Imprints (Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1)

“Jock, it’s good to see you.” Frank didn’t turn around or offer his hand, which didn’t make a pile of potatoes one way or another to Jock. He wasn’t sure he would’ve taken a hand offered in a gentleman’s greeting.

Besides, considering what had happened there, the way Jock had fucked a woman in front of a man who’d taken said woman’s purity, well, pleasantries weren’t necessary. As a matter of fact, both men would probably count themselves lucky if they left Carla’s cabin with their lives.

“Have you shown Jock what you keep in the loft?”

Carla’s intake of air resounded like a staggered, muffled cry. Her skin was instantly red, flushed with arousal more than embarrassment if her beaded nipples told the most accurate of tales.

“I take it you haven’t seen our mate’s playthings,” Frank said, turning on his heel then. “Why don’t you and I take a trip to the barn and collect them?”

“Fine by me,” Jock said, prepared for the worst but praying for the best.

He was in a tough predicament to say the least. He couldn’t ignore his feelings for Carla. He’d known her for the better part of five years and lusted after her every day for the better part of the last four years and nine months. The way he saw things, he was finally claiming his mate. The way Frank saw things? Well, he had a feeling Frank would soon tell him what was on his mind.

“Honey, run on inside for me.”

“Yes, Sir.” There was a husky element to her voice, a brighter shine to her cheeks, and a quick swipe from her tongue dampened her swollen lips.

She shot Jock a smile and shared one with Frank, too, before leaving them to fight out their differences like starving cats

battling for the last bit of sweet cream.

“Come on, Jock,” Frank said, wagging his finger at the barn. “There’s no need in dragging this out. We might as well get on with it.”

* * * *

They’d walked to the barn in silence. Frank had tried to delve into Jock’s thoughts, but Jock had deliberately shut him out. He sensed his determination as they walked alongside one another.

Entering the darkness, Frank reached for and lit two lanterns. Handing one to Jock, he led the way through the barn to the ladder at the midway point. “After you.”

“No, I insist,” Jock said, waving his arm in front of him.

“You don’t trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jock asked. “I know you would’ve stopped Carla from fucking me if you’d had the chance. I heard you coming for us. I could hear your thoughts, sense your blood thirst as much as your lust and hunger.”

Frank climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, he offered Jock his hand again, which was ignored and just as well.

At this point, Frank couldn’t say with certainty if he would’ve pulled him up or pushed him down.

“How were you able to hear my thoughts?”

Jock smirked. “Use your head. You’ll figure it out.”

As if a light came on in that dim brain of his, he suddenly realized why Jock had gained a slight edge. He’d imprinted first. During the throes of passion, while imprinting on Carla, he’d seen her recent past and her immediate future. While fucking her, Jock would’ve been in apple pie order, just as fit as a fiddle. On the other hand, Frank was tuckered out, practically on his last leg as he exerted his energy and tried to stop a fate that was already sealed, a destiny he could only change by acceptance.

“Over here,” Frank said, refusing to kick up a row and cause a disturbance when there were more creative, not to mention enjoyable, ways to pass the time. “Keep your head low.”

“Doggone it!” Jock ran smack dab into a lowered beam about the time Frank had issued the warning. Rubbing his noggin, he glared at Frank as if he’d deliberately avoided issuing the caution in time to save him from a little pain.

“You’ll live,” Frank said, swinging his lantern off to the left. “But if you don’t survive, I won’t hold it against you.”

Jock cleared his throat and came to an abrupt stop. “Holy hell.”

Frank snorted a laugh. “Hell? No, this ain’t hell, friend, but I can tell you from experience. When Carla is feeling frisky, this place is as hot as a whorehouse on a nickel night.”

Chapter Six

Carla was turning down her bed when Grant bolted inside her cabin with his gun drawn. “Where is he?”