The Devil’s Dires Series, Book #3
There’s no escaping a Dire Wolf on the hunt…
Mammon of the Dire Wolves is too good of a soldier to go against orders. But obsession has a way of breaking you down, and even a shifter as disciplined as he has trouble going with the grain when there’s a fated connection dragging him the other way. Too bad that connection is to a woman he sees as his enemy.
Charmeine was brought up in luxury and wealth as the ward of a shifter businessman, even if that business wasn’t quite the legal kind. Money can’t stop hate, though, a fact proven by a ruthless band of shifters intent on destroying her family. Years of fighting—and losing—means she doesn’t trust strangers, especially not the one on the wrong side of the war the fates decided to tie her to.
One soldier breaking rules and ignoring orders, one princess dead set against falling for the enemy, and a group of killers with a single-minded focus on ending them both. For Dire Wolves, following a direct order from their leader should be as simple as breathing. But a single glance makes simple the harder choice and forces Mammon to risk his brotherhood to protect the mate he hates to love.
One soldier, one fight…one chance at forever.
Did You Just Call Me A Squirrel?
Her back hit the bookshelf. Trapped. She swallowed hard and held her ground, refusing to surrender to him. “Hardly. Curious, maybe, as one might be when they come upon a strange insect or animal. A fuzzy squirrel, perhaps.”
His growl made her knees quiver, but she locked them into place. “Did you just call me a squirrel?”
“No.” Breathy, no fire behind that word. She tried harder. “I compared you to one, but technically, I didn’t call you one.”
His hands, those huge, strong hands, landed on either side of her shoulders as he leaned in. She was trapped, boxed, caged by the sheer thickness of him. And God save her, she liked it more than she feared it.
“You put up a good front, Char. But you forgot one key piece of information I have against you.”
“What information did I forget?” How could she speak? How could she open her mouth and not just groan? She had no idea. The man overpowered her without a touch, dominated without intention. He inched closer, his body brushing hers. She could feel the warmth, could practically taste him on the air. Her quivers traveled up and down her body, making her shake with need. With desire. Every inch of her in tune to every inch of him. Every thought completely dialed in to what he was doing or saying. There was no escaping his presence.
Mammon leaned in farther, running his nose over her cheek to her ear. Barely a brush of skin, but enough to make her bite back a moan. To make her practically dissolve into a puddle of want and craving. To make her—
“I can smell you.”
It took Charmeine a moment to decipher his words, but when she did, her temper flared hotter than the sun. Spell broken once more. “How dare you be so crass?”
“How dare you not ask for what you need?”
“You have no idea what I need.” She pushed his shoulder, trying to move him. A fruitless effort and one that worked against her. He grabbed her wrist, held it, kept a physical contact that only made her body itch for more. Made her heart jump and her breath catch. Traitorous hormones.
“I know exactly what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough, his growl undeniable. “What I don’t know is why you won’t give in and let yourself have it. Let go and take what you want, baby.” This time, he pushed her back against the shelves. Trapping her. Pressed the two of them together from shoulder to waist. But that wasn’t enough. Not for her, no. She rocked her hips forward, soft and subtle. Teasing…curious. But there was no soft or subtle when it came to the man chosen as her mate. The hardness, the ridge of steel in his pants screamed to her. She sought more contact. Wanting to understand the girth of him, the desire he obviously experienced around her.
He moaned at the contact, and her eyes fluttered, the two moving in concert. Tiny brushes, a little added pressure here and there. A rough, almost-dry hump while standing up against the bookshelves in the study, mostly clothed, too pissed at each other to give in and get what they needed.
Until he spoke again.
“No one has to know that I get you wet simply by breathing the same air.” He growled low, making her entire body quake. “You think I’m any less immune to you? Jesus, woman. I’m hard every second around you.”