Sanibel Virgin Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Panther Crossing Series Excerpt

  Sarasota Sin Series Ch 1

  Sarasota Sin Series Ch 2

  Sarasota Sin Series Ch 3

  Titles By Talyn Scott

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book is written for those eighteen years and older.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2014 Talyn Scott

  ASIN BOONQ7TJJM

  Sanibel Virgin

  Vampire Werewolf Menage

  Fanged Romance Series Book 7

  By

  Talyn Scott

  Chapter One

  Mason Ruyter growled low as he hunched atop Six Feet Under’s roof. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Better yet, what he sensed. Down below, in the bar’s parking lot, a rarity rummaged through the backseat of her rental car, wiggling in all the right places. When the mixed blood moved to stand, he bit back a groan. Her new position jutted out her rounded breasts and her plump ass made for… Mason’s body shook as anticipation roused his werewolf.

  This was dangerous — the way he was feeling, the answering call of his celestial Beta Beast — and it was unlike anything he’d ever sensed. It was as though Mason’s werewolf recognized the strength in her lineage would surpass her weaker, human side quite easily. Meaning she could take the lusty pounding and dominant biting of a pureblood. No doubt, she could give as good as she got, too.

  He took a fortifying breath, wondering how to calm himself enough to approach the female without frightening her. After all, males of his Pack tended to come off as being intense. Yet what wouldn’t a Pack male give to share any intimacy whatsoever with one of his own kind?

  Mason rubbed his mouth, watering for a taste of her, his werewolf longing to secure her shoulder with his elongated canines, to hold her in place while he moved his thick length in and out of her sweet heat. She pivoted, lifting her head slightly and cocking it to the side. That’s when her shoulders tensed, and her heart kicked up, pounding for the unknown.

  For what was to come.

  The smell of her fresh adrenalin traveled his way, filling his nostrils in seconds. “That’s it, female, good instincts, I’m watching you.”

  His fists clenching at his thighs, his instinctual urge to chase her nearly overrode Mason’s better judgment. But he somehow held back, though he couldn’t keep from drawing more of her delectable scent into his lungs, which only made his mouth salivate all the more.

  “You. Torment. Me.”

  Mason craved to see her eyes right now. Wondered what they would look like when staring up at him as he filled her. “I want to watch them as you come for me, watch as they roll back in your head while your body shudders beneath mine.” He adjusted himself, thinking she could take all of his length on the first attempt.

  That is, if he gentled her just right.

  An errant curled whipped across her face and tickled her cherry-red lips apart. The bottom lip was plump enough to nibble and tug, to fit around his aching cock as he gripped the silky blonde hair at her nape and directed her where it needed to go.

  Only after he’d tasted and worshipped every square inch of her first.

  When a band of moonlight glinted across the tops of her thighs. He couldn’t help but wonder if she kept those platinum curls everywhere. Mason longed to run his canines through each curl from the top of her head to the — he narrowed his eyes — precisely there. Mentally undressing her, he imagined sliding that dress down her plump thighs, shredding the thin silk with his claws and teeth so she would never make the mistake of wearing the garment again in front of another male.

  Damn dress.

  He raised a hand to his chin, rolling his fingertips over a day’s worth of beard as he imagined clawing off her panties thread by thread, while she pleaded and moaned for him to put his mouth upon her. From there he’d tease her, circling her nice and slow, while he marched his eyeballs all over her, taking his time to learn her body. As she called his name, he would brush the backs of his claws wherever he pleased. He’d watch her skin change before his eyes. Watch her flush and glisten sweetly with want, a want only he could stoke and answer with his body.

  And answer it he would.

  Mason’s tongue lengthened in the way of the werewolf, filling his mouth the way he wanted to fill hers. “I’ll start with the pinkest parts,” he whispered thickly. On this female, the pinker would be the tastier.

  She strolled across the parking lot and met the end of a long line, those awaiting to pay their cover charge to enter the goth bar, which welcomed immortals and humans alike. Though humans were unaware of the true predators who circled there.

  When he leaned forward, a mammoth-sized coconut managed a near miss with his head. Easily, Mason caught the sucker, elongated his claws, and effortlessly pierced the stone-hard fruit. “This is what your skull’s gonna look like, Tracker!” He took a long drink from the fruit before he tossed it high, aiming towards the river.

  A disembodied voice laughed back.

  When a human male stepped near the mixed blood to chat her up, Mason forced his werewolf not to jump off the roof and gut the idiot.

  Kill him, his werewolf growled.

  “I will not kill the human,” he snapped back, eyes still on the female as he swiped a hand across his sweating brow.

  “Aye, no’ the best choice for a kill,” Jude Faden said as he appeared next to him, “Too gangly, no’ enough meat on the bones.” He adjusted his stance on the slippery roof. The rain had moistened the never-ending mildew, and even a seasoned male found difficulty applying counterpoise, which was the exact reason academy males were brought to roofs, such as this one, to train in hand-to-hand combat.

