Slave to Sensation

But that was in the unknown future. Right now he had to be the most lethal of them all, savage and brilliant. Because not only was the pack watching but so were the SnowDancers. One hint of weakness in DarkRiver and the wolves would come down on them in a hail of teeth and claws.

He couldn’t allow his inexplicable attraction to one of the Psy sway him from his goal. More depended on this than merely the sating of vengeance. After DarkRiver had realized the existence of a serial killer preying on changeling women, they’d warned all other changeling groups in the killer’s hunting grounds. Every single alpha had wanted to go for the jugular-none more so than the wolves.

Lucas had insisted on taking on the job of hunting the killer because in spite of losing Kylie, he was the lone alpha who could still think. It was as if the blood that had christened him had also given him the ability to see beyond the dark-red glimmer of fury and retribution.

The SnowDancers had reluctantly handed him the reins because his pack had lost a member while theirs hadn’t. But their patience was limited. The wolves knew that sooner or later, the killer would strike them too. The second that happened, all bets were off-the SnowDancers would begin to hunt down the Psy and the Psy would retaliate, leading to war on a catastrophic scale.

Lucas slept deeply after the exertion of a run that had left even Clay exhausted. He’d expected only darkness but the most exquisite pleasure welcomed him into his dreams.

Slender fingers traveled down his front as he lay sprawled on his back, exploring him so carefully that he felt owned. No woman had ever come close to owning Lucas Hunter, but in this dreamworld he allowed her to play. After endless moments, the fingers stopped their stroking and he felt the brush of wet heat against his nipple. His dream-lover was taking her time licking circles around it, arousing him to fever pitch. Opening his eyes, he tangled a hand in the silky curls cascading over his chest.

Her head rose and night-sky eyes met his.

He wasn’t surprised. The panther in him had found Sascha Duncan enticing from the start and in this dreamworld, it was okay to let that fascination free, to indulge his feline curiosity about this most unusual woman. Here there was no possibility of war and she was no longer an emissary of the enemy.

“What do you think you’re doing, kitten?” He let his gaze wander over the dark honey of her bare skin.

Those eyes widened in shock. “This is my dream.”

He chuckled. Even in his dreams, she was as willful as she was in life. He’d begun to suspect that not everything was efficiency with Sascha. No, sometimes she just liked sharpening her claws on him. “I’m at your mercy.”

She made an annoyed sound and sat up on her knees. “Why are you talking?”

He folded his arms behind his head, delighted by the sight of her lush breasts displayed so beautifully for him. He liked this dream. Even the panther was pleased. “Don’t you want me to?” He made it a temptation.

“Well…” She frowned. “The whole point is to taste you… I guess you’d never be silent in bed.”

“You’re right.” He watched her watch him. Her eyes held such pure heat that he felt branded. The alpha in him wanted to reach out and tangle his fingers in the shadowed triangle of curls exposed by her kneeling position, but he was wary of shattering this strange dream.

“Can I?” She ran her fingers along the markings on his face, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Do you feel my touch?”

He wanted to bite down on that sexy mouth she was teasing him with. “Every stroke.” The markings were highly sensitive and he was very, very choosy about who he let touch them.

“I’ve been wanting to stroke them since we first met.” With a sigh, she leaned down to place a row of kisses along the jagged lines. The deep rumble of his purr seemed to startle her but it wasn’t a bad kind of startlement-he felt her nipples harden against his chest. After exploring his face to her satisfaction, she sat back up, raking her nails gently down his chest.

“Harder, kitten. I won’t break.”

She took a shaky breath and did as he’d asked. “Cats like to be petted.” It was a soft murmur.

“I told you we’re picky about who we allow to pet us.” He ran a hand up the outside of her thigh.

She shivered. “Why would I dream of you touching me? I want to touch you.”

“But if you’re dreaming of me, wouldn’t I be touching you?” He was delighted by this odd dream, which felt almost like reality, except of course the real Sascha would never display her emotions so openly.

“Yes… you’re very territorial.” A frown line appeared on her forehead. “You’d want to mark me. My subconscious must be filling in the gaps.”

He tried not to grin. “Who do you let pet you?”

“Psy don’t get petted.” A hint of sadness flickered in those eyes he was starting to be able to read.

“Maybe you’ve been hanging around with the wrong people.” He stroked his hand to the curve of her buttock and stopped. “I’d take great pleasure in petting you.”