Liar.

Refusing to listen to the voice inside her head that reminded her this was probably all Victor's doing, Ali tensed the muscles of her c.u.n.t around Emma's fingers. Then she wrapped her hand around the back of the girl's neck and marveled at the turn of events. Only half an hour ago, she'd had a different grip on Emma's throat. Now, her nails dug into the tender flesh in the heat of pa.s.sion, grazing Emma's skin, leaving red welts in their wake.

Emma only thrust harder. She used her free hand to grab Ali's wrist and submerge it beneath the water, then lead it to her own p.u.s.s.y. Her wet pubic hair covered her slit, and Ali gasped at the feel of the woman's soft l.a.b.i.a, slick and hot against her hand. The folds parted easily as she matched Emma's strokes and slid two fingers inside her s.e.x.

Nibbling at Emma's lower lip, Ali slid against her lover, their sweat mixing together momentarily before being washed away by the sloshing bathwater.

Emma's climax was near. Ali could feel it in the woman's shuddering breaths, her rapid, loud moans. Her own climax swirled inside her c.u.n.t, pulsing eagerly as Emma drove steadily inside her. Suddenly, Emma's p.u.s.s.y spasmed, her inner muscles clenching around Ali's fingers and holding them tightly in place while she shuddered with unrestrained desire.

Her need was infectious. It spiraled out from her and caught Ali by surprise, triggering her own o.r.g.a.s.m in a rushing wave of heat and pleasure. She barely recognized her voice as shrieks of pa.s.sion bounced off the bathroom tiles, echoing around the room.

As Emma's climax subsided, she held Ali close, silent and introspective, her face buried against Ali's shoulder. Ali leaned back against the tub, clutching Emma's still shuddering body to her.

"He searched for you," Emma said softly a long while later. "When you left, I mean. He searched for you long after everyone else gave up. He scoured newspapers, took out missing persons ads, even hired a private investigator."

Ali didn't need to ask who she meant, but the revelation startled her. She'd known all along that Victor had feelings for her. She remembered the way he'd watched her, dark eyes hungry with a raw need that made her nipples stiffen and her breath come in rapid gasps. She just hadn't realized his feelings had run so deep.

A twinge of regret pierced her heart. Regret at what might have been, at what she'd become. She tried to shake it away, but it clung to her, like a stray strand of spider web that just couldn't be pushed aside.

Heart hammering in her throat, Ali tried to feign an indifference she didn't feel. "When did he finally stop looking?"

"Last night."

Chapter Four.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Master, but I thought you'd want to know there's been another incident."

Victor didn't look up from the neatly typed pages he was perusing, but he did curve his fingers around the gla.s.s of red wine that sat within easy reach and lifted it to his lips. "When?"

"Not five minutes ago."

"I a.s.sume you stopped her, then, or else I'd expect you to be out there scouring every inch of my property for my missing captive."

Kevin, a tall, broad-shouldered man who had been with Victor for almost a decade, shifted his considerable solid bulk as he fidgeted with the leather gloves that were part of his uniform. From the corner of his eye, Victor could glimpse the band of gray fur at the man's neck that marked him as a werewolf in the private employ of the McCormack household.

"Yes, sir," the man said. "We caught her just as she smashed a chair through the main window of the kitchen in the east wing."

Victor turned the next page of the report and quickly scanned the contents before finally meeting Kevin's gaze. "Any casualties?"

"None. She knocked out the guards posted outside her room, but their injuries are superficial."

Victor nodded, acknowledging the news, careful to bite back the sigh of relief that almost slid past his lips.

The past week had been grueling. Implementing new security procedures for the Zante pack had taken all of his time, and he'd found himself working late into the night just to set up a border patrol around the perimeter of the forest, something that should have been done long ago.

If that hadn't been rough enough, he'd also had to deal with J.C.'s wrath. As Victor had expected, the Zante Alpha hadn't been pleased when he'd learned that Victor was keeping Ali's punishment private rather than turning her over to the elders, as expected. A heated argument ensued, ending in an ultimatum. Either Ali was rehabilitated beyond a shred of doubt and allowed to join the Zante pack as an equal, or...

Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose and briefly closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about the alternative J.C. had given him. It wasn't an option. It couldn't be.

