thing. Something clicked inside his head, and a wave of peace swept over him, stronger than even the Spirit Mother could ever be. It was incomparable, indescribable, and for the first time in forever, Mason felt his wolf quieting down, tamed by a love that could transcend all limits. It seemed as if a thick, golden cord now bound him and his mates together. He sensed the same emotions echoing within the two men, and at the same time, could feel Hewitt’s aches and pains, his weakness and the burn left behind by the agonizing treatment he’d experienced at the hands of the orcs. Mason would have been inclined to fall back onto his old impulses and anger, except the warmth of their bond was flowing into Hewitt. The witch’s wounds began to mend, and Mason sensed Hewitt’s consciousness flare back to life. Hewitt moaned in his arms, and at the sound, Mason forced himself to release his witch from the bite. Devon followed his example and licked the wound, sealing it. Just as they did so, however, Hewitt twitched and fell back against Devon. His eyes flew open, and he started convulsing, his body writhing on the bed. He clutched Mason’s shoulders, fingernails digging painfully in Mason’s flesh. Mason and Devon could do nothing but hold their mate, focus on their bond, and hope. Hewitt had already been so weak, and having to withstand the harshness of the transformation could kill him. Mason had known that, but he had to believe Hewitt’s strength and that of their connection. With a distant part of him, he registered more people arriving, the rest of the spirit wolves being retrieved from the sewers. There was quite a lot of noise, snarling and shouting, and Mason sensed many

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ferals nearby. They were probably having trouble with going back to the way they’d been before. Things started to quiet down soon, though, which Mason guessed must be due to the intervention of the spirit wolf mates. Much to Mason’s glee, his mate began to calm down as well. At last, Hewitt’s erratic breathing slowed, and his glassy-looking eyes cleared, focusing on Mason. “Mason? Devon? What happened?” Mason could have kissed Hewitt at hearing those sweet words. In fact, he decided to do just that and pressed his mouth to Hewitt’s. The witch gasped, obviously surprised at the sudden assault. Even so, Hewitt didn’t protest. On the contrary, he surrendered to the kiss, his tongue meeting Mason’s with uncharacteristic savagery. Naturally, Devon wouldn’t be denied either, and as soon as Mason broke away from Hewitt, he took over, delving into a hot-as-hell lip-lock. It was in that moment that Mason realized they were all basically naked. Hewitt just had on the remnants of the suit he’d formerly been dressed in, while Mason and Devon were completely nude. The proximity of their bodies was not in any way conducive to rational thought. Mason allowed his hands to roam over Hewitt’s beloved form, taking in the perfect planes and contours, greedily mapping every inch of skin. Hewitt released a low growl under his breath. His eyes were wild with the lust only a feral could feel. “Come on, lovers. Fuck me.” Mason would have very much liked to do just that, but the molten heat in Hewitt’s gaze and the almost animalistic response to the touches reminded him of the circumstances. “Calm down, babe,” he told Hewitt. “You were hurt. Do you remember?” They didn’t let go of Hewitt, but they stopped the intimate, fartoo-addicting touches. Much to Mason’s relief, Hewitt’s gaze started to clear of the lust. Deep inside him, Mason understood that no, Hewitt had not fallen into the feral insanity. And there was something more, something Mason couldn’t quite grasp, but that he knew would be very important.

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Shaking himself, Mason focused on the most important thing, his mate’s safety. “Hewitt?” he prodded. “I remember,” the witch replied tensely. “Those…things attacked the club. I tried to draw them away from the other people, and they ambushed me. After that, it’s all a bit blurry. There was something there, a power greater than my own. I…” Hewitt gripped his forehead and released a choked noise. Instantly, both Mason and Devon hugged their mate tightly. “Shh,” Devon whispered. “Don’t think about it anymore. Don’t force yourself. You’re safe now, and we won’t allow anything else to happen to you.” Slowly, Hewitt began to relax. “All right,” he finally said with a shaky laugh. As he slipped out of the embrace, the witch looked around the room. “Now, where in the world are we and how did we get here?” **** Hewitt watched his two mates, his mind still struggling with an onslaught of images he had trouble processing. Like he had told Mason and Devon, he didn’t remember much after the car accident, and he suspected that might not be a very bad thing. What he did recall was not pleasant at all. Flashes of monstrous faces peering down teased him, and the echoes of his own screams sounded in his ear. He felt a blade run over his skin, parting the flesh, and a hot, branding presence trying to crawl inside him, to empty him and drain him dry. It was Mason’s voice that snapped him out of his trance. “Hewitt?” the wolf asked in a worried tone. “Babe, can you hear me?” Hewitt blinked at Mason and cursed himself for losing it like that. He was stronger than this. He’d faced countless perils and had been close to dying more than once. It was a witch’s destiny to always be on the run, because many coveted the power that could make a human

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into an immortal. Hewitt in particular had always been very talented and therefore in more danger than most. He shouldn’t be so affected by this. He shook himself and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and decided the best way to deal with this was to brave the situation. “You were telling me about how we got here?” Mason gave him a concerned look, while Devon hugged him once again. Hewitt could feel their anxiety, the lingering traces of their terror, and he could only imagine what they must have gone through. Just the thought of losing either of them made Hewitt more scared than any of those flashbacks ever could. “The Spirit Mother helped us find you,” Mason replied. “The orcs were holding you in a sewer. The Magistrate and his men distracted them while we got you out.” Hewitt arched a brow in surprise. “The spirit wolves? You met up with them?” For the first time, he realized the place he was didn’t feel like a normal bed and a normal home. They were…on a plane. “They’re here,” he concluded. He felt rather than saw Devon nod. “You’ll see them later. They’re recovering. You should be resting, too.” The words were quite vague, and Hewitt immediately panicked. He couldn’t just go to sleep without knowing if his friends were injured. Not only that, but he felt strange, his magic off kilter, and the only thing that anchored him was the closeness with his mates. “Don’t be afraid,” a sudden female voice said. “Everyone is fine.” Hewitt looked beyond Mason’s shoulder and saw a translucent white wolf looking at him with strange, ghostly eyes. He gasped, already knowing who it was. He had never been in the presence of such power, but his every sense was overwhelmed by her. His nerve endings screamed with the spiritual energy she emanated, and a part of him that he didn’t really recognize told him to bare his throat in submission.

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If Mason and Devon hadn’t been there, Hewitt suspected he’d have broken down completely. It was just too much, this peculiar change within him, the attack, and now the presence of the Spirit Mother. “Don’t fear me,” the white wolf said again. “You are my child now, just like Mason and Devon are.” Her child? What did that mean? Hewitt looked toward his mates for an answer, but they were avoiding his gaze. In that moment, Hewitt understood. He had been severely injured, and the two wolves had claimed him to save his life. Hewitt had only heard of one person who was half witch, half spirit wolf, his friend, Dietrich. Dietrich, however, had been born that way. Hewitt had only ever been a witch, and he had no idea how to cope with a new power. As realization struck, his mind opened, and he at last faced the facet of him that had been waiting in the shadows. A wolf was there, deep within him but very real, as genuine and true as Hewitt’s magic was. Hewitt tried to reach for it, but he was afraid, and his beast sensed it. The wolf recoiled, and its spiritual energy clashed against the witch power of Hewitt’s soul. Pain exploded through Hewitt, and he blindly tried to find something, anything that would help him soothe the agony. To his shock, he did. His two mates were suddenly in his mind, their presence a balm for his strained senses. Their bond was so powerful now that Hewitt could feel their every emotion. Their love brought his beast back out of its hiding place, and Hewitt leaned against their mental presence for support. And then, the Spirit Mother was there as well. “Again, child,” she said. “Try again.” So, Hewitt did. He once more reached out for the wolf. At first, the skittish beast wouldn’t obey, but the insistence, as well as the presence of his two mates and the Spirit Mother, made all the difference in the world. Finally, Hewitt found himself kneeling in

