Forbidden Attraction Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Forbidden Attraction

  ISBN # 9781419909962

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Forbidden Attraction Copyright© 2007 Lorie O’Clare

  Edited by Mary Altman.

  Photography by Les Byerley, cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: March 2007

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X - TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Werewolves of Malta:

  Forbidden Attraction

  Lorie O’Clare

  Chapter One

  Winter could kick some fucking ass. A hard wind attacked Nicolo and Dimitri Spalto when they stepped out of the pickup truck.

  “I can’t believe this fucking shit!” Dimitri stalked over to the mangled body, crunching hard-packed snow under his boots.

  Nicolo sniffed their surroundings, filling his lungs with frigid air. The metallic smell of blood made his heart pound faster, the predator in him screaming to attack.

  “He hasn’t been dead that long.” Tiny hairs prickled down his spine, the change charging forth inside him. He nudged the naked body with his boot. “He’s one of the Fernandez den.”

  Dimitri paced alongside barbed wire stretching the length of two trees. “Search the area. I want to know who the fuck did this.”

  “Call Josie and get him out here.” Nicolo studied his littermate’s icy glare. His brother hated asking anyone for help. “He might be able to use his gift to find what we can’t.”

  Dimitri nodded. Alone, he acknowledged that Nicolo was the older littermate. It had always been like this. No one knew Dimitri better than Nicolo. Life had a sense of humor in making Dimitri the second born male. And for the first time in his life, Dimitri had what he wanted—authority, the chance to be the werewolf in control and the rank of pack leader.

  “I’ll call him.” Dimitri possessed everything it took to run their pack. And hopefully leading the Malta werewolves would soothe some of the demons inside him too.

  Nicolo nodded, then pulled off his gloves. A mean, harsh wind attacked his flesh as he stripped. But the roar of blood in his veins, his muscles tightening as bones popped and stretched, distracted him from the cold. His blood felt as though it boiled inside his body, the change sweeping through him. His skin stretched over his face, getting tougher and offering protection against the frigid temperature. Coarse hair popped from his pores. A rush of energy better than any good drunk soared to life inside him.

  He fell to all fours, taking in his surroundings with vision much keener and senses more alive and alert than his human form could offer. Dimitri bounded off in one direction and Nicolo headed in the other. His nose to the ground, he kept an eye on everything around him while sniffing out the area. The frozen ground, with patches of snow covering the rocks, prevented smells from lingering. But he’d swear no other werewolf had been this way recently. It didn’t take long, however, before he found more barbed wire set up in the same booby-trapped fashion as the first.

  He slashed through it with his claws, ripping it free and then carefully taking it in his mouth to pull it from harm’s way. The dangerous barbs threatened to rip his flesh if he wasn’t careful. Any werewolf bounding through here at night would experience the same dishonorable death as the poor male who lay dead on the frozen ground less than a mile up the mountain.

  Josie was squatted in front of the dead werewolf when Nicolo made it back to the truck. He looked up warily as Nicolo approached, caution the strongest scent on him. Nicolo growled assurance that all was well, then moved to where he’d left his clothes. His ears popped as the change took over, returning him to his human form. Nicolo straightened slowly, the warmth from his fur coat fading quickly. He moved stiffly, damp sweat making him even colder.

  “There’s barbed wire lining the entire area.” Nicolo pulled his clothes on while watching Josie hunched next to the dead werewolf with one hand flat on the male’s chest.

  “A werewolf should be allowed an honorable death,” Josie growled. His straight black hair blew across his contemplative expression while he searched the area around him.

  “Yet he was sliced in two at the prime of his life.”

  A large black werewolf with his coat flowing to the rocky ground leapt over several rocks and slowed, then sauntered around the front of the truck. His head low, silver eyes glowing as he stared at Nicolo and Josie, he sniffed the ground then slowly raised his head. Dimitri changed into his human form, moving toward his clothes before he’d completed the transition.

  “Did you get a whiff of any werewolves in the area?” Dimitri growled more than spoke, glancing from one of them to the other with eyes that were still silver.

  “Nothing.” Nicolo tossed the barbed wire into the back of the truck and then helped the other two werewolves load Fernandez back there too. They took care to lay him on several tarps, and then used one to cover him. He would be returned to his den for a proper ceremony later. “No werewolf should be allowed to live if they are willing to bring another such a shameful death.”

  “Agreed,” Dimitri growled, blowing his steamy breath into his gloves and glancing at their mountainous surroundings. “Since I doubt Malta werewolves would kill their own, either the American werewolves or the lunewulfs have done this.”

  “Other than our unfortunate friend in the back of the truck, there haven’t been any werewolves around this side of the mountain.” Josie didn’t sniff the air—a trait Nicolo often found a bit unnerving.