  Mason stayed quiet. Would a moment of privacy be too much to ask?

  “Your Beta Beast lurks close to the surface,” Jude pressed. “Why is that?”

  “You know why.” Mason thrust his hands through the trademarked, blue-black Ruyter hair, yanking the strands until his scalp burned. By the moon, he wanted to feel the female come all over him. “You obviously hunted the mixed blood to here. It’s not like you’re hunting me.”

  “Ah.” Jude stood in caramel-colored leathers that matched his hair. By the dried blood and grit encasing his arms and combat boots, he’d spent the day fighting instead of tracking. His gaze landed on the female as she neared the bouncer. “I was heading home and caught the faintest scent of her at the airport. Trailed her easily, too easily, in fact.”

  “I can’t see a mark on her.” There was something different
about this female. Something that went far beyond her physicality, and it was truly disconcerting.

  Jude nodded his agreement. “I do no’ sense the Alpha’s aura surrounding her, either. Why is she living without Pack protection, entering Six Feet Under with such open vulnerability? Hadn’t she a brain in her beautiful head?”

  From the center of his chest, Mason sensed a string connecting them and reeling him in by the second, making him crazy with lust and…possessiveness. He gritted his teeth, willing his canines to recede. “The vampires and shifters inside will eat her alive.”

  “She’s part vampire herself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” How had Mason not scented vampire blood in her?

  “I’m sure of it.” Jude adjusted the short blades along his belt, his eyes narrowing when the female went inside Six Feet Under.

  “Give me an update on our primary situation before I head inside.”

  Jude’s eyes widened. “You’re going to approach her in your current state?”

  Mason dismissed his friend’s concern with a singular raised eyebrow. “What’s the word on the leeches? I was performing surgery and didn’t get any intel from Bane.” Just this weekend, vampires from nearly all lairs of the world had suddenly chosen Fort Myers Beach and Captiva Island as their vacation destinations. A Gothic Spring Break had started in Pack’s backyard, and they didn’t like it one bit.

  Jude’s look said it all. “Pack’s discovered the newly arrived foreign vampires are old and powerful. Curiously, no Brides, Younglings, or Undead have joined them here.”

  Mason whistled. “The Alpha and my brother must be livid.” Old and powerful vampires predatorily circling Southwest Florida was the equivalent of a CAT-5 hurricane hitting the islands dead-on. And since the vampires traveled without family or their Undead entourage, they surely had a collective, specific purpose in mind — probably a deadly one.

  “Livid, I’m no’ so sure, but they are ready for anything. Have stayed that way since those rogue Gryphs attacked our Sanibel Island compound.”

  “Coven won’t give up any intel, not even Oycher or Maestru?”

  “Nay.” Jude stepped to the roof’s ledge. “Bane called me back from my hunt early to aid in guarding Pack. I hate sitting on the defense when the offense is much to my werewolf’s liking.”

  Offense was to every werewolf’s liking. “Vampires are a pain in the ass, every last one of them.”

  “And that will no’ change in my lifetime.” Jude flashed sharp, white teeth. “Has anything shown up at the hospital?”

  “Nothing alarming.”

  “You sure? No bites, no sudden memory losses, no unexplained anemia?”

  “Not a one,” Mason elaborated, “and before you ask, there’s nothing in the morgues, either.” Although he had treated everything from territorial bites to emergency surgeries, he hated the morgue just as much as the next werewolf. “Believe me, I keep an eye on that place for Undead awakenings.”

  “All right, Doctor. I’m off to report this female to the Alpha, then I’m turning in early. A night or two in my own bed is a reward in itself.”

  Mason nodded at his absentee roommate, wondering if Jude had ever spent a week straight at the house they shared. “I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure my eggs are over easy.”

  Jude raised an amused eyebrow. “Eggs for three?”

  Here and there, they’d also shared females, but had never brought one into their home, which was a habit of their kind. Out of respect, a male reserved his home for his future mate, keeping it untainted by any other female, so hookups stayed away from residences. Most werewolves even went so far as to not bathe or feed other females, saving the devotion for their mates alone. Mason’s father was a firm believer in that practice and passed the importance of the ritual onto his many sons.

  “If the mixed blood will take me tonight, yeah, eggs for three.”

  “Only that particular mixed blood?”

  Mason admitted, “I’m in no mood for another.”

  “Mayhap she’s your female, then.”

  “For the past fifteen minutes, the thought has crossed my mind a million and one times. I remember my sister-n-law, Renee, tidily summing up the general difference between werewolves and vampires. She said that vampires were terrifically powerful and terrifyingly territorial, whereas werewolves were malicious killing machines who spent their lifetime on hunting their one true mate.”

  Jude smiled ruefully. “I suppose that’s an apt description.”