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front of a dark-furred wolf who was analyzing him with curious eyes. Hewitt gently touched the beast’s head, and at that, the wolf stepped forward, no longer so hesitant. Something clicked inside Hewitt’s heart, and he wrapped his arms around the wolf, holding onto the animal tightly. He buried his face in the wolf’s fur, feeling lightheaded and lighthearted when the beast relaxed in his hold. He didn’t know how long he just sat there, in the realm of his own mind. When he finally snapped out of his trance, he felt a new peace, but also a new anxiety. For ages, he’d been familiar with his magic, with the powers he used to control the aether. This was something so different, and while Hewitt was excited about it, he still wasn’t sure how to make use of it. “Don’t worry, babe,” Devon told him, obviously guessing his thoughts. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know.” Once more, Hewitt looked at his mates, noting there was something different about them. Their eyes were clear, no longer bearing that wildness that identified them as ferals. Hewitt’s witch powers might not have been able to put a finger on the change, but his wolf did. “You’re…You’re not feral anymore.” “Of course they aren’t,” the Spirit Mother replied. “The bond works both ways, you know.” All three men stared at her in disbelief. For his part, Hewitt couldn’t believe that all their concern had been virtually pointless, when they could have easily bonded from the very beginning and avoided this whole mess. But then again, godly beings were beyond his power of comprehension. Hewitt, and likely everyone else, could never hope to understand what they were thinking. “Does that mean we’re not in danger of becoming feral anymore, or of hurting Hewitt?” Mason inquired. “You’re safe from that,” the white wolf replied, “but you do have other pressing concerns.” Once more, the images from earlier flashed through Hewitt’s mind. He could easily imagine what pressing concerns she was

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referring to. He still couldn’t understand why the orcs had managed to circumvent his spells and why they had kidnapped him in the first place. They had a leader, clearly, because beings like that didn’t just get fixed on a particular target for no reason. They were followers, and they must have been obeying the commands of another. It could only be that presence Hewitt had felt. But who, or what, was it? As if guessing his thoughts, the Spirit Mother spoke out again. “Come. I know you are tired, but you probably have many questions you need answering before you can rest. There are clothes in the drawers. When you are ready, meet us in the main room.” And just like that, she disappeared, reminding Hewitt that yes, she was a deity, and he was very lucky to have her on his side. He was still so very confused, but he forced himself to calm down. First and foremost, he was a witch, and that would never change. Witches braved all incoming storms without fear. They always landed on their feet, like the black cats that supposedly accompanied them as familiars. But the strangest thing was that, unlike other times, Hewitt was not in this alone. Yes, he had friends—witches in general stuck together—but none of them meant as much to him as Mason and Devon. He was not afraid to admit that he felt out of his depth, but with the two men by his side, he thought that maybe he could learn how to be a wolf, too. The most confusing thing was that, in spite of having received the bite from Mason and Devon, he wasn’t sure he should have had a beast in the first place. From what he knew of the Magistrate’s mates and the other humans who had been claimed, they had not turned into spirit wolves. Instead, they had only become stronger, immune to disease, and unlikely to age. Why was Hewitt different? “She called me her child,” he mused. “Why? Why do I have a wolf, too?” Devon and Mason seemed startled. It looked like this dilemma hadn’t occurred to them. “You’re right,” Mason said. “That is weird. But I’m sure we’ll receive an explanation soon.”

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Hewitt hoped so. Suddenly, he had a feeling that the appearance of his wolf wasn’t something that had shocked the Spirit Mother. In fact, he suspected that other beings might not have been surprised by it either, including the strange presence that had hurt him. There was something not right about this, and Hewitt had to learn what as soon as possible.

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Chapter Seven Doctor Andrew Blunt paced up and down in the main room of the plane. He wiped his sweaty palms against the material of his slacks, feeling useless and helpless. As a doctor, there was nothing worse than being unable to aid a patient, except perhaps when the patient in question was someone he knew and loved. It was bad enough that Hewitt Moore had been kidnapped and severely injured. The fact that Trent and Val had been wounded during the expedition as well didn’t make him happy at all. “Would you stop worrying, baby?” Val’s arms went around him as the wolf whispered in his ear. “We’re here now, and we’re safe.” “We heal really quickly, remember?” Trent added. Yes, Drew remembered, but he was still terrified of losing them. Trent’s job as a hunter perpetually put him in danger, and Drew had hoped that the new plan for peace the Magistrate had come up with would make things better. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. The last thing he had expected when he’d gone on this trip was to be forced to see his lovers half insane. Drew would forever remember the way Trent and Val had looked in those alien, huge wolf bodies. They had still been his mates, but at the same time, so very different. For the first time, he had been scared of them, and he didn’t like it. And then, they had come back from their fight, and that fear had melted into abject terror. He could only thank God, the Spirit Mother, and whatever other deity watched over them that no one had been fatally injured. “I’m sorry,” he told them, taking a deep breath. “I’m calm. I’m fine.”

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He stole a look farther into the room, where his son stood with his own mates. Drew couldn’t afford to have a meltdown. He had Paulie to worry about, Paulie who was still so new at having spirit wolf mates, who had two hunter lovers, and who’d been hit even harder by this entire thing. Fortunately, neither Sebastian nor Marcus had suffered injuries beyond their healing abilities, but it had been very scary, regardless. Drew slipped out of Val’s embrace and headed toward his son. His two mates followed silently. Drew knew they were concerned for Paulie as well, as they considered the younger man a sort of surrogate son. Paulie looked up at them as they approached. “Hey, Dad,” he said with a tremulous smile. “You okay?” “Fine,” Drew replied, knowing he didn’t sound very convincing. “You?” Paulie leaned against Sebastian and Marcus, nodding. “Just give me a minute and I will be.” Drew watched the trio with a touch of relief in his heart. Sebastian and Marcus were good for his son. He could not have asked for better mates. For a long time, he had feared that Paulie would age while Drew remained young due to his bond with Trent and Val. Sebastian and Marcus had showed up to eliminate that problem, and Drew would forever be grateful for that. But looking around, Drew realized they still had a significant problem. The Magistrate and his second-in-command, Klaus, both sat with their respective mates. Trent’s brother, Ash, was also there, together with Drew’s friend, Daniel, and their mate, Linden. Everyone seemed as confused as Drew was, which did not fill Drew with confidence. He had never known the Magistrate to be unaware or confused about anything of such gravity. It unsettled him greatly. How could he help his son and his mates if he didn’t understand what was going on? And what about Hewitt? What had happened to the witch? Drew had wanted to assist, but he’d almost instantly known

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Hewitt was beyond any help Drew could provide. The blood loss had been too great. Drew imagined the two ferals he’d met earlier must have claimed Hewitt, but he wasn’t sure the three-way bond would work the same way as it had before in Hewitt’s case. His doubts were put to rest when all of a sudden, Hewitt walked into the room, followed by his two mates. Both men loomed over Hewitt, protectively watching his every move. Their connection was so obvious that Drew berated himself for ever questioning it in the first place. As Hewitt’s friend, Dietrich was predictably very pleased at seeing the witch. “Thank the Spirit Mother,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I’d almost given up hope.” “You shouldn’t have worried,” Hewitt replied. “I’m too stubborn to die.” Klaus and his two mates, Ross and Clay, directed their attention to Hewitt as well. “It’s great to see you better,” Klaus offered. “You remember my mates, right?” “Yes.” Hewitt smiled weakly. “I helped to find you two. I’m glad things worked out for you.” “Not as glad as we are, believe me,” Ross replied. Drew agreed. The trio had been through an emotional grinder until they had finally managed to settle down. Drew didn’t envy them for what they’d been forced to go through. He could only admire the strength all three men had proven to have. He didn’t know if he’d have been so strong had he ended up in their situation. Introductions were reiterated, mostly for Hewitt’s benefit and that of his mates. Earlier, none of them could pay much attention to manners, so it was only now that Drew could truly focus on Mason and Devon. They were both large men, especially Mason, who also seemed to emanate a sense of authority that reminded Drew of Val, and to a certain extent, the Magistrate. Both Mason and Devon were obviously very grateful for the assistance they had received, and while

