Sanibel Sizzle - Vampire Werewolf Menage Read online

  Sanibel Sizzle

  Vampire Werewolf Ménage

  Fanged Romance Series Book Three

  Talyn Scott

  Books in this ménage series:

  Sanibel Heat Fanged Romance Book 1

  Sanibel Burn Fanged Romance Book 2

  Sanibel Sizzle Fanged Romance Book 3

  www.talynscott.com

  www.facebook.com/talynscottauthor

  ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be viewed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, locale or organizations, actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  Copyright© 2012 Talyn Scott - All Rights Reserved and Protected Worldwide.

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  1

  Weremisma Scotland

  Ciaran fought like he fucked, darkly intense and wildly barbaric while proudly wielding hardened steel with single intent. Under the thinly concealed cracks of the Scottish werewolf monarchy laid the redeeming balm to the commoners’ souls.

  A savage.

  A demon.

  A liberator.

  The uncrowned Alpha arrived.

  Not an ambush well cloaked in darkness, but a highly emboldened insurgency that centered high-noon awash in the heat of the sun. His army led on. To his simple pleasure, his greatest ability was his greatest weakness: live to fight or live to die. A lesson from his father, he knew all too well; it drummed on, beating with Ciaran’s thousand-year-old heart.

  To his utmost shock, his heart was suddenly alive again, passionate and possessive. Unfamiliar sensations stirred that hadn’t for hundreds of years. Still, he refused to acknowledge the real meaning behind it and buried it as far as it would go. But admittedly, it had nothing to do with this or any other recent battle. Carnal lust replaced bloodlust. And not just for any female he chose. His beast singled out one, and his heart started following without any consent from him.

  Damn it to hell.

  When bodies dropped, one by one, two by two, tens by tens, hundreds by hundreds, he shouted, “Enough!” Staring down from his magnificent black beast, a thoroughbred suitably bred for the deadliest of werewolves – one Ciaran didn’t need but felt it made a statement- he challenged those who remained standing. “Shall we go on? Shall we continue to kill? Look around you.” Circling his jewel-encrusted claymore over his head, he warned all as the blood dripped down, streaming the sinew of his heavily muscled forearm. “In this bath of blood lie your kin, your friends, your neighbors, and your lovers, all due to the wicked leaders you’ve secreted away from my eyes.”

  Stilling his heavy sword, his father’s greatest gift, it rose above his darkened head. Meeting stern eyes with those males in the forefront, his voice rang out, deeply baritone and backed with an unwavering promise. “The true Alpha I am. I harm not your children, nor your females, as they will live in comfort that I’ll provide. My question to each will be: Will you? Will you choose life this day? Put aside everything you thought was true, everything your clan necessitated as being genuine, everything that matters the most to your wolves, will you continue a happy existence with your mated females and precious younglings with quiet peace for generations to come? Are you cowards not to make things right once more?”

  No one spoke.

  Glowering at each male who had the supreme foolishness to raise his chin in defiance, Ciaran lowered his voice to a mere whisper. Chills ensued, erupting gooseflesh amid the strongest, as he took a vow not even the angel of death could make: Bring me your Alpha, your Beta, and their guard, as I take back what is my right by birth. If this is not so by the morrow’s eve, I unleash my Habalines.”

  Stunned gasps left those who stood. Surprises, Ciaran thought, were best when delivered not received. And this one would change every life in Scotland’s pack, including his.

  Glancing behind, she was there, alive. Head down and covered in simple cloth, body roped and tied. She nervously sat high upon a grey Shire secured in front of his old friend and newly appointed Beta. With legs visibly trembling, no doubt, she prayed for her life. Ciaran couldn’t blame her there. He would, too. Her youth and inexperience were two reasons she was completely covered. She heard the battle, but hadn’t witnessed it. A small concession, but hopefully she would sleep this night.

  Then again, he wasn’t supposed to care.

  She was scheduled for execution by his very hand. A date he had yet to set. So he told his stubborn heart and maddening Alpha beast it was pointless to argue. What’s vowed is vowed. Move on.

  Still, a third reason headed the two. Habaline mixed blood shifters, his actual army, were well hidden in the midst on standby, waiting for any further signals from Ciaran. Over the years, many were concealed away and bred for revival, yet most resulting offspring had never even touched a single female. Sadly, there were minimal females to be had in their hidden world. Earlier at Ciaran’s first fort, right before his ancient eyes, a group of shifters crazed lustily for the frightened lass.

  He ordered her covered immediately.

  So he had to admit that it wasn’t a wise move bringing a bonny sweeting, such as Renee Shirley, through the throngs of sex-deprived shifters. Unbeknownst to Ciaran, he openly paraded a fire-headed goddess and stoked unbearable temptation for every single male under his rule, and then some. By their open pain and hardened bodies, unbearable was the understatement of this century.