  “What are you saying? That we aren’t patrolling our territory well enough and this barbed wire has been here awhile?” Dimitri scowled, his anger giving the cold air a spicy smell.

  “All I’m saying is there’s nothing here. No smells other than our surroundings and no indication of foul play other than barbed wire and a dead werewolf,” Josie began.

  “Which is plenty of fucking foul play if you ask me,” Dimitri hissed, his temper rising quickly.

  Josie wasn’t daunted. Like Nicolo, he’d known Dimitri long enough to ignore his short fuse. His pretty-boy features remained relaxed when he met Dimitri’s hard glare head-on.

  “Either the wire’s been up for a while or werewolves didn’t do it.” Josie lowered his attention to his boot, scuffing hard snow while his straight black hair covered his face. “I don’t smell any humans either. But wit
h everything frozen, a good scent wouldn’t last that long.”

  He was focused on something, but Josie didn’t smell of any emotions. Another annoying trait the werewolf possessed.

  Dimitri growled. “Then what the fuck are you saying?”

  “Maybe we need to beef up security.” Nicolo’s stomach turned from the mixture of Dimitri’s foul temper and the stale smell of death. It was time to close this matter up and get the hell out of here. “We’ve got an entire mountainside over here that is undeveloped. I say we guard it better or face the potential of more crimes and death.”

  “There aren’t funds to employ werewolves to patrol this much land.” Josie focused on Dimitri, his large frame blocking Nicolo’s view of his littermate.

  Dimitri must have seconded Nicolo’s thoughts. He headed toward the truck. “I might consider offering land for dens over here. It’s good, healthy land and in return, they would guard their own turf.”

  Nicolo moved to the other side of the truck, but Josie stopped Dimitri by grabbing his arm. The two werewolves matched each other in size and strength. Josie had never once challenged Dimitri, and Dimitri’s gaze, when he glanced at the werewolf’s hand on his arm and then up at his face, showed no sign of being threatened now.

  “What is it?” Dimitri asked quietly.

  “Watch your tail.” As Josie spoke, a cold wind attacked the three of them.

  “I always do,” Dimitri told him. He didn’t move, but instead stared the werewolf down, waiting for him to continue.

  “I can’t quite sniff it out, but there’s something wrong with this picture here. And I don’t mean the obvious intended mutilation of one of our pack. Evil crawls around in many shapes and sizes. We need to be real fucking careful here.”

  “What? Suddenly you’re some fucking prophet?” Dimitri shook his head and climbed into the truck. “I think we’ll head into Valle before taking the dead werewolf to his den. I need real fucking answers.”

  Josie didn’t question him, but then, he didn’t have to. Nicolo didn’t possess even a small amount of the gift that Malta werewolves were known and feared for. Josie’s strength ran deeper than simply being a well-built male. Like others in the pack, Josie had the gift—a special blessing their previous pack leader, Bruno Tangaree had given some of them. Josie could do things, see things, that other werewolves couldn’t. Although Nicolo didn’t know the extent of Josie’s gift, he knew some of the things the werewolf detected that a normal werewolf’s senses couldn’t. He also knew that Dimitri had a hard time with werewolves who possessed the gift.

  “I’ll follow you into town,” Josie said, and left the two of them to hike up to his own car parked higher up on the side of the mountain.

  Nicolo and Dimitri drove in silence until they hit the main road. When Dimitri glanced his way, his expression showed concern and compassion—emotions he seldom allowed anyone else to see.

  “I know you’re plotting. I can smell it.” Dimitri didn’t mean it as a joke. He searched Nicolo’s face before turning his attention back to the road. “Tell me what you think happened back there.”

  “The obvious is easy enough to see. Someone wants Malta werewolves destroyed.” He’d never minced words with his younger littermate. Dimitri hated being treated like a cub, even when he’d been one. “Neither one of us sees what Josie sees, but what is clear to me is that we’re about to have a war on our hands.”

  Just staring at the coiled barbed wire in the back of the truck pissed Nicolo off even further. Even after driving into Valle with cold winds wrapping around them, the smell of blood still lingered around them.

  They’d parked in the small parking lot outside Bernie’s Den, a werewolf establishment in Valle where it would be easiest to track down the American pack leader.

  Larry Shank, one of the American pack, headed across the parking lot toward Bernie’s Den and stopped when Dimitri parked, then waited until the two of them climbed out of the truck. He straightened, caution smelling strong on him when Josie pulled in next to them.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Where is Ollie?” Dimitri growled, glaring at the smaller werewolf.

  Josie climbed out of his car and sauntered toward the pickup truck. Josie watched Dimitri. Nicolo focused on Larry, who stiffened and puffed his chest out as soon as he got a whiff of the outrage coming from their pack leader. Ever since Dimitri claimed the title of Malta werewolf pack leader, it seemed everything infuriated him.