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they didn’t go around giving hugs, they were no longer as openly hostile as they had been in the beginning. “The Spirit Mother pointed out that there are some things we should all know,” Mason said at last. “We have been waiting for that as well.” Wolfram frowned, seeming displeased with something. “When I went down there, I could feel a force clinging to us, something tainted and dark. It was as if it reached out into me, trying to…drain me.” “As always, your senses are very sharp,” the Spirit Mother said, finally manifesting in front of them. Even with all the times he’d seen her do that, Drew still couldn’t get used to her overwhelming presence. “It’s time I give you a more complete explanation,” she added. All men sat wherever they found seats. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Drew found himself cuddling in his mates’ embrace, enjoying their warmth and their scent. He pushed the arousal that threatened to swamp him to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later, when they were in private and not taking in life-altering information. “As I mentioned earlier, the orcs are beings of pure flesh,” the Spirit Mother said. “They were brought into being by a creature we call G’aladon. A long time ago, G’aladon was banished from our realm into the astral plane, where he has no power due to his alignment to matter and not spirit. But now, he seems to have found a way to return. I anticipated this might happen with the worsening of the hostilities between spirit wolves and ferals.” Drew had never actually considered an outside factor might have been involved in this civil war within the same species. He recalled Joseph Dupont, Dietrich’s father and, coincidentally, the feral who had been behind numerous deaths and almost destroyed Klaus. He wondered if that man fit into this somehow, in spite of his death at Klaus’s hands.

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Perhaps the Spirit Mother had guessed his thoughts, as she began to explain, “Indeed, Joseph was only a tool in G’aladon’s hands. I’m afraid this war is only beginning. And Hewitt here is unfortunately a very important piece of the puzzle.” “I don’t understand,” Hewitt said, sounding torn and just a bit angry. “Does this have anything to do with the appearance of my wolf?” His wolf? Drew shared a confused look with his mates. What did the witch mean by that? Was he referring to his mates or something different? By the way he’d phrased the question, he seemed to imply that he had a beast within him, like the spirit wolves. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? “Somewhat,” the Spirit Mother answered. “You see, G’aladon wasn’t always what he is now. He used to have a soul, albeit a very dark one. But to his mind, this part of him weighed him down. He decided to get rid of it and exchange it for a different power, one over flesh. The result was quite unexpected, but then, not even witches can control all outcomes.” “He is a witch?” Hewitt gaped at the white wolf. “But…How?” “You know it is possible, Hewitt.” The Spirit Mother eyed Hewitt speculatively. “Witches have very powerful souls, but also great ambitions and exceedingly intense abilities. And as all of you here realize, the more power someone has, the stronger the need for it becomes. Surrendering one’s soul is not something anyone can do, but after spending entire lifetimes coming up with a solution to circumvent the limits of his existence, G’aladon found a way.” “There is always a way.” Hewitt rubbed his eyes tiredly. “That is the beauty and the danger of magic.” “Too true. And here is where you come in, my dear. Having lived many years, G’aladon predictably had numerous sexual liaisons. A son was born out of one of these temporary relationships. That child was your ancestor.”

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Hewitt seemed to turn into pure stone. The very air inside the plane seemed to freeze. But alas, the Spirit Mother wasn’t done. “To prevent the danger the boy represented, I placed a woman in his path, one of my most beloved children. Their progeny eventually became your great-great-great…well, many times great-grandfather.” Drew felt cold inside, and he cuddled even closer to his mates. The Spirit Mother’s explanation made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel that her interference, and that of other creatures like her, somehow violated the independence he’d always believed he had. Years back, he’d only been a human, a doctor who loved his son above all else and who’d accidentally stumbled onto the world of paranormals. Had that meeting been engineered, too? What other choices he thought he’d made had been directed by beings more powerful than himself? For once, his concerns were not addressed. The Spirit Mother was looking straight at Hewitt, who seemed to be having trouble processing the new information. At last, she delivered the final blow. “And I’m afraid that now, G’aladon wants to use you as a shell to return from the astral plane. His most potent abilities are over matter, and he needs a powerful spiritual vessel to fully escape the astral plane. This is why you could not go down there as spirit wolves. Your souls would have just fed him the energy he needs.” Mason growled angrily. “Omnipotent being or not, he’s not touching Hewitt.” Devon’s expression was dark and foreboding. “We’ll die before we let anything happen to him.” “I would hope no deaths will be necessary,” the Spirit Mother answered. “I know you’re angry and frightened. Take some time for yourselves. There is a way to stop him. We must just seal the breach between dimensions that allowed him to reach out, but to do that, you must be calm and anchored.” Hewitt nodded, still seeming dazed. “I want…I want to go home.”

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“Understandable,” the Spirit Mother replied. “Rest and we will talk again soon.” In the blink of an eye, the three men were gone. Drew released a small gasp, even if he had witnessed that phenomenon before. The entire situation was too scary, and even if he was no child, he felt young, superfluous, and stupid, unable to understand the big players that were suddenly using him and his mates as pawns. Whether the Spirit Mother read his mind or not, it obviously didn’t matter. Drew found that he cared little about what she thought. Oh, he should probably be afraid of her or something like that, but instead, he was angry, and he just wanted this whole thing over with so he could crawl into bed with his mates and convince himself their bond was real. “So now what?” he asked, amazed when his voice didn’t tremble. “What do we do?” The Spirit Mother looked at each of them in turn. “Now, we get ready to face this. By the time this day is over, all of you will have played a part in the most important event in your lives.” Talk about no pressure. Well, Drew hadn’t chosen his profession because he was a coward. Let that creep G’aladon come. Drew was tired of being used. He might be only a human, but he would do his best to help in any way he could. He saw the same determination on the faces of the people around him. Smiling grimly, Drew squeezed his mates’ hands. He didn’t kid himself. This would probably be hard as hell, but together, they might just have a chance to make it work. **** Hewitt was used to magic, to unexpected spells and changes of location. He didn’t have the skill to teleport, as that took a stream of energy that could easily get out of control if not handled well. However, he couldn’t say he was taken by surprise when the Spirit

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Mother’s power washed over him, sending him and his mates away from the plane and into a different place. One moment, he was standing in front of the spirit wolves and trying to understand exactly how he’d ended up the focus of an ancient demonic witch, and the next, he found himself in a room he’d never seen before in his life. The change of environment managed to shake him out of his selfpity. He turned toward his mates, who had thankfully also been transported here. “Where are we?” he asked. “Our hotel room,” Devon replied. “The Spirit Mother must have sent us here.” Hewitt half wished she’d sent them to The Witching Hour, except he didn’t think he could face the club in the first place. It had been his home and his sanctuary, and he’d always relied on his wards and his powers to keep both himself and everyone else within it safe. The fact that the creatures who were after him were immune to magic made him feel more helpless than ever. His knees buckled, and he’d have fallen had Mason not been there to catch him. The wolf gathered him close and carried him to the bed, placing him down with excruciating care. “It’s all right, babe,” he said. “The Spirit Mother is right. You need to get some rest.” As if it was that easy. Hewitt knew that should he close his eyes, he’d only see himself back in those filthy sewers, being systematically drained dry of his powers. Everything made so much sense now. Blood was intrinsically tied in with magic, and by the calculated injuries he’d received, the orcs had meant to create a shell for their master, to weaken Hewitt until he couldn’t fight anymore. He shuddered at the knowledge of how close he’d come to total destruction. His mates might not realize it, but had G’aladon succeeded in his plan, Hewitt would not have only been killed, but completely wiped out of all existence. Sometimes, people could come back in other reincarnations, but not if the soul was eliminated.