  Bloody hell, males of all species have needs, and the shifters were no different. Panting they were, shifting to anything that would get Renee’s undivided attention while fighting one another for first rights to mate. Begging to taste her sweetness, who could blame them?

  It didn’t mean Ciaran liked it.

  He was never slow to learn a lesson – a detail that kept Ciaran alive for centuries. From then forward, the Shirley lass remained veiled. Although her decadent scent encompassed miles, personally nailed him like a falling anvil on his heavy sack, no one could see the flawlessness of her body. It would have to do. His males needed their concentration back and centered on the war ahead with full faculties intact.

  Her covering had absolutely nothing to do with the fact
that she simply shouldn’t be admired by any other male. Ciaran was not jealous. Not. At. All. Willing females would soon be housed in the castle, a simple fix. Then all unmated males would forget her.

  Just as he would.

  Raising his sword skyward, refocusing on the task, his battle cry warned the blood-drenched village. He was back. Rebel against him, challenge his Alpha status, eat at his table, sleep under his roof, or fuck him for the night, he didn’t care. Redundant sensations blended for years. What stood before him was what mattered most: Castle Weremisma.

  At last, he was home.

  As his father before him, he finally ruled, took his place so long ago denied. Onward with his head held high as a hint of a smile touched his sculptured mouth. This is for you Da. “I claim Castle Weremisma once more!”

  Answering cries marked the day, lightening the air, bettering the mood. His guard filled with infectious excitement. Dare it be happiness? As he moved forward, the battle-weary villagers watched in shocked silence, soaking in the sudden change and deciding their future: life or death. They had a full night to make the right decision.

  Nice guy was he.

  Riding in well-earned glory across the rolling hills, fragrant meadows and the sun-kissed gardens that encompassed the greatest castle and surrounding lands hidden among the Weres, he stood taller in his saddle – if that were even possible considering his size, pride layering triumph.

  With his nod, the bound lass and Beta followed behind. The Alpha struggled not to unmask her while trying to fathom why. Ciaran longed for Renee to see his childhood home through his eyes, beholding the site which stood proudly atop the greenest hill on this very earth. He wondered. Would she like it? Still, he frowned briefly, wondering even more. Why should he care?

  Headed for home, Ciaran studied the striking expanse. Surrounded with nature, the green fields stretched endlessly, inviting him back. The ones he trotted through as a child, playing childish games. The ones he trained in as a teen, playing in adult competitions. Horrifically later, the ones he fell to his knees in as his family and God-given mate were slaughtered afore his still young eyes.

  Years of anguish cast his soul. Thus, vengeance lured his beast, or was it the other way around? More likely, Ciaran necessitated vengeance. No matter, after centuries, one didn’t exist without the other.

  Body splashed with blood, hair dark as moonless nights, face metal glinting in the noonday sun, Ciaran strode through the gates. A monumental moment, yet sadly, his kin rested cold in the ground, unable to share retribution. “Raise the colors of our clan,” he ordered, “high above the tallest peak.” He motioned to a barren pole that once held his family’s flag, their crest. Galloping on, he heard the swoop of the flag behind him. And a wide smile split his face as he lifted it to the sun.

  No longer am I the uncrowned.

  Lowering from his mount, Ciaran rubbed his horse affectionately, crooning. “What a magnificent beast you are, my brave friend. That makes two of us.” Still smiling and hailing the others riding in, all strong werewolves and all were remarkably alive. He stepped to his Beta and inquired, “Not single death, no?”

  Afanas mirrored Ciaran’s same arrogant smile. Handing him the Shire’s reins, he asked, “Were you expecting anything less?”

  “I can’t say that I was. The Habalines, did they clear the castle?”

  “All before the attack, and get this, we have a hot meal ready and clean beds waiting.” Afanas brought his head against Rebecca’s. “Do you hunger, lass? Steady the trembling, as I kept you safe through battle, and it’s long over.”

  “For what?” she shot through the cloth. “So you can kill me in some grand ceremony? I’d rather your so-called enemies take the pleasure than give your clan the fucking satisfaction.”

  “Such a foul mouth for a lady,” Ciaran admonished.

  “A lady topping your death list,” she hissed, turning her cloth covered head towards his voice.

  “Topping or tupping?” Ciaran’s smile stretched, though she couldn’t see it. An irresistible scent, she had, even tainted with anger.

  Even now, weary and covered in blood, he wanted to bed her. His body was constantly flustered as Renee Shirley’s allure drew the Alpha without relent, stirring Ciaran to an unquenchable hunger. By God, the beast was itching for her and aggravated to no end that he couldn’t scratch. More than aggravated, he craved her day and night since they met. Fighting within himself, back and forth Ciaran went, knowing what he had to do, all the while knowing what he wanted to do. A conundrum of profound ‘fuckedupness’ he’d never encountered in all his days.

  Ciaran had already found his mate. Dead or not, it was a one shot deal for all werewolves. But Renee Shirley called to him somehow, his werewolf sensed her, knew her. And most dangerously and thereby the most startling, the beast hunted her. Searching when she was out of sight, he howled inside Ciaran’s head until she was brought nearby. Dare he say under its protection?

