Chapter 4 FOUR

BAILEY

"Nice job," Brandon says, clapping us on the shoulder. "You're the first back. I knew you would be a good pair."

I beam with pride as we drop our kill by the fire-the older members of the pack will dispose of the body; that isn't work for new mates to do tonight-and make our way to our tent. It's on the other side of the clearing from the tent where I got ready with the other women. This tent is smaller, and it's just for the two of us.

"How did you know where he would be?" Vermon asks.

"I don't know," I say. And now that we're here, I really don't want to waste time talking about the hunt. We're still naked from our shift. I'm running my hands all over him, and he's already hard, no doubt helped along by the exertion of hunting and killing a Night Weaver.

Still, he stops me. He holds me away at arm's length. "You didn't follow the scent," he says, his eyes narrowed. "The scent turned to the side, but you went straight on."

"Why are you complaining?" I ask him. "It was the right call, wasn't it?"

"It's just weird," he says. "How did you know?"

I don't know how I knew. I don't care how I knew. I pull him closer, pressing my body against his. "It's the full moon," I say softly. "It's our mating night."

"You believe that stuff? About it being good luck to conceive under the full moon?"

"Yeah," I say. "I do. The moon has power, Vermon. If it didn't, the Night Weavers wouldn't be such a threat."

"But wolves don't use moon magic," Vermon points out.

"Sure," I say. "We don't use it. That doesn't mean it can't affect us. We don't use the energy from the sun, either, but it still helps us live."

I free myself from his grip, and this time he doesn't stop me. He lets me press myself close to him, inhale his scent. "I've been wanting you for years," I tell him shamelessly. "Ever since I was old enough to want sex, I wanted you. If we weren't mated tonight, I was going to seek you out anyway."

"I'd have given it up for you," he says. "You're the hottest woman in the whole pack, you know."

"You think so? Even though my hunting style is weird?" I trail my hand down the flat plane of his torso as I say this, teasing him. He groans, his hips thrusting forward slightly, as if he can't help it.

"I don't care if you're weird," he says. His hand lands on my shoulder now, and the pressure is firm. It takes me a moment to understand what he's after. "Go down and put it in your mouth," he says.

I do. He groans again. "Fuck, baby, yeah, that's how I like it." He can't be meaning to come like this. I know he can't because we just received our alpha mandate to do everything we can to conceive together.

If this is something he likes before we get to the main part, I'm more than happy to do it. After all, this is Vermon we're talking about. I've been thinking about him for a long time. And it's really exciting, being on my knees while he moves in and out of my mouth like this. I keep one hand on him and use the other to touch myself, rubbing against my own hand. He pulls back a bit, still in my mouth, and looks down at me. "Don't cum until I do," he says, his voice sounding rough and deep.

What the heck? Tonight might be my first time mating with a man, but I've done stuff to make myself feel good plenty of times. I let go of him and sit back on my heels. "Why not?" I ask.

"I'm your alpha," he explains. "I should cum first."

You're not my alpha. That's what I'm thinking. He's my alpha mate, but that doesn't mean he's in charge of me like the alpha of the pack. It just means he's my main partner, the one I should try to have babies with. It doesn't give him the right to tell me what to do with my own body. But for now, I decide to put that aside. I want tonight to be special, and arguing won't help with that. He can cum first. That's okay. I trust that he'll take care of me afterwards, I'm sure.

"Okay," I agree eagerly, my voice laced with anticipation. "How do you want to go about it?"

As a newbie in this realm of pleasure, I've envisioned numerous positions, each carrying its own allure. With a hint of forcefulness, he guides me onto my hands and knees, igniting a surge of excitement within me. There's something undeniably thrilling about this raw intensity.

He positions his body over mine, his hardness pressing against me, poised to enter. Yet, instead of immediate penetration, he begins to move his hips, grinding against me with a tantalizing friction that sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body. A gasp of yearning escapes my lips, as my desire for this sensation is finally met.