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Mason and Devon climbed next to him on the bed and hugged him tight. They seemed to have been just as affected by the news they had been given as Hewitt himself. He was probably underestimating them. Undoubtedly, they’d grasped what dangers threatened him and how fucked he was should G’aladon succeed in his plan. But Hewitt would not let those more powerful than him dictate his actions. He refused to turn into a whimpering coward just because he’d been attacked at the very center of his being. If anything, he should be happy. He should be celebrating the fact that he was alive with his mates by his side. A rush of strange light-headedness struck him, and his wolf stirred within him, eager and wild. Yes, he was alive, and he had the power. He was flesh and spirit, and with the mate bond within him, he felt invincible. What could G’aladon possibly do to destroy something like that? “Babe?” Devon asked, obviously feeling Hewitt’s change in mood. “You okay?” “Fine.” Hewitt crawled out of their embrace and turned to face them. “I’m just sick of being afraid. We’re stronger than this. Together, we can defeat whatever they throw at us.” Mason’s lips twisted into a knowing smirk. “You’re sexy when you’re angry, you know that?” Hewitt arched a brow at the other man. “I would expect you to think I was sexy all the time.” Devon barked out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re fishing for compliments.” He reached for Hewitt, pulling him close once more. “You know how hot you are without us having to tell you.” Somehow, Hewitt ended up in Devon’s lap, his crease against his mate’s crotch. He figured out the position had quite a lot of potential and fidgeted around, hiding a smirk when his mate released a deep groan. “Oh, you’re just asking for it, aren’t you, little witch?” Devon panted out.

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“Mmm.” Hewitt brushed a kiss against Devon’s lips. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?” He got his answer moments later when Mason’s hands landed on his hips, stealing him from Devon’s lap. Ferals were not known to share well, but the duo hadn’t experienced any problems before, and they didn’t have any now, when the bond had wiped out all savagery within them. As Mason flipped Hewitt on all fours, Devon already began to take his clothes off. Both wolves moved so fast Hewitt couldn’t even keep track of their motions. In front of Hewitt, Devon expediently got rid of his garments, throwing everything off on the floor. In his current position, Hewitt couldn’t see what Mason was doing behind him, but it didn’t take a genius to guess. The rustling of clothes alerted Hewitt that his second mate was following Devon’s example. He shuddered, only this time, it wasn’t fear causing it, but rather, anticipation. His two men read his every emotion. Mason pulled him close, and Hewitt arched against his mate, his entire body burning with need. He hated the constraining material that kept him from Mason’s skin. Even through his slacks, he could feel the heat of Mason’s erection. His anus clenched with the desire to be penetrated, and he released a breathy moan. “Please.” Thankfully, they didn’t let him wait for too long. Their hands moved quickly and efficiently, divesting Hewitt of the clothes that seemed to suffocate him. Hewitt would have loved to help them out with a spell or four, but he was too busy feasting his gaze on Devon’s nude body. He could simply not get enough of seeing those delicious, godlike muscles. If he’d been able to make himself move, he’d have liked to lick Devon all over, to trace the lines of Devon’s six-pack with his tongue, and go even lower down, to Devon’s tantalizing prick. But it was so hard to tear himself from Mason, and Hewitt allowed his two mates to maneuver him instead. He half expected

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them to fuck his mouth and his ass like they had before, but to his shock, they didn’t. Instead, they spread him on the bed, urging him to relax with casual, but seductive touches. The irony of it was that he lay in a position similar to the one he remembered from the sewers. And yet, he felt no fear, no apprehension, just pure lust and desire. His mates crawled over him, and as Mason pressed his mouth to Hewitt’s, Devon’s hot hands explored Hewitt’s skin, leaving behind trails of fire. Hewitt moaned, parting his lips and surrendering to Mason’s dominance. As Mason thrust his tongue inside his wet cavern, Devon started brushing butterfly-light kisses on Hewitt’s chest, circling his nipples when he got over them and biting down on the bits of flesh. The coppery buds seemed directly connected to Hewitt’s cock, as the stinging pain turned into a wave of pleasure that echoed into his groin. Hewitt moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Mason’s neck to pull the wolf closer. Breathing appeared to be unnecessary, and only his mates’ touch mattered. Only their caresses could make him feel whole. As Devon’s tongue traveled farther down Hewitt’s body, Mason at last broke the kiss, much to Hewitt’s dismay. He might have protested, except then, out of the blue, Devon decided it was time to short-circuit Hewitt’s brain and took Hewitt’s hard cock deep into his mouth. Hewitt released a choked sound and attempted to reach down, hoping to thread his hands through Devon’s hair. Alas, his mates had other plans. Mason caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, immobilizing Hewitt with almost ridiculous ease. “Just enjoy it, babe,” Mason murmured in his ear. “Relax. Fuck his mouth. He wants you to.” Technically speaking, Hewitt would have probably been able to break out of Mason’s hold if he used his magic. But his newly discovered beast surrendered to Mason’s strength, accepting his mates’ domination. It was heady, freeing, and impossibly sensual. The

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nearly painful yet tender grip of Mason’s strong hand, the wet, volcanic heat of Devon’s mouth, the mere presence of the two wolves, all of it made Hewitt nearly insane with passion. When his orgasm came, the gentleness and intensity of it took him completely by surprise. Hewitt screamed, sending his spunk down his lover’s throat. It was by some miracle than he didn’t black out, and he mustered enough presence of mind to look at Devon. The wolf drank down Hewitt’s offering and looked up as he cleaned Hewitt’s shaft of every drop. The molten desire in those eyes was enough to scorch Hewitt’s insides in and of itself. His mates were clearly not done with him. Confirming his thoughts, Mason reached for the nightstand and opened the drawer. He retrieved a tube of lubricant and tossed it to Devon, somehow managing to do all this without releasing Hewitt’s wrists. Devon caught the tube and with a few deft motions, uncapped it. The wolf squirted a generous amount of liquid on his fingers and reached between Hewitt’s legs. “Ready, babe?” Hewitt swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. He nodded wordlessly, spreading his legs to give his mate access. Devon didn’t delay in taking the invitation. His slick digits rubbed against Hewitt’s needy hole, making renewed arousal course through Hewitt. His cock, which had never really lost interest, went rock hard once again. Devon smirked at him. “Looks like the answer’s yes, huh, Mason?” “Definitely yes,” the other wolf replied. Hewitt trembled at the promise in their voices. He just couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to be filled, to take his mates deep inside his body, to come together with them in the most intimate way that could exist. Mason and Devon exchanged a look that told Hewitt many delights would follow. “Do you trust us?” Mason asked at last. “With my life,” Hewitt replied, not hesitating for a single moment.

