Honey,I Shrunk the Werewolf Read online

  Ella chuckled and threw her purse over her shoulder. “You stay put, and if you feel the shift coming on, call me. Got that? No shifting alone. After all the practice this week, I’m still concerned about how disoriented you are when you first shift. So behave.” While I go investigate that smell, the town of Gordon’s Crest and then snoop around in the rich Marina’s life. She had to pinpoint that familiar scent—even if it meant braving all the others.

  Crosby tucked her bathrobe lapels together and smiled angelically. “I’m not moving from this chair. Swear it on my Argentinean tango. So where ya goin’?”

  Her eyes shifted to the door. “To run errands. Someone has to feed you.” And find out what was going down on the other side of that fence…

  “Can I have chocolate ice cream? I don’t know why, but I can’t stop craving it. Did I like chocolate ice cream before I was an amnesiac?”

  By the truckload. She gave him a cocky grin. “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

  He eyed her from the recliner. “I know, I know. ‘I don’t know, Crosby. Did you like chocolate ice cream before your amnesia?’” he said, mocking her favorite phrase.

  “Wow. You’re so good at that now, you could be the nurse.”

  He popped up off the recliner and was across the room in a shot. Hauling her against him, he tilted her chin back and ran his tongue along the length of her neck then nipped it with a chuckle. “I’ll show you nurse.” His hand flirted with the top of her jeans before he dove into them, making her hiss her pleasure when he spread the lips of her pussy and toyed with her clit.

  Her purse fell to the floor even as her hands went to his shoulders and her hips jutted forward to find the hard ridge of his cock, straining against his sweatpants. “No, no, no,” she moaned, more out of regret that she absolutely had to turn him down. “I have to go to the store or it’ll close and then there’ll be no chocolate ice cream…” She whimpered when he cupped her breast, pushing upward with a forceful hand and thumbing a nipple through her lacy bra.

  “I’d much rather lick you than chocolate ice cream,” he coaxed, working his lips over her jaw until his mouth was on hers. He drove his tongue inside, making her knees buckle.

  There was never any hope of denying Crosby. The moment his hands were on her was the moment she was pathetically lost. “It has to be quick,” she gasped when he tore at the button on her jeans and dragged them over her knees while she kicked off her shoes. “We really need millllk,” she muttered against his neck.

  “I reallllly need to fuck you,” he said against her lips, his voice thick with desire. Crosby pulled off his sweats and backed her up against the wall, lifting until her legs wrapped around his waist.

  That first graze of his cock against her clit jolted, sizzled when flesh met flesh. Her head fell back against the wall with the searing heat.

  Hard and swift, he drove upward, filling her until he tore the breath from her lungs. The impact of his entry shot white-hot heat to her cunt, which was already wet and aching. His thrusts had a new, more forceful feel than usual—and it was hot as hell.

  Ella squirmed against him, tore at his shoulders to pull him as close as possible then lifted his jaw with both hands so their lips met.

  Their harsh breathing mingled, the rock of their bodies banging against the wall erotic to her ears. Crosby was fucking her, making her his. Nothing else mattered.

  She clung to his neck, driving her breasts against his chest for the delicious friction, lost in her need to come.

  Crosby’s tongue skimmed her teeth, his hands cupped her ass, kneading the flesh until her skin burned beneath his fingers.

  She hooked her ankles tighter around his waist and used her thighs to lift herself upward then drive down on him. Her pussy was slick, throbbing hot, drawing his cock deeper until there was nothing left to do but succumb to Crosby’s madness.

  His hard muscles flexed, tensing and bunching under her hands. His chest expanded when he rasped against her mouth. “This is how it always should be, Ella. Always.”

  Yes. Always.

  It was her last thought before the raging heat in her pussy exploded. She squeezed his waist, her scream raw and hoarse in its intensity.