  “There’s his car.” Larry nodded toward the group of cars parked in front of the bar and grill. “My guess is that he’s inside.”

  “I’ll find him,” Dimitri muttered and stalked across the parking lot, his boots crunching hard-packed snow.

  Nicolo headed after his younger littermate, not sure he enjoyed the job of continually keeping their new pack leader out of fights. Granted, finding the barbed wire did more than tick him off as well. Who knew how long it would have gone undetected if it hadn’t been for the mangled body they’d found?

  Bernie’s Den, the werewolf-managed bar and grill, did a fairly decent amount of business for a Thursday afternoon. Dimitri entered the dimly lit establishment and headed over to where Ollie stood at the end of the bar.

  “I need to speak to you.” Dimitri had a way of grabbing the attention of those around him. His size, dark features and black hair that reached the collar of his black leather coat created an intimidating air that he used to his advantage.

  “What can I do for you?” Ollie didn’t stand as tall as Dimitri, but he had a thick neck and arms and a barrel chest. He remained relaxed, seemingly indifferent to the spicy smell of anger that hung heavily in the air.

  “Come outside with me.”

  Josie stood next to Nicolo and the two of them stepped to the side, allowing both pack leaders to lead the small procession to the door. The smell of curiosity filled the air around them, and he guessed every werewolf in the establishment would find reason to step outside over the next few minutes.

  “What’s this about?” Ollie asked the second the door closed behind them.

  Dimitri’s boots crunched over packed snow. He turned around and faced Ollie. “One of my pack members has been murdered.”

  “Holy fuck!” Bruce Silverman had walked out with Ollie to Dimitri’s truck.

  Ollie fisted his hands at his side, his own outrage smelling like pepper. “Are you suggesting someone in my pack did this?”

  “I’m telling you one of my pack is dead.” Dimitri gave Ollie a hard look.

  Nicolo agreed with Dimitri that keeping communication open with the packs bordering their territory helped them know who their enemies were and who watched their tails.

  It wasn’t an accusation. None of them would suggest to their faces that one of the American werewolves had pulled off the gruesome task unless they had proof. For the most part, Nicolo trusted the American werewolves. He’d never smelled aggression on them, and it was this pack that helped them gain land for their own territory. Whether Ollie understood that or not didn’t matter much to Nicolo.

  A handful of werewolves stared into the back of the truck where the coiled, mangled barbed wire lay next to the naked, dead werewolf, his body covered with the tarp. As with all werewolves, the moment his heart stopped beating, he’d returned to his human state.

  Nicolo took in the somber group, sniffing out their reactions and not detecting anything suspicious. Guilt had a rancid smell.

  Josie crossed his arms, standing next to Dimitri, ignoring the small group but turning his attention to his pack leader. “He had a mate. We need to notify her.”

  Without being obvious, Josie had just told Dimitri that none of the werewolves present committed the murder. Nicolo caught the subtle message. None of the American werewolves knew Josie had the gift—not that it was any of their damned business. But growing up with Josie, Nicolo knew the werewolf heard other werewolves’ thoughts. Something that Nicolo guessed would be rather annoying at times. He didn’t reg
ret not having the gift Josie possessed.

  “Where did this happen?” Ollie asked.

  “We discovered the barbed wire stretched from one tree to another at the bottom of the north side of our mountain,” Nicolo offered.

  “Whoever sabotaged our mountain will die,” Dimitri announced, glaring at the lot of them.

  “No one in my pack would do this.” Ollie turned to face Dimitri. “If you think one of us did this, say so now!”

  “If I believed one of your pack did this, we wouldn’t be talking right now,” Dimitri growled, stepping closer to Ollie.

  Everyone tensed, watching their leaders carefully. Nicolo stood on the opposite side of the truck, watching as the door to Bernie’s Den opened and a handful of werewolves headed in their direction. Within moments, American werewolves surrounded the three of them. Dimitri ignored them, focusing only on Ollie.

  “I accept that you’re new to leading your pack, and many challenges hit you. And I’ll give you credit for not storming into my territory with your claws extended.”

  “Being a new leader has nothing to do with my not attacking you.” Dimitri’s tone had a deadly edge to it. “You didn’t kill this werewolf, or you’d be dead too. But someone did. And it was intentional. You may stand beside me or lie at my feet. I’ll give you that choice.”

  Ollie banged the side of the truck with his fist. Several of the werewolves surrounding them shifted, hiding the fact that his sudden move made them jump.

  “So you have a dead werewolf on your hands. What will you do about it?” he asked.

  “Build up security in our territory,” Dimitri announced without hesitating. “This won’t happen again.”

  Ollie nodded, slowly releasing a breath although the smell of anger still hung strong around him. “I take it there were no signs of who might have done this.”