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A dark shadow flashed through Devon’s eyes, so briefly that Hewitt might have missed it had he not been paying attention. He berated himself for his slightly callous words. Now was not the time to remind them that Hewitt’s life had, indeed, been in danger. Fortunately, both Devon and Mason pushed away the glum musings. As Devon brushed a kiss against Hewitt’s temple, Mason chuckled under his breath. “Nothing quite so drastic.” Hewitt opened his mouth to ask what Mason was talking about, but then Devon lifted his legs and slipped two fingers inside his body. Every hope of coherence melted, and Hewitt resigned himself to being putty in his mates’ hands. “Just…Please, fuck me,” he begged. “Oh, we will. We’ll fuck that tight little ass of yours.” Mason laughed darkly. “What do you think, babe? Do you want to feel our cocks inside you, pounding your hole?” Just the imagery Mason conjured made Hewitt moaned. Had he understood correctly? Did Mason truly mean to penetrate Hewitt at the same time Devon did? Hewitt was no innocent. He’d lived too long to not now have seen a great many kinks. But while he was familiar with numerous sexual positions, he had never been tempted to try all of them. Heck, what Mason suggested sounded as painful as hell since both wolves were quite generously endowed. But Hewitt had been honest in his reply. He trusted them, and he knew they would never hurt him. Not only that, but the thought of being so thoroughly owned by his mates also excited him beyond measure. He pushed back against Devon’s fingers, wordlessly demanding more. He wanted to yell at Mason that yes, he yearned for what was offered. Thankfully, he didn’t have to speak. His mates seemed to read his mind regardless of Hewitt’s inability to express his own desires. Devon added another digit into Hewitt’s hole, finger fucking him in earnest. Just as Devon brushed against Hewitt’s prostate, Mason

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leaned over Hewitt, kissing him once more. Hewitt’s world melted in a symphony of pleasure, and he allowed himself to lose all control within his mates’ addictive caresses. Another finger went in, the fourth one, making the fit quite tight. Hewitt enjoyed the burn, though. It made the entire thing seem more real. Sometimes, when he was at his mates’ side, Hewitt almost believed he was dreaming, and he felt thankful for the sting of pain anchoring him in reality. Devon took his time preparing Hewitt, stretching him with excruciating patience. Just as Hewitt thought he would lose his mind before they got to the main event, Mason broke away from him. Devon took his cue and pulled his fingers out of Hewitt’s body. Hewitt yelped as his mate lifted him up and back into Devon’s lap. “Slowly now, babe,” Devon whispered huskily. “We won’t hurt you.” At some point, Devon had slicked up his cock, and the thick shaft nudged against Hewitt’s crease, teasing his hole. Hewitt bit his lip and clung to his mate’s shoulders as Devon helped him into position. The wolf’s big hands held onto Hewitt’s hips, guiding him. Slowly, Hewitt pushed down, impaling himself on Devon’s thick prick. Both of them moaned at the sensations exploding through them. God, it was so good, so heavenly, and they’d only just begun. Hewitt could feel Mason’s eyes on him and Devon like a palpable caress. He lifted himself and lowered his body again, getting used to the feel of being invaded. Devon helped him by rotating his hips, and the brush of Devon’s prick against Hewitt’s special spot made stars burst in his vision. He thrust down harder, needing more of the delicious penetration, aching for everything his mates had to offer. And then, Mason came up behind him, supporting Hewitt and stopping him from rushing. Hewitt had no idea how the two men planned to do this, but he did his best to obey Mason’s silent instructions regardless.

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Devon leaned on his back, providing them with more room to maneuver. Mason gestured Hewitt to prop himself against Devon’s chest, and Hewitt therefore ended up impaled on Devon’s prick and exposing his anus to Mason. He was dizzy with anticipation, breathless with the heavy promise hanging in the air. Every nerve was awake and singing for his mates. There were no more doubts, no more fears, just passion and overwhelming sensations. Aided by Mason’s hands, Hewitt lifted his body once again. This time, however, something different happened. Instead of allowing Hewitt to go back down, Mason thrust his prick inside him, so hard Hewitt’s teeth rattled. Hewitt lost it. He could not hope to control in any way what was happening to him. Somehow, Mason managed to create the perfect rhythm, pulling out as Devon thrust back in. It was the most amazing thing Hewitt had ever experienced. His clenching passage was never once empty. Over and over, his mates fucked him, possessing him, branding him with their heat. There were no words, just incomprehensible groans, moans, and growls that spoke of the true extent of their desire for each other. The little part of Hewitt’s mind that remained rational futilely struggled to take in the sensations that swamped him. It was just too much, and a person had no chance of processing the near-transcendental, carnal beauty of what was happening. It went on and on, until Hewitt seemed to lose his very sense of self. He no longer cared about anything outside this beautiful moment. With his mates inside him, he just became a creature of pleasure, a vessel for the love they offered and the adoration he offered in return. Hewitt wished this moment would never end, but alas, perfection could only last for so long. With the seemingly endless flow of pleasure, he was soon on the brink of orgasm again. He attempted to stem his imminent climax, but this time, his mates were relentless,

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giving him no quarter. Mason buried his fangs in Hewitt’s throat and Devon followed Mason’s example. Ecstasy exploded through Hewitt, a myriad of brilliant colors replacing reality as he knew it. He felt his mates come, and their orgasms, as well as his own, nearly stopped his breath. As if it hadn’t been enough, Mason then buried his canines in Devon’s shoulder, claiming the other wolf. Hewitt could feel his mates’ emotions, the overwhelming sensations coursing through them. There was simply no way he could keep his hold on consciousness. He floated into a dream of nirvana, shocks of pleasure electrifying both his body and his soul. He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he finally managed to recover, he found himself lying on the bed with his mates looming above him. Mason was cleaning him with a wet cloth, while Devon held him close, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Hewitt smiled brightly and relaxed against Devon. As Mason took position next to him, too, Hewitt distantly remembered everything that had happened today. It was so hard to believe that just hours earlier, he’d almost been killed. That memory didn’t scare him anymore, and neither did the revelation that he shared blood with a creature that might very well attempt to control the world. He was no longer only Hewitt Moore. He’d become Hewitt, mate of Devon and Mason, and that was more important than any ancestry G’aladon tried to use. “Sleep, babe,” Mason murmured in his ear. “We have you.” Unsurprisingly, Hewitt believed him. He believed that his mates could protect him and he could protect his mates. Still smiling, Hewitt allowed his eyes to drift shut. When slumber took hold of him, no nightmarish visions haunted his dreams.

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Chapter Eight “Are you sure about this?” Mason asked, eyeing the building in front of them with a great deal of skepticism. “How can we possibly banish G’aladon back into the astral plane from a coffee shop?” The Magistrate opened the now-unlocked door and gestured him inside. “It wasn’t always a café,” he explained. If anyone had told Mason he would be soon admiring the tourist attractions in Kennet, Mason would have thought they were crazy. Granted, there was a lot of mystical energy in the area, mostly centered around Stonehenge. To a certain extent, Mason wouldn’t have been surprised had the Spirit Mother chosen that area for her plan to push back G’aladon. But no, the established spot was a café in a small English village frequented by numerous tourists who annoyed Mason just by existing. Of course, at midnight, most of those people were safely sleeping in the quaint bed-and-breakfasts in the village. They had chosen this hour so as to be able to operate without interruptions from humans. “According to the Spirit Mother, this was once G’aladon’s home,” Dietrich spoke up. “It was the place where he surrendered his soul to become what he is now.” Mason barely managed to suppress a shudder. He wasn’t exactly sure just how this being looked, but judging by what he knew so far, he suspected G’aladon might not be one hundred percent humanoid. After all, this mysterious creature might have originally been a witch, but that was ages, perhaps millennia ago. The Spirit Mother hadn’t exactly told them when G’aladon had walked the Earth, but Mason guessed many centuries had passed since then. He distantly wondered