  So she was not a faceless face on a warm female body. Not anything close, his captive was a dark fire that slowly licked his immortal soul. In scant time, she tortured him with want, pulling him to her feminine warmth. Her body, a blue flame personified, ran hotter than her vibrant red curls cascading her back; the very curls he wanted to run his fingers through, starting from her head and ending at the ones nestled between her lovely thighs. He’d follow those fingers with his tongue. Stretching her naked across his bed, he’d fist those glossy strands at her nape, maybe nip her tender shoulder, mark her. Opening her wide, he’d sink deep inside her readied body and never leave.

  Her laughter broke through. “Tup you? Never. You can go to the devil, Alpha. It’s where you and your clan belong, rotting in hell.” Renee’s laugh, muffled by the heavy fabric, sounded as exhausted as Ciaran felt. But she droned on. “Who am I kidding? They’d probably send you back.”

  Brought out of his lascivious thoughts, Ciaran had to admire her sauciness. “So you’re saying the devil couldn’t take me on?”

  “Only you would find the worst of insults a compliment,” she snorted quite angrily.

  Gripping her waist, Afanas reluctantly handed her down to his Alpha. “Steady on your feet,” Ciaran lowered his voice, not wanting the others hearing any help he offered a prisoner. Also, it was a bit husky from the feel of her lush body as it slid down his. “Shake out your legs, get the blood flowing.” Poor lass wasn’t used to riding for hours; he thought, seems she wasn’t used to riding at all. “If necessary, I can rub your backside a wee bit, as I’m told it helps with numbness, increasing circulation and all.”

  She had the audacity to stomp his foot.

  He crowded her, curling his gigantic frame around her much smaller one. “Now you see, that was a wrong move, lass,” he whispered darkly, no longer amused but on the snapping thread of control. “So I’m afraid there’s only one punishment fitting for an open attack against a ruling Alpha.” Easily throwing her over his shoulder, he heard the breath leave her body in a startled whoosh. Struggling somewhat, she quickly steadied her breathing as he marched inside his reclaimed home.

  “Finally, get it over with!” she cried.

  Bounding the stairs and heading for his mother’s old bedchamber, he brought his free hand up her thigh, pausing when her body drew tighter. “No more death this day, lass,” he declared, fighting the urge to bite her hip. “Brave or stupid, I have yet to decide what you are. But know this,” he murmured, happily steadying her wiggling ass with a large warm palm. “When you play with fire, Renee Shirley, you never just sweat.”

  2

  A narrowing corridor, the smell of another dank castle, a second tight squeeze – definitely a door, Ciaran plunked Rebecca down on something soft. Shit, she was bound on a bed. No, no, wasn’t gonna happen with him, she’d kill herself first.

  Endless days she’d masqueraded as her best friend Renee. Rubbing against any hu
man who passed her way, Rebecca had hidden her Were scent well. A mixed-blood she was supposed to be. She wasn’t, though Renee was. Getting this trickery past Ciaran and his pack was becoming more difficult by the hour.

  Yes, she believed women were as capable as men and could accomplish anything they could. But Rebecca had to face it. Ciaran was at least a thousand years old. Lethally versed in magic, built with power – may have invented it, and his immortal mind, alongside the inner residing Alpha beast, had a vast amount of learned knowledge, brute strength, and natural ability on her young twenty-two years.

  Translation: He’d figure it out if soon.

  Through the heavy burlap cloth, she could feel him studying her, the heat of his stare unraveling her nerves. Without gentle hands, he tugged at the ropes, slicing them through while leaving the ones around her wrists. He’d elongated his claws. It was her sincerest hope that he retracted them immediately. Alpha’s claws were not to be taken lightly, especially when the Alpha was pissed. Hindsight, she shouldn’t have stomped his foot. But why not? Because it was childish, the thing to do to quicken her death, she realized.

  Finally, the cloth was off. Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, she groaned, “Fresh air.”

  A deceptively gentle voice spoke above her. “I know you weren’t raised in a pack, but surely you know some Were hierarchy by now.”

  An Alpha didn’t do gentle after any provocation whatsoever, Rebecca knew that since birth. With that knowledge programed inside her head, she heard the danger behind his words: He walked a thin blade. Rebecca’s nape prickled. Hair stood on her arms. Fear dried her mouth.

  He lunged.

  Turning her up and over, Ciaran pulled her across his thighs. Hands still bound, she made to stand, but he put his heavy forearm over her back and wrapped a lower leg around her dangling ankles. Slowly, his claw sliced the seam down the back of her jeans, splitting the denim and baring her bottom. She heard his sharp air intake before he carefully ran a claw under the elastic of her thong. Not the right sort of underwear to sport while abducted. Had she known she would be taken against her will, she would have put on long johns beforehand.