  Mason couldn’t disagree more. “Currently, I feel like the two creatures combined.”

  Jude laughed before he misted away, his rumbling voice swirling in the nighttime air when he said, “Then bring her home.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Mason eyes roamed the length of his body. Fresh from the hospital, he wore a white oxford and grey trousers. Serviceable yet boring, this kind of simple didn’t exactly fit in at a bar where leather and chains were the norm. But maybe, considering the intimidating size of him, Mason would appear less menacing and more appealing to the female while dressed this way.

  Encouraged, he misted to the bar’s back alleyway and rapped on the owner’s door. A server opened it, and Mason sensed she was a Species vampire the same as the owner. She wore a tight-fitting, graphic T-shirt with a pine-box coffin pictured on the front; the words ‘Here’s Dirt In Your Eye’ written across her breasts.

  Before she could say anything, the club owner moved behind her. “Hey, Doc, I don’t think anyone is bleeding out yet.” He scratched the back of his head. “Not that I can smell, anyway.” He looked to the vampiress for conformation. She shook her head dismissively as she walked away with a tray in hand.

  “I didn’t get a call, Ryan.” Mason couldn’t spot the mixed blood past the dance floor, but he scented her on the North side of the club. “Some unwinding is in order. I just want a drink at a specific table.”

  Ryan slapped him on the back while closing and locking the door behind Mason. “Unwinding, huh?” He didn’t look convinced. “Long shift at the hospital?”

  “Yep.”

  “Funny thing is.” With Ryan’s rising curiosity, his irises expanded in the way of Species Vampires. “I sense your werewolf moving beneath your skin in agitation.”

  Mason didn’t want to do this here, particularly with a vampire he actually considered his friend, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he made contact with the mixed blood. Meaningful contact. But he needed to settle down before he approached her. “You’re worried I’ll lose control in your club? Imagine that.”

  Ryan crossed his heavily inked arms. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Mason evaded by prying. “Any new vampires playing beneath your floors in the dungeons?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Seems like a lot of foreign folks have decided collectively to use up their frequent flyer miles. As luck would have it, they’ve all landed in Southwest Florida.”

  “I don’t eyeball passports, Mason. But if you’re feeling lucky, you can head downstairs and check for yourself.”

  “Sure, I’m all over that.”

  Ryan’s dungeon players never welcomed pureblood werewolves into their most intimate midst. In fact, a guarded door at the end of the main bar separated non-vampires from the dungeon’s entrance. Humans could never sense its whereabouts, since miasma shrouded it.

  Adding to Mason’s suspicions, he spotted a newly hired bouncer standing at the secretive doorway next to the regular bouncer, two males instead of the normal one, with the new male nearly as large as a Vampyr Vojak. Mason wondered how many of the newly arrived vampires were below feeding. After he sat down, he would shoot a ‘heads-up’ text to Bane, though he’d leave the hunting to Pack tonight, since he had other things planned.

  Ryan led Mason past the first dance floor, the primary-colored lights bouncing in beat with the mechanical strum of the music, their glare slicing through his tired eyes with blade-like precision. He shoved his Beast
back for the umpteenth time, fighting the urge to hunt the mixed blood, throw her over his shoulder, and take her far from this scene. That thought caused his next step to falter. Mayhap she’s your female, Jude had said. With this new sense of entitlement to her growing inside Mason’s belly, Jude might be on the mark.

  “Well, Doc, take any table you want.” Ryan gestured to a cluster of tables and signaled for a server before turning to the bar. “I’ll send over a couple of drinks.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Mason discretely found the perfect table, one shrouded away from strobes yet just outside of the private, curtained alcoves brimming with the sounds and smells of sex. He stretched back in his chair and crossed his legs at his ankles. His eyes landed on the candle flickering at the mixed blood’s table, then slowly moved to her trembling hands as she brought her drink to that ripened mouth and sucked on her straw.

  Without a doubt, she was going to drive him insane before he got her alone.

  She threaded those trembling fingers through her platinum-streaked hair, the shortest layers cutting across her sharp cheekbones as she lowered her face and traced swirling lines on the tabletop. That’s right, he thought as she hid, I’m still watching you. Nervously, she crossed and recrossed those long legs, her height probably topping six feet, though she’d barely reach his chin.

  That is.

  If he kept her vertical long enough to notice.

  The vampiress waitress dropped off his beer and a shot of private agave brew specially made for werewolves. It was just about the only thing that would get werwolves drunk. But Mason wouldn’t drink it because he wanted all of his heightened senses on full alert tonight, wanted to calm his werewolf and study her before he moved in for …

  A distinct wash of power suddenly transformed the club, causing his skin to tingle. He straightened, readying to bolt to the female’s side if necessary. Her head snapped up, obviously sensing the power shift right along with Mason. And although her body stiffened, she stayed put.

  Impressive.

  But not the smartest decision she could have made.