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if they could truly take G’aladon in a fight before pushing the thought away from his mind. A powerful witch G’aladon might be, but Mason would not allow anyone to separate him from his mates. Knowing he had no choice but to obey the instructions of those wiser than him, Mason stepped into the coffee shop. Devon, Hewitt, and a couple of their spirit wolf companions followed. They’d decided to come in groups, since even at this hour, they would draw unwanted attention if they came all at once. The Spirit Mother didn’t want to intervene until it was time. The Magistrate and his mates were with Mason, Devon, and Hewitt, something that still surprised Mason in a way. It was hard to believe the man he’d resented for so long had become his ally. But he understood now that none of his previous anger and regrets mattered. They had more important things to worry about. Inside, the café was much like any other establishment of this type. It was dark and quiet, but the ambience from a day of business remained the same. A myriad of scents hit Mason as he silently walked behind Wolfram, the smell of ground coffee beans, vanilla, and sugary concoctions, and of course, the distinctive aroma of humans and their emotions. Underneath it all, Mason thought he detected something different, a lingering shadow of a dark power. It was so faint that he’d have surely missed it had he not been previously acquainted with its feel. His doubts faded as he realized that the Spirit Mother might have been right after all. Of course, actually sealing G’aladon would be much more difficult, and very risky. According to the white wolf, they would have to summon G’aladon here, which implied having Hewitt in the same place as that creature. Mason and Devon were less than pleased with the idea, but their mate had told them he didn’t fear G’aladon. It was only at Hewitt’s insistence that Mason and Devon had agreed with this crazy plan in the first place. Gradually, their entire group gathered inside the café. No alarms sounded, and nothing of significance happened. Other than Wolfram,

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Dietrich, and Fritz, almost everyone who’d participated in the expedition to rescue Hewitt had come here as well. Trent Hart, Valerius D’Averam, and Doctor Blunt were among the first to arrive after Mason’s group. After that, Daniel Lawson and his two mates, Ashton and Linden, showed up. Finally, the Magistrate’s second-incommand, Klaus, had completed the assembly together with his two lovers, Clay and Ross. Doctor Blunt’s son, Paul, had stayed behind, as had his mates. Mason watched all those present, wondering what they knew and experienced. Linden and Ross seemed particularly glum and uncomfortable, and Mason distantly remembered that the duo had some sort of strange abilities normal spirit wolves didn’t possess. But Mason didn’t have to be a psychic to know that he might be in over his head. The foe he had to face was unlike anything and anyone he’d fought before. He and Devon had been forced to go through that unpleasant and shocking transformation just to defeat G’aladon’s minions. What would they have to do now? Once everyone was there, Mason finally got the answer to his dilemma. The Spirit Mother appeared in the center of the café. She didn’t speak and instead walked toward what Mason guessed must be the back of the shop. In a somewhat startling development, she passed straight through the wall. Mason supposed he shouldn’t be so shocked by the display, but it still heavily brought to mind what they’d come here to do. All those present followed her, but of course, they used the door to access the room next to them. The Spirit Mother waited for them in the center, and Mason could almost imagine her tapping her foot impatiently. Even if she looked as calm and composed as ever, something inside Mason told him she didn’t like this any more than he did. “All right,” she said. “Hewitt, Mason, and Devon, I want the three of you holding hands in the middle. Everyone else, gather around in a circle. Hurry now. The witching hour is almost upon us.”

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Everyone complied, forming the circle the Spirit Mother commanded. Hewitt, Mason, and Devon took up their triangle position in the middle. Mason knew now that nothing was accidental. They hadn’t just happened to be mates. The three of them had been brought together to support each other in ways two people never could. Hewitt probably understood more of what was happening than Mason did. Mason just went with it, taking his mates’ hands and focusing on finding his strength. He’d helped others before, mostly ferals who had needed his assistance. He would not fail his mate. The preparations were done just in time. At one minute from midnight, the Spirit Mother seemed satisfied with the result. Her voice echoed inside the storage room as she started to chant. There were words Mason didn’t understand in an ancient language that sent shivers down Mason’s spine. Both his mates clung to his hands tighter, obviously experiencing the same distress. “From beyond the darkness, I summon thee, Out of hiding, face the power of three There is no place to run, your spirit is naught Flesh cannot defeat what we have brought.” A chilly wind began to blow, even if there were no windows inside the storage room. Suddenly, the ominous hint of power Mason had felt before exploded into something much more intense. Screeching laughter sounded all around them, grinding on Mason’s senses like nails on a blackboard. The storm that had appeared out of nowhere lashed out at Mason, as if trying to break him apart from his mates. Mason held on stubbornly, refusing to be intimidated. Invisible claws raked over his chest, but he didn’t even blink. Nice try, bastard, but you’re not getting Hewitt. Devon seemed just as determined, and in spite of the power attempting to force the triangle to shatter, the three men remained together. All of a sudden, a figure manifested in front of them. At

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first, Mason couldn’t quite distinguish him, and then, when he got a good look at the new arrival, he felt shock course through him. G’aladon was unlike anything Mason had ever expected him to be. Mason had imagined him looking like a monster, perhaps something along the line of the orcs he had created. Instead, he was a young man of almost inhuman beauty. His dark hair and the sharp angles of his face reminded Mason of Hewitt. Mason would have thought it an illusion, except when he gazed into G’aladon’s eyes, he saw nothingness. The being in front of them might have a beautiful body, but there was no soul inside him. As if guessing what Mason was thinking, G’aladon arched a brow at him. “Well, well,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be willing to make the exchange so soon. But then, the Spirit Mother was always very intelligent. Isn’t that right, my dear?” The white wolf didn’t answer, making G’aladon laugh softly. “What did you plan to do by getting me here? I escaped the astral plane once. You won’t banish me again.” “Want to bet?” Hewitt snapped back. “Oh, aren’t you just precious?” G’aladon snickered. “I’m going to enjoy using your body as mine.” “Not while we’re still breathing.” Devon growled at him. G’aladon just shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Your wish is my command.” It was the only warning Mason had before pain exploded through him. It was unlike the spiritual magic that Hewitt had used. It seemed something different, as if the source of the agony was artificially created deep within him. Taking into account G’aladon’s affinity, it was quite possible that the damn creature had done just that. Instead of using blunt force to hurt them, he was crushing Mason’s insides with a thought. But still, Mason hung on. Even with the pressure that threatened to choke him, he breathed through the pain, accepting it as necessary. Even if he had been healed of the feral virus, he remained an Alpha,

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his powers having gone unchanged after the transformation. If anything else, he was even stronger now due to the bond he shared with Hewitt and Devon. At the same time, though, he knew that this wasn’t the full extent of G’aladon’s ability. Mason and his mates were being protected. Mason felt Hewitt’s magic swirling around him. He focused on his bond with the witch and banished all distractions from his mind. In the background, the chanting continued as the Spirit Mother aided them with her own magic and the other spirit wolves lent a hand. Magical energies of different types clashed together. Mason’s body protested the abuse, but he didn’t allow it to deter him. He heard G’aladon howling angrily as the creature tried to circumvent Mason’s connection with his mates, attempting to invade Hewitt’s body. Over and over, the assault continued, but never once did G’aladon manage to breach their bond. They were too strong. And then, Mason found his vision growing dimmer, as if he was being propelled into a different world. All of a sudden, the storage room vanished, as did the other spirit wolves. Mason could still feel them there, forming a sort of thread that connected him and his mates to the real world, but they were no longer visible. The only ones still palpably there were his mates. In this new place, there didn’t seem to be any up or down, neither light nor darkness. The space where they’d ended up was like an endless void, nothingness as far as the eye could see. Mason didn’t know how he was even still standing since there was no solid surface under his feet. He imagined this must be the astral plane, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that G’aladon didn’t have as much power here as he did in the real world. Once more, the beautiful young man appeared. This time, he seemed furious, his arrogance having vanished as if it had never been. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