The relentless grind of his body against mine pushes me to the brink, threatening to unravel my very sanity. My heart races within my chest, its rapid beats momentarily forgotten amidst the overwhelming sensations that consume me.

"Vermon," I manage to utter, my voice filled with a desperate plea, as I instinctively spread my legs slightly, arching my back, silently conveying my readiness for him. Every fiber of my being is screaming for his presence inside me, the urgency building with each passing moment. The anticipation becomes almost unbearable. I can no longer endure the wait.

However, just as the intensity reaches its peak, a sudden absence of his touch leaves me bewildered. The connection between our bodies dissolves, and I'm left with a disorienting void. Uncertain if he remains within the confines of the tent, I twist my body around in search of answers.

And there it is-an unexpected sight that makes my breath catch in my throat. He is not behind me anymore. He's below me. As I take in the breathtaking scene, I realize that somehow, I find myself suspended five feet above the ground, with nothing but the vast expanse of open air beneath my trembling hands and knees. I let out a startled cry, my voice echoing with shock and confusion. The sudden turn of events shatters the fragile equilibrium, causing me to lose my balance and tumble to the ground. The impact jolts through my shoulder and hip, eliciting a sharp pain. Desperately, I scramble to sit up, my mind reeling from the unexpected chaos.

"What the hell?" Vermon hisses, his voice filled with anger and bewilderment. In the midst of my disorientation, I notice that his arousal has dissipated, prompting a foolish instinct to rectify the situation. However, before I can even attempt to salvage the moment, he forcefully pushes me away, his actions laced with violence.

"What are you?" he demands, his expression twisted with disgust. His words hang in the air, stabbing at my core. Fear consumes me, as if I have been plunged into a nightmarish reality where nothing makes sense.

"That's... that's Night Weaver stuff," he spits out, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're a Night Weaver." The words he utters carry the weight of the vilest insult, staining the air between us. The impact of his accusation hits me like a slap to the face, leaving me reeling in pain. It's as if something essential within me has been violently torn away.

"Of course I'm not," I protest, my voice trembling with a mixture of offense and fear. Deep down, I know that defending myself is futile, but I can't help but cling to the hope that he will see reason. Yet, the way he looks at me, with conviction in his eyes, tells me that he truly believes his own words. And I am trapped in this confined space with him.

"I reject you as my mate," he hisses, his words laced with venom. "Night Weaver." The declaration lands on me like a crushing blow, leaving me gasping for air. The rejection cuts deep, tearing at the tender threads of my heart. It feels as though something vital within me has been torn asunder.

As the weight of the situation settles upon him, I notice the tremors coursing through his body. His dilated pupils serve as a testament to the impending transformation that looms just beneath the surface. Panic seizes me, urging me to escape this perilous situation.

There is no time to consider clothing or modesty. In a desperate bid for freedom, I throw myself backwards, propelling my body out of the tent and into the open, exposed to the elements, completely naked.

In an instant, the weight of their gazes descends upon me, engulfing me in an intense scrutiny. The other members of the pack, those who are not partaking in the sacred ritual of joining tonight, continue their nocturnal gathering around the crackling bonfire, indulging in drinks and weaving tales. However, their attention abruptly shifts towards me, their eyes fixated with a mix of curiosity and concern.

A flicker of hope arises within me, a desperate desire to seek refuge within the confines of another's tent, perhaps finding solace in the presence of Molly. But before I can even formulate a plan, Vermon's voice slices through the charged atmosphere, reverberating with accusation and alarm.

"Night Weaver!" he bellows, his words echoing through the night air, igniting a surge of panic within the pack. Without pausing for a moment, they spring into action, bodies contorting and transforming in a primal display of power. Teeth flash menacingly, and their forms lower closer to the ground, poised for an imminent attack.

Caught in the midst of this escalating chaos, I am left with a mere fraction of a second to make a pivotal decision that could shape my fate. Instinctively, a surge of adrenaline surges through my veins, compelling me to act swiftly and decisively.

Without a moment's hesitation, I make a split-second choice that holds the key to my survival. I run.