"You doubled the guards a.s.signed to her, I a.s.sume?" Victor asked Kevin, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

"As you commanded after her last escape attempt, Master." Kevin's tongue swept out to wet his dry lips, and he wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down his left temple. "She took out all four men."

Victor regarded the guard coolly, observing his discomfort. None of the members of his household wanted to ever displease him. Failing to comply with his orders was unacceptable, a prospect they all strove to avoid. Though they weren't concerned with violent punishment, they knew Victor demanded their best. When they didn't give it, there were always consequences.

Victor swirled the wine in his gla.s.s, watching the red liquid coat the crystal with a translucent sheen. "But she didn't kill them," he said, more to himself than to Kevin. "She could have, but she didn't."

"Should I give orders to post additional men outside her door?"

"No." He drained the contents of the gla.s.s and set it on the table. The rich flavor of the wine lingered in his mouth. Potent and slightly acrid with a bittersweet edge, it reminded him of Ali, of the way her lips had tasted when he'd kissed her. "Send Emma to her. The gathering begins in two hours. I want her ready."

Kevin cleared his throat. "If I may be so bold, Master, are you sure this is a good idea? The woman is a menace. When she's not attacking our men, she's hollering at the top of her lungs, demanding to see you. No doubt to attempt to knock you unconscious, too. Or worse," he added under his breath.

Victor allowed himself a slight smile. "She's made no move to harm Emma, has she?"

Kevin grimaced. "Well, no, but --"

"Ali is used to getting what she wants, that's all. She needs a few lessons in interacting with others in a civilized environment without resorting to threats and bellowed demands. I intend to make sure she learns another one tonight."

The man continued to look skeptical, but he knew better than to argue. He nodded once, curtly. "Will there be anything else?"

"Ensure the area around the property is secure. Guests will begin arriving shortly."

After Kevin left, Victor returned his attention to the report Emma had prepared for him. Perusing the pages, Victor was pleased to find Emma had been even more thorough than he'd antic.i.p.ated when he'd a.s.signed her the task of initiating Ali into the world of pure, hedonistic pleasure.

Emma herself had needed similar training when he'd first brought her into his home. A former member of the Kolen pack, he'd found her beaten and left for dead at the edge of the woods, unceremoniously dumped by the side of the highway.

Nursing her back to health had been easy. Breaking her of her vicious habits and her constant desire to punish someone for the torture she'd suffered at the hands of people who should have been her protectors hadn't been so easy. He considered Emma his greatest triumph, and his greatest joy.

At least, until he'd brought Ali through the front door. Since that moment, his home had taken on a different quality. He could almost feel her presence lingering in shadowy corners of every room, just like her subtle scent. She'd brought a measure of chaos to his well-structured world, and rather than being disconcerting, it felt right.

Victor scanned Emma's report, lingering on the well-placed details. His c.o.c.k stirred to awareness as he read Emma's account of her first afternoon with Ali. He could almost picture the two women immersed in the bathwater, b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely brushing, their slick skin glistening in the rays of sunlight that slanted down through the tall window.

His fingers moved of their own accord to the bulge in his pants. He stroked the length of his rod through the thick material, indulging in the heat that warmed his blood, remembering what it had felt like to have his body pressed against Ali's, to feel her writhing beneath him.

She'd fought him at every turn. Even when she'd been bound to the table in his showing room, she'd struggled to break free. He'd brought her to the point of frenzy and then to a thundering climax. Instead of giving in to the ecstasy coursing through her veins, she'd struggled to hide it, as though accepting his pleasure was a sin rather than her way to salvation.

Well, no more. He'd stayed away for an entire week, thinking to give her time to get used to her new surroundings and to receiving pleasure without requiring anything in return.

He scanned the last few pages, satisfied with the knowledge that Emma had done her job well. For the past seven days, she'd showered Ali in sensual, hedonistic indulgence, preparing her for what was to come.

Preparing her for him.

An hour later, Victor entered his s.p.a.cious living room and a.s.sessed the decor from the threshold. Half a dozen members of his household stood against the walls, their eyes lowered, waiting for his approval. He could almost sense their indrawn breaths, the way they trembled slightly as he perused the contents of the chamber.

Ali had expected him to deliver pain, yet he'd learned long ago that pleasure was much more conducive to getting his way. The promise of a mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m delivered at length with a skillful touch was a hundred times more potent than a thousand blows dealt with a relentless flick of the wrist.