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“Taking you down,” Hewitt replied. “I’m not one of your little orcs, G’aladon. You don’t scare me, and I’ll make sure you don’t scare anyone ever again.” **** Hewitt had wondered what he would feel like upon facing his mysterious ancestor. Now that he was in front of G’aladon, he noticed in awe that he wasn’t in the slightest bit afraid. If anything, a sort of compassion filled him. G’aladon’s life was absolutely empty, and the man didn’t even realize it. He’d allowed his hunger for power to kill him. Because it was clear to him that G’aladon was only a shell of a person. There was truly nothing sadder than to see something like that. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Hewitt from pursuing their plan. If anything, he felt even more determined. He couldn’t help G’aladon, but he could keep the abomination from walking the face of the planet and destroying other people. There was no matter here, so the soulless witch had ended up in a precarious position. While it seemed clear to Hewitt that G’aladon hadn’t lost all his abilities to control the spiritual, his focus was on flesh, on pure matter, and that brought him to a disadvantage. Hewitt’s magic flowed out of him freely, strengthened by the presence of his mates. Three was a magical number, and their triad amplified Hewitt’s powers, making them glow brighter, more intense. In the real world, he’d needed the assistance of the Spirit Mother just to face G’aladon. With her help, he had managed to drag the man here. It wasn’t enough. The Spirit Mother had explained that there was a hole in the barrier between the realms, one that had allowed G’aladon to escape in the first place. Therefore, Hewitt had to incapacitate G’aladon and keep him busy long enough to give the Spirit Mother a chance to fix that split. The worst thing was that, if they weren’t careful, Hewitt and his mates could end up stuck here as

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well. While Hewitt didn’t fear for himself, he refused to allow his lovers to get hurt in any way. It was perhaps that decision that gave him the final burst of magic he needed. Even as G’aladon made one last attempt to break out of the astral plane, Hewitt blocked him and struck back with everything he had. G’aladon released a cry that seemed to shake the entire astral plane. Hewitt felt the moment when G’aladon’s resistance died. A crushing sadness struck Hewitt, and for one brief instant, his mind connected to G’aladon’s. G’aladon’s thoughts and emotions filled him, nearly choking him with their intensity. The next moment, they vanished as if they had never been, and the buzzing energy that had been clinging to Hewitt’s surreal body faded away, releasing him from its hold. “We must hurry back,” he told his mates. No sooner had he said the words than they were thrust into reality with a violence that took his breath away. Dazed, Hewitt struggled to compose himself. When he recovered, he blinked to clear his vision and found himself lying on the floor, still holding his mates’ hands. In front of him, the slash in the wall between realms was now visible. He didn’t know if other people could see it, but he felt as if he could touch it if he only just extended his hand. It glowed with an unholy light that beckoned Hewitt forward, hypnotizing him. Perhaps he’d have reached out had his mates not held him back. “You mustn’t,” Mason told him. “Let it go.” Tears filled Hewitt’s eyes. He didn’t really know why, but in that moment, when his mind had linked with G’aladon’s, Hewitt had seen far more than he’d have liked. As the gap in the barrier between realms closed in front of him, Hewitt knew without a doubt that his ancestor did have a soul, and Hewitt might have made a very serious mistake in banishing G’aladon to the cold emptiness of the astral plane.

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Epilogue It was almost noon. The sun shone through the foliage, promising a warmth that didn’t quite reach the ground. In the shadow of the trees, a lonesome figure sat, seemingly lost in thought. The cool breeze brushed through Hewitt’s hair, as if caressing him. The witch appeared to be lost to the world, leaning against the tree trunk and sighing from time to time. Devon watched his mate, entranced and, at the same time, concerned. Since facing G’aladon, Hewitt had lost interest in continuing to manage The Witching Hour. He had told Devon and Mason the reason, the feeling of failure that haunted his soul. Devon understood him completely. Through his bond with Hewitt, he had also experienced that moment when Hewitt had touched G’aladon’s mind. But there was nothing they could do for G’aladon. Sadly, Hewitt’s ancestor was beyond their aid. It had been either them or G’aladon. Devon made his way to his mate’s side and sat down without speaking. Hewitt didn’t send him away. Instead, he cuddled close to Devon, his hand clutching Devon’s shirt in an almost compulsive gesture. “I really love it here,” the witch said. Devon nodded, unsurprised that his mate wouldn’t address the proverbial elephant in the room. He liked it here, too. The woods were quiet and peaceful, providing everything Devon had ever wanted in a home. The Virgin Komi Forest had apparently been Mason’s sanctuary for a long time. As a feral, the other man had mostly lived away from civilization. But since Devon and his mates had decided to

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move here on a permanent basis, they had set about to build an actual home. The spirit wolves had agreed that moving would be a good idea for Hewitt’s recovery. The last thing Devon had done before leaving all that behind was sending a message to Roarke through the Tanners. He had no clue if his former friend had received it, since Roarke seemed to avoid the Tanners for some reason. Even so, he hoped the other feral would find it safe to come out of hiding now that the Magistrate had proven that he did indeed have good intentions. For Devon’s part, he wanted to begin a new life, and for that reason, he knew it was time to start mending broken bridges. For the moment, though, Devon planned to fully focus on his mate. “Coming here was a good choice,” he told Hewitt. “But you haven’t really enjoyed it.” Hewitt released a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ve really been horrible lately, haven’t I?” “No, babe.” Devon shook his head empathetically. “You’re recovering from what happened. It’s normal.” “I just think there must be something we missed, something we could have done.” “I know.” Devon kissed Hewitt’s temple. “Perhaps there still is, but not now. You have to give it some time, time to heal.” To this day, Devon didn’t know whether the Spirit Mother had lied to them deliberately or merely hadn’t known the truth. Of course, there was always the chance that G’aladon had been trying to deceive them. Either way, they had all agreed that now wasn’t the time to attempt to reach out to the trapped witch. Lonely and desperate he might be, but G’aladon was also very dangerous. After all, he’d been the one who had created the orcs and ordered them to kill Hewitt. Devon was not inclined to be very forgiving, taking into account that Hewitt had nearly died because of it. Thankfully, Hewitt didn’t insist. “I know. I’ll try to let it go, at least for now.”

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It wasn’t so easy, and they all knew it. But they were building a new life together, one that needn’t be shadowed by ghosts of the past. As if summoned by Devon’s thoughts, a voice sounded from farther into the clearing. “Dev, I need some nails.” Devon rolled his eyes at his mate’s order. Mason always needed nails, a hammer, planks, or Spirit Mother knew what else. Devon would bet the other wolf actually had everything he required next to him, but simply wanted to see Devon and Hewitt and didn’t know how to ask. Of course, if Devon wanted to be honest, he should be by Mason’s side, aiding the other wolf in building their home. But he’d stolen a few moments to see Hewitt, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Hewitt smiled at him and brushed a brief kiss against Devon’s lips. “We should get out there and lend a hand, huh?” Devon would have preferred remaining under the shadow of the trees and ravaging his mate. He could bet Mason would show up any moment now. The other man simply couldn’t stay away. But alas, if they kept distracting themselves with sex, they would never finish their house. “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “Come on.” Both of them got up and headed back toward the clearing where they had decided to build their new cabin. Mason stood in front of it, obviously considering coming to get Devon and Hewitt. He looked quite pleased when he saw them approach. “Where are the nails?” he asked, arching a brow. Devon kissed Mason’s cheek then pointed to a table behind them. “Right there.” Mason frowned at him, and his serious expression was so funny Devon couldn’t help but crack up. In spite of the earlier dark mood, Hewitt burst into laughter as well. It was simply impossible to stay upset when the evidence of their shared future was right there in front of them.