  Crosby was right behind her, but just as he climaxed, he spoke words she’d once sobbed over. The words that made her heart clench in painful memory and her eyes mist with tears. “I love you, Ella,” he whispered, urgent and silky against her mouth.

  His final grunt was long and harsh, his hands clenching into tight fists on her flesh, his cock jerking within her.

  Boneless, she fell against him, burying her head in his neck and luxuriating in his cologne. Ella absorbed his statement in slow increments; afraid it might just be the kind of statement one made to their caregiver rather than one between man and wife. Falling in love with someone who took care of you 24/7 was textbook psychiatry.

  But somewhere deep inside her, Ella prayed it was the Crosby she’d married, fighting his way back.

  And if it was?

  There was a whole lot of explaining to do.

  Until then, she needed to see what was beyond the other side of the fence. The plan was to just snoop around, nothing more. If she could find out what the fence had to do with Crosby, and if it might help with his recovery, then she had to at least investigate.

  Because she’d never survive falling in love with a man who only existed because he didn’t know any better.

  Going to the pack with this information had been like ramming her head against a brick wall. Morton had scoffed at the notion there was anything in Gordon’s Crest that need concern her, and he’d reminded her of Crosby’s youth. One filled with daredevil stunts that had probably led him to the fence on many dares from his buddies.

  Morton had dubbed Crosby’s recollection a mix-up of memories, and dismissed them.

  But she knew better. The more Morton denied, the more certain she was that he was full of shit.

  So it was over the fence she was going, with the hope that she’d find absolutely nothing and come back home to finish nursing Crosby back to health.

  “So about that ice cream? Can there be cookies, too?” he asked against her neck. “Cookies will help me recuperate faster. I’m sure of it.”

  Her laughter bubbled in her throat, escaping in a deep chuckle. “Cookies make everything better.”

  “Isn’t that bacon?”

  “No cookies or bacon,” she chided. “Your cholesterol’s going to be through the roof as it is with all the red meat and eggs you eat. Now put me down, heathen. I have gathering to do.”

  She unwrapped her legs, mournful when he removed his still semi-hard cock and slid her down his body.

  Crosby pulled her tight to him. “Double Stuf Oreos. I think they’re my favorite.” He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m all over it.”

  Totally all over it.

  * * * * *

  “Morton?”

  “Crosby?”

  “That would be me. Former amnesiac.”

  “You remember?”

  He heard the surprise in Morton’s voice. “You bet your ass I do. Now gather the pack and let’s get this done. Ella deserves an explanation, and the bunch of you have kept me from her for far too long with all this secrecy and spy crap. If we’re quick, we can have this sewn up before she gets back from her errands.”

  He heard Morton bluster. “I doubt that’s going to give us the kind of time we need, Crosby. We have to handle this delicately,” he urged.

  Crosby popped the wall with his fist. “Fuck delicate. Balls to the wall. I’m not wasting another second. Besides, how long does it take to kick some human ass? We’re werewolves, Morton. You know—big, strong, sharp-sharp teeth. Now gather the pack and let’s do this so I can come home to my woman. Finally.”

  He clicked his cell phone off—the cell phone he’d snuck from the office Morton had said was his when they’d ha
d dinner together the other night, then charged secretly in Ella’s guest bedroom.

  While Morton had ordered out, he’d scoured his office, at that point, still crippled with amnesia.

  But just before he’d gone to sleep with Ella, he’d remembered everything.

  Marina Preston, Franklin Little, the bidding he’d done for the pack instead of putting Ella first. The reason he’d ended up with amnesia in the first place.

  And now it was time to take his life back.

  Take his wife back.

  * * * * *

  So whatever. She was impulsive. Fine. Label, label, label.

  The trouble with the truth was, it always revealed itself at the most inopportune time.

  You know, like when you were tied up in some crazy motherfucker’s closet while he ranted and raved?

  Her eyes darted to the door of the walk-in closet. The walk-in closet a.k.a. dream come true. While she should be panicked half out of her mind, she was too busy eyeing all the designer dresses and shoes to be very freaked out.