He'd asked for a boudoir theme, and his household had certainly given it to him. The brightly-colored Mexican furniture had been moved out, replaced by crimson velvet couches, black lacquered tables and metallic light fixtures. Lush carpets covered the center of the room.

That's where the mundane ended.

He'd made it clear that tonight was all about making a statement with bold strokes. By the time the night was over, there would be no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the perfect person to undertake Ali's rehabilitation.

His household had listened. Instruments of pain and pleasure were everywhere. He entered the room and strode past each in turn, brushing his fingertips over the long, leathery straps of a whip, then stopping to admire a crop, a flogger, a quirt.

Chains hung from one dark wall. Beside them, cuffs had been set at just the right height to secure a person's wrists and ankles. On the opposite wall, someone had installed a large wooden wheel. Its spokes glistened as though freshly waxed, as did the manacles meant to hold a willing prisoner spread-eagled. Victor smiled. Even pleasure took on a more intense edge when coupled with the threat of pain.

"Very well done. Impressive, actually." He turned and watched the people around the room relax, grins of pure joy lighting up their faces.

"Your guests have begun to arrive, Master," Kevin announced from the doorway.

"Good." He rolled up the sleeves of his black, long-sleeved shirt and headed for the entrance hall. As he approached, he could see J.C. standing in the hallway, his mate tightly gripping his hand. Eve's mouth was set in a straight line, as though bracing herself for something unpleasant.

What struck Victor for the second time that week, however, was how much J.C. Hill looked like his half-sister. Like Ali, he was dark and lean, with the proud bearing of authority clearly outlined in his confident manner. But where Ali's dark eyes held steel and contempt, J.C.'s gaze was kind, trusting. Victor marveled at the change in him.

Before Eve came along, J.C. hadn't believed in his ability to lead the Zante pack. Now, there wasn't a shred of self-doubt left in him, and the pack was better for his leadership.

"What about Ali?" Victor asked Kevin before they were within earshot of the first set of guests. "Will she be ready?"

Kevin shrugged, a shadow darkening his features. "Emma says she will."

"Absolutely not. I'm not going."

Ali collapsed into a supple armchair. A haphazardly wrapped towel fell from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and her wet skin stuck to the soft leather. She ran a hand through her soaked locks, squeezed out some of the remaining water, and glared at Emma.

"Of course you are. Now stop pouting and let me dry your hair."

"This isn't pouting. It's complaining. There's a difference."

Emma shook her head, but her blue eyes danced with barely contained amus.e.m.e.nt. Ali felt her own lips twitching in response, and she turned away before she could give in to the giggle that tickled her throat.

A giggle. G.o.d, what have I become?

After her most recent escape attempt had been thwarted, Ali had fully expected Victor to punish her in some manner that didn't involve sweet caresses and sensual ecstasy. She'd seen what he was capable of. When he hunted her, when he fought with her, she'd recognized the vicious hunger writhing within him for what it was. So why hadn't he given in to his need to terrorize her? Why hadn't he hurt her after everything she'd done to his pack?

The more time she spent here, the less she understood about Victor McCormack. Instead of lashing out at her for attempting to flee, he'd once again sent Emma. Sweet, innocent Emma, who could arouse a stone statue with no more than a delicate sweep of her fingers.

After bathing her and cleaning the latest cuts and sc.r.a.pes resulting from the struggle with the guards, Emma had once again brought Ali to the height of erotic fulfillment. And then she'd told her she was to be the guest of honor at a gathering Victor had been planning since he'd brought her here.

A gathering of the most influential members of the Zante pack, no less.

"No way. I won't subject myself to whatever he plans to do to me tonight. And if Victor doesn't kill me himself, the rest of the pack is probably just waiting for the chance to tear me to pieces."

Emma stepped behind the armchair. Gathering Ali's silken ma.s.s of hair in one hand, she began sliding a wide-toothed comb through it with the other. "You know so little of him. He would never let anyone hurt you."

Ali scoffed, but she was no longer sure Emma wasn't telling the truth. It had been so easy to think she'd have to put up a fight at every turn. She could have called on all her experience as a mercenary, and she could have put her training to use. After all, she'd been trained by Lady Isabel herself, the white wolf of the North.