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“Laughing at me, are you?” Mason growled. “I’ll give you two a little lesson you’ll never forget.” And with that, Mason pounced. Building the cabin was once again forgotten in favor of feverish touches and desperate kisses. And as they writhed against each other in the grass, they tore at each other’s clothing, needing naked skin. As always, Hewitt was the first one to end up nude. Devon admitted he had a fetish for seeing the witch in the buff while he and Mason were still dressed. He loved to tease Hewitt, to bring him to the brink of climax and keep him there for the longest time. If it were up to him, Hewitt would never have to wear clothes, for easy access. But then again, that would be very distracting, and while it might be all right when only the three of them were present, it could bring about unpleasant consequences when they were among others. Right then and there, none of them had the patience for extended foreplay. Both Devon and Mason got rid of their garments as well, shuddering as the cold breeze hit their sweaty bodies. Hewitt took up position on all fours and wiggled his ass invitingly. Entranced, Devon reached for the tube of lubricant. Mason threw him the bottle, ever the prepared Boy Scout. Devon opened the tube and squirted a generous amount of liquid on his fingers. His control was already frayed thin. If he didn’t get inside Hewitt soon, he would explode, die of blue balls, or worse. Devon rubbed two slick fingers against Hewitt’s opening and slowly slid them inside. He groaned as his mate’s body greedily swallowed the digits, as if demanding more. Hewitt pushed back against his fingers, panting. “Come on, Devon. I can take it. You don’t have to be so careful.” But Devon was careful. To him, Hewitt was precious, like a jewel that needed to be treasured. His affection for Mason was different, wilder, rougher, more animalistic, and reminding Devon of their once-feral nature. The three of them fit together, and Devon would have it no other way.

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He scissored his fingers inside Hewitt, seeking that spot that would drive his mate insane with pleasure. When he found it, he relentlessly rubbed the spongy gland, grinning as Hewitt dissolved into incoherent pleas. At the same time, Devon was very much aware of Mason’s eyes on him. As if urged by Devon’s thoughts, Mason pressed a kiss to Devon’s nape. Devon shuddered, but the lust that coursed through him just urged him to press forward, to continue readying Hewitt. As he did so, Mason’s fingers trailed over his spine until they reached the crack of his ass. Mason stole the lube from Devon, and Devon heard him slicking up his digits. He spread his legs as far as he could in his position, giving Mason better access. At the same time, he deemed Hewitt ready. He retrieved his fingers from Hewitt’s body and slicked his cock up with the remaining lube. Devon waited a few more seconds while Mason thrust two fingers inside him. Mason was quite expedient with the prep, knowing Devon liked it a little rough. The harsh touch of the other wolf inside him sent tendrils of pleasure over him. Soon, he couldn’t take the wait anymore. He needed to be inside Hewitt, and he needed to feel Mason’s prick branding him. He positioned his cock at Hewitt’s opening and slowly pushed inside. As he did so, Mason pulled his fingers out, leaving Devon to struggle against a combined feeling of emptiness and the drugging ecstasy of Hewitt’s passage squeezing him. Thankfully, Mason didn’t prolong the torture. Mere seconds later, the other wolf thrust inside Devon, the invasion so harsh it drew a pained groan out of him. They fell into a beautiful rhythm, Mason’s thrusts sending Devon into Hewitt, and Devon sandwiched between his mates in the most agonizingly tortuous experience ever. It seemed that every time he lost himself in their embrace, the sex just got better and better. There was always something novel to discover, but at the same time, they knew each other so well and could exploit wants, desires, and erogenous spots to their whims.

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As Mason’s cock brushed over Devon’s prostate, Devon thrust deep into Hewitt, aiming for the witch’s own special spot. By this point, the witch had become lost in ecstasy, pushing back against Devon with everything he had. He was so beautiful that Devon almost couldn’t believe he was real. Mason’s arrogant strength, Hewitt’s amazing loveliness, their joint affection, and the pleasure they showered Devon with, it was all beyond any words Devon could possibly have. With the intensity of the sensations assaulting him, it came as no surprise that Devon was soon on the brink of orgasm. He needed just one more thing, one last nudge to push him over the edge. Mason gave it to him, suddenly biting down on Devon’s neck. Pain and agonizing pleasure exploded through Devon. Thrusting one last time inside Hewitt, Devon leaned over and buried his canines in the witch’s flesh. His orgasm triggered those of his mates, and Devon felt it all through their bond. It was so powerful that for a few moments, Devon blacked out. Only Mason and Hewitt existed in his world. Their bond had survived through the darkest times in their lives, and Devon was once more in awe at the gift he had been granted. When he finally began to recover, Devon found himself collapsed in a pile of limbs on the grass. He was uncomfortable, sticky, and feeling well fucked, but he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. He knew without a doubt that he was completely bewitched, both by Hewitt and by Mason. **** “Help me.” Quinn Tanner buried his face in his pillow, attempting to shut out the voice. It had started a few days ago, and it had only grown worse as time passed. It was not the first time Quinn had this happen to him. He was used to it, as his psychic abilities had always been a strong

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part of his life. At the same time, the feeling of familiarity came from a different source. While the whispering had only started now, this sensation was much older, and Quinn just wished he knew who in the world was making this attempt to contact him. Why couldn’t that person just be straightforward and say what he wanted? More importantly, why did Quinn always feel such pain whenever he tried to reach out as well? Frustrated, Quinn rolled in his bed and glared at the ceiling. “Leave me the hell alone,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m trying to sleep.” “Help me,” the voice just said again. “Please.” There was only so much haunting Quinn could stand. He threw off the blankets and got out of bed. Outside, it was dark, and Quinn knew all too well that there were things out there normal humans didn’t know about. Quinn’s family was different and had always been so. They understood the paranormal world and were often sought out by creatures that would send others screaming. This time, though, Quinn was stuck. “Who are you?” he inquired desperately. “Tell me what I can do.” Oddly enough, the voice didn’t reply, as if surprised Quinn had asked. After a brief pause, it came again, almost hesitantly. “Just talk to me. I need to hear your voice.” Quinn couldn’t have been more shocked if the ghostly presence had suddenly asked him to dance around naked in the middle of the city square. Still, there was such loneliness in that demand that Quinn couldn’t help but comply. “All right. What do you want to know?”

THE END WWW.SCARLETHYACINTH.WEBS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR A native Romanian, Scarlet was born in 1986 and grew up an avid fan of Karl May and Jules Verne, reading fantasy stories and adventure. Later, when she was out of fantasy stories to read, she delved into her mother’s collection of books and, of course, stumbled onto romance. As a writer though, Scarlet Hyacinth was born one sunny summer day, when a dear friend of hers—the same friend who introduced her to GLBT fiction—proposed they start writing a story of their own. As it turns out, the two friends never did finish that particular story, but Scarlet discovered she had a knack for writing and ended up starting to write individually. And so, between working on her dissertation, studying for exams, and reading yaoi manga, she started writing the Kaldor Saga. Along the way, Scarlet met a lot of wonderful people who supported her, and in the end, she found her story a home and, in the process, fulfilled a beautiful dream.

Also by Scarlet Hyacinth Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 2: Mates in Life and Death Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 3: Two Mates For A Magistrate Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 4: Three Mates, One Destiny Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 5: Star-Crossed Mates

For all other titles, please visit www.bookstrand.com/scarlet-hyacinth

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