  Wow. Somebody was a lucky, lucky girl.

  Her nostrils flared. Holy shit. It was Barbie Whore’s closet. Yes, it was. Her scent was emblazoned in Ella’s memory.

  Had Marina tackled her, slapped some nasty-smelling cloth over her mouth and shoved her into her closet?

  No. Not a fucking chance. First, Marina was half the size of Ella in terms of height. Second, she was a human. No tiny human with big boobs and the face of an angel was responsible for hoisting her size-twelve ass over a shoulder and dumping her here.

  Clearly, whoever had grabbed her while she was digging around the woods on the other side of the fence didn’t know she was a werewolf.

  Because, oh look—there went the badly wrapped duct tape on her wrists with a stretch and a snap. Duct tape + werewolf = stupid kidnapper. Ella ripped it apart with ease, pissed that the sticky residue was stuck to her sweater.

  For the first time in days, she’d finally put on some cute clothes and now they were ruined with duct tape glue.

  The fucker had to pay. When she got her hands on the shit who’d taped her up and given her a black eye—the whoop-ass was on.

  Next she tore off the duct-tape on her mouth and around her ankles then rose to her haunches. She listened with her ear pressed to the closet door.

  Nothing.

  Okay. So in this case, maybe she should have listened to Morton. No sooner had she hopped over that fence and begun to explore, following her nose to a dreadful yet maddeningly recognizable scent, than she’d been knocked out cold.

  She cocked the closet door open and peered out the crack.

  Again, nothing.

  There was no light on in the opulent bedroom draped in tasteful moss-green silk and ivory.

  Ella slipped from the closet and dashed toward the bedroom door, once more stopping to listen. Now, outside the dream closet, the scent that had brought her here in the first place overwhelmed her. The instinct to follow it was innate.

  Her eyes scanned what she figured was Marina’s bedroom and landed on her own purse, scattered on the bed—with a broken strap. Damn. What a shitty thing to do. It was such a cute purse.

  A cute purse with, hopefully, her cute phone still inside. She dug around the interior until her fingers felt the rough bumps of her pink rhinestone phone cover.

  Sure enough, there it was. What kind of moron kidnapper left all of the hostage’s stuff out in the open?

  She was more convinced than ever. It was the kind of kidnapper who didn’t know he’d nabbed the wrong werewolf broad. Which meant this person felt safe enough to leave her in a closet while he did his evil bidding. It also meant the kidnapper could be back at any time.

  Shit.

  Grabbing her phone from the pretty bed, she jammed it into her back pocket and closed the closet door, making sure everything was mostly the way she’d found it.

  A quick survey of the room revealed a window seat with fluffy pillows. The window made for a surefire escape. Crossing the room, Ella peered out, that scent of desperation ever present. She flipped the window open with a quick snap and snuck out onto the roof, compelled to find out where the smell was coming from.

  Lying flat, Ella shimmied along the roof, scanning its line and row after row of shingles.

  Damn. This was some house—or estate, to be precise. The roof spanned almost farther than she could see. Sliding to an edge, she peered down.

  No one.

  Perfect.

  Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side and jumped to the ground with a soft grunt, landing on a terra cotta-colored patio with French doors, through which she could see clear to the monstrous entryway at the front of the house. Assessing her surroundings, she flared her nostrils again. Then put the back of her hand to her mouth and tried not to gag.

  What the hell was that smell? It was coming from around the huge kidney-shaped pool with the most perfectly trimmed flowering shrubs and green bushes Ella had ever seen. White twinkling lights graced bonsai trees now out of season, and enormous pots stuffed full of colorful mums that had survived the frost sat in groups amidst patio tables and chairs.

  She followed the stench, winding along the house, ducking behind arborvitaes and spindly rhododendrons, passing windows that went floor to ceiling.