Ali rubbed the bridge of her nose. When was the last time someone hadn't wanted to hurt her? She'd lived her entire life looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next blow to land. For the first nineteen years, the hits she'd taken had left no scars. None that were visible, at least. Her heart bore them nevertheless, and they hurt more than every wound she'd taken since in the heat of battle.

Leaving the Zante pack a decade ago hadn't been easy, but it had been necessary. For almost two decades, she'd lived under constant scrutiny. Her stepfather, Stephen, made it clear when she was old enough to crawl that he expected her to be a constant disappointment to him. The fierce demeanor and quick temperament he admired in his sons he found disgraceful in her, and nothing she ever did pleased him.

Ali knew she reminded him of her mother's past, a past both of them knew little about, but that didn't make his disapproval any easier to bear. He doted on his sons, but he treated her with nothing but scorn.

Because Stephen led the pack, no one questioned his judgment. When her brothers came of age, they were embraced by the members of the Zante tribe, but she wasn't welcome among them. They excluded her from their ceremonies and their traditional rites of pa.s.sage. On most occasions, the pack tolerated her, but she saw the frowns of the elders when she shifted and revealed her snow-white coat.

She'd repeatedly tried to prove to her stepfather that she was worthy of his trust, of his pride, to no avail. When he didn't laugh at her attempts to display her leadership skills, he simply ignored her, as though she was nothing more than an annoying insect he wished he could squash.

Well, she'd saved him the trouble by leaving. She had no doubt he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the news, and probably didn't bother to give her a second thought until the day he died.

What little information she'd gleaned from Stephen about her mother while growing up led her north, to the Canadian wilderness. Though she didn't find her real father, she did find shelter among the Hivernee, a pack of white wolves who dealt with the brutal climate by embracing a harsh lifestyle of their own. A lifestyle to which Ali had quickly grown accustomed.

After five years in their midst, Ali prided herself on being able to endure pain, and on fighting as well as any male of her species.

Almost any male.

She scowled, remembering how easily Victor had subdued her. He'd had training, too, and not at the hand of a member of the Zante pack. She knew them all from her childhood, and none fought like him.

None kissed like him, either.

Annoyed at herself for allowing her thoughts to turn in that direction, Ali sank her teeth into her lower lip. Even if he hadn't been intent on punishing her for her misdeeds, pining away after Victor was useless. He'd made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Why else would he have stayed away for an entire week?

Emma's careful ministrations quickly lulled Ali into a languid euphoria. The woman's fingertips swept over Ali's scalp, gathering her hair as she blow-dried it, then curled it with a hot iron. When she wheeled over a small table with a wide array of cosmetics, Ali didn't protest.

It took nearly an hour before Emma was satisfied, but when she led Ali to stand in front of a full-length mirror, Ali couldn't help the gasp that escaped her throat as she stared at her reflection. Emma had managed to turn her from a warrior into a sensual siren, and the effect was mesmerizing.

Her long, shiny black locks fell in soft curls around her shoulders, the silky texture brushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with every slight move. Smoky charcoal lined her dark eyes, while rich brown shadow and black mascara made her pupils look much larger than usual. A hint of red accentuated her high cheekbones, and a touch of shine made her plump lips appear even fuller.

"You're a genius," Ali whispered, bringing her fingertips to her cheek. The outline of a faint bruise marred one cheekbone, but Emma had done a remarkably good job of hiding the purple and black abrasion that had formed when one of the guards' elbows connected with her face.

"Yeah, well, remember to repeat that when the Master asks. Now stop dawdling and let's get you dressed. Everyone's waiting."

Ali scowled, a smattering of fear creeping up her spine. She might look like she'd just stepped out from the pages of a fashion magazine, but that wouldn't fool anyone into forgetting what she'd done to them.

By now, Brad must have f.u.c.ked half the male pack, who in turn shared their pleasure, and their infected bodily fluids, with the Zante females. Daniel's plan had been foolproof, but Ali had carried it out. She was single-handedly responsible for destroying their entire pack, and that wasn't something she could easily atone for.

When Emma draped a long cloak over her shoulders, Ali started. "What's this?" she asked as the woman swept around her and began tying the cape at the base of her neck. "I thought you said you were going to help me get dressed."

Emma's silvery laugh sent a shiver of apprehension down Ali's spine. "You are dressed. This was Victor's choice for you."

"Of course it was," she murmured under her breath.