  Ella stopped at the middle of the house and covered her mouth again, the smell was so overpowering. Amongst the fear and sorrow, she smelled something so distinctly familiar, it rooted her in place.

  What was that, God damn it? And why couldn’t she decipher it from everything else?

  And then a scraping noise, light and probably only audible to her sharp hearing, made her stop breathing. And again she heard it, persistent and grating in her ears.

  Ella rounded another corner, following the sound until she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in horror.

  Holy shit.

  Chapter Nine

  Ella fought for breath—fought to keep from dropping to her knees and screaming with rage as her eyes took in the horror on the other side of the basement window.

  Thinking, Ella, you’re always thinking. Think now, dummy—think fast!

  Morton—she’d call Morton. If she could just keep from being caught.

  Ella sank to the ground, making herself as small as she could against the concrete foundation of Marina’s house, and let her head fall to her arms, gasping for breath with ugly wheezes.

  Before she had the chance to pull her phone out of her back pocket, it vibrated against her ass.

  If it was one of the pack elders, calling to razz her about Crosby and his damn amnesia, she’d throw the fucking thing out. And then she’d move to a pack in Tibet where she was free to be herself.

  Sliding her finger over the screen, Ella realized it wasn’t a call at all, but a Twitter notification.

  She had like five followers, one of which was a Britney-bot. Who the hell was tweeting her now, of all times? Clicking on the app, she cocked her head at the Twitter message. It was from Hairofthedog.

  Long-lost Hairofthedog. The social-networking, cheating bastard.

  Where had he been when she’d been banging her brains out and could’ve used a distraction?

  Her eyes focused on the tweet. A tweet that, instead of making her do what it demanded, made her roll her eyes.

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Tell me where the hell u r?

  She cocked her head. Now? Really? Now he was suddenly, mysteriously available when all hell was about to break loose? Wasn’t that just like a man?

  Yet, even in the face of imminent danger, she was compelled to impulsively ask where the hell he’d been.

  EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog WTF? Where the hell have U been?

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Now isn’t the time to argue. Y r u always so mouthy? Pay attention. Where r u?

  EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog #Youreastupidhead

  She almost clicked off the phone to return to calling Mort, but it vibrated angril
y. God damn it.

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Tell me where u r? I know ur not at the store. #dontbaPITA.

  Ella’s eyes grew wide. Who the hell? She craned her neck to take a look around, fear pumping through her veins. How did he know she wasn’t at the store? How the fuck did he know she’d gone to the store to begin with?

  There was obviously a connection here, though one she clearly wasn’t capable of making due to her fear of what lay beyond that basement window.

  Ella gulped and shoved a fist to her mouth when her phone vibrated again.

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle I need u to pay attention. If u r where I think u r, I’m going to take u over my knee. WHERE R U?

  Ella’s lips thinned even as her eyes peered into the darkness. It was like this person was watching her. Oh shit. Was he? Her stomach took a lurching nosedive.

  EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog I’m not telling u where I am. That’s careless, foolish social networking. #nodummyhere

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Ella! This is Crosby! Tell me where u r NOW!

  That stopped her cold. Sure. It was Crosby. She almost laughed.

  Almost. Except…

  How the hell had Hairofthedog known to use Crosby’s name?

  A last frightened glance down at another incoming tweet, along with the scream of her name, were the last two things she saw and heard.

  Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle #DangerWillRobinsondanger!

  Okay. There were three things.

  The third being a roar so filled with rage it made her chin swing upward.

  Just in time to see a bat come hurtling at her head.

  * * * * *

  “Ella, honey,” someone crooned against her throbbing, tender head. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  Oh no. If her eyes were closed, she didn’t have to acknowledge that she’d been nailed like some sissy in front of whoever wanted her to wake up.

  She sniffed, her nose pressing into a material she identified as leather. It was Crosby. In his old leather jacket. One he’d worn a million times before. This was so nice. For a change, he was tending to her…