Rogue: An Imp World Novella (Northern Wolves Book 2) Read online

  Rogue

  Debra Dunbar

  Copyright © 2017 by Debra Dunbar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. 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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Debra Dunbar

  Prologue

  “Who is that?” I transferred the bottle of beer that I’d been nursing for the last hour to my other hand so I could point rudely at the man emerging from the woods at the end of Brent’s property.

  “That’s Karl.” Ahia took a swig from her own bottle. The Nephilim had been drinking steadily since we were setting up this morning, but she never seemed to get drunk. Werewolves had a heck of a tolerance when it came to booze, but Ahia always could drink us under the table.

  “The grizzly shifter?” I asked. Every year there was an open invitation to all shifters to attend the Juneau Pack barbeque, but no one except for wolves had ever come. This was a first.

  “Yeah. Hot, isn’t he? Damn, I’ve been trying to hit that for the last five years, but he always says no. And he says no in a way that makes me think he’ll punch me in the face if I ask again.” The Nephilim chuckled. “So, of course, I keep asking. Not that the answer is ever different.”

  I could see why Ahia was so persistent. Wow, the guy was smoking. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy hair that brushed his shoulders and a scruffy look that said he didn’t like to shave more than once a week. He walked with a graceful lope across the lawn, shaking hands with Brent, our Alpha, who’d walked over to meet him.

  The grizzly shifter looked like a wild man come out of the woods after decades in seclusion. And that contributed just as much to his hotness factor in my eyes as his powerful form. It was funny, actually, that I’d be attracted to this kind of guy when I was the type of werewolf who owned a walk-in closet full of tailored clothing, loved scented bath gels, and never left the house without my make-up perfectly done. Yeah, I loved to shift and hunt down deer as much as the next wolf, but once I shifted back, I at least touched up the mascara and the lipstick and ensured my glossy red curls weren’t a tangled mess.

  I broke out of my thoughts, realizing that Brent was leading the grizzly shifter over to us.

  “Karl, this is my second, Sabrina. And you know Ahia.”

  The grizzly grunted. I got the idea that was his go-to method of communication. Not that I could say anything polite or welcoming in response to Brent’s introduction. I was too busy staring at his amazing eyes—hazel with flecks of gold that were far too bright to pass as human.

  There was something dark behind those eyes, something dangerous and amoral, something predatory. Smoking hot. Radiating a power that nearly suffocated me. And scary. The last two turned me on as much, if not more, than the first.

  “Karl! My man! Wanna fuck?”

  Oh Lord. Times like this I just wanted to stab Ahia.

  For some reason the grizzly’s eyes jerked to meet mine at Ahia’s proposal. I sucked in a breath. That brooding, smoldering expression seemed like it was designed to make me come at a glance. And it nearly did. Holy crap where had this guy been the last few years? I knew why Ahia was constantly trying to get him in the sack. He might not be my type at all, but I’d sell my soul for a night with this guy. I’d bet he was amazing in bed. Amazing.

  His gaze left mine to glare at the Nephilim. “I’ve got no interest in beddin’ you, Ahia. Go fuck a tree stump if you’re that horny.”

  His voice was rough and gravelly, as if he seldom spoke or he was a chain-smoker. I didn’t smell any tobacco on him and I had a werewolf’s nose, so I could only assume he was a man of few words. A wild man. A grizzly shifter who’d come out of the woods to eat burgers and drink beer with a rowdy bunch of werewolves. This was going to be the most interesting party we’d ever had. And judging from that intense look in his eyes, I was full of hope that this party would end with the pair of us naked and sweaty in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

  “I’m done. Done, I tell you,” Zeph slurred, his forehead hitting the top of the table. We’d been at it all day—food, beer, horseshoes, volleyball, cannonball contests in the pool, more beer, bonfires. Eventually beer turned to shots which meant nearly half the pack was sprawled out in the grass, inebriated.

  I wasn’t. Second to the Alpha meant I needed to not be passed out in the dirt. I was tipsy, but I could function.

  “Thought you wolves were tougher. Next time I’ll bring some milk.”

  Zeph lifted his head and trained his bleary eyes on the man across from him. “Normally I’d pin you to the ground with my teeth at your throat for those words, but I’m drunk and I’m not stupid enough to mess with a bear. Here.” He slid a bottle across the table. “You won. Take it and leave me to sleep it off here at the table.

  The “bear” reached out and grabbed the bottle with far less deference one should have given Woodford Reserve bourbon. “That’ll teach you to try to outdrink a grizzly,” he said. Then he grinned and examined the label on the bottle of bourbon.

  A grizzly shifter. At our barbeque. I still couldn’t get over the novelty of it. Most of the black bear shifters were down in the lower forty-eight, but Alaska was home to the majority of the brown bear shifters. There were a few coastal brown bears in the south and up in Anchorage, one or two Kodiak shifters that roamed all over the north, and anywhere from fifty to seventy grizzlies at any given time. No one knew exactly how many. They were independent, solitary, and introverted. We all got along just fine, we just didn’t run across bear shifters more than once a month. We’d nod, exchange a few words, then go on our way. It wasn’t only that it was a novel occurrence for a grizzly shifter to join a party full of noisy, physically demonstrative, rowdy wolf shifters, it was that Karl truly appeared to be enjoying himself. He wasn’t the most loquacious guy I’d ever met, but he’d joined in every game, chatted amicably with the members of my pack, took a turn flipping burgers on the grill.

  And all night his eyes had followed me. If I went inside, he was watching for my reappearance. If I went to sit by the pool, he left whatever he was doing and moved nearby. He was never creepy or stalkery, just present. A werewolf would have made a move four hours ago. Heck, a werewolf would have propositioned me right after he’d grabbed that beer from the cooler. But this guy seemed content to just be near me.

  Weird. And honestly the best sexual build-up I’d ever experienced. If the guy didn’t make a move soon, I would. And if he said no, I’d be spending a lot of quality time with my vibrator tonight.

  I hesitated, watching the bear’s hand on the bottle. Then my eyes traveled up his arm to his hazel eyes. He lifted the bottle.

  “This any good?”

  I swallowed. His voice was deep, gruff, husky—so very sexy.

  “Yeah. It’s really good.”

  He stood and I looked upward because the guy was well over six feet tall and proportioned accordi
ngly. “Then let’s share it.”

  Share it, or share it? I made a quick decision. “There’s a stream that runs through the back of the property. There’s a mossy bank where you can hear the gurgle of water over rocks, and see the fireflies against the dark woods on the other side.”

  “This a date?”

  I hesitated, then chickened out. “No, just a quiet place to drink some whisky.”

  He grunted and waved the bottle. “Then lead the way.”

  We walked away from the light of the bonfire, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The sounds of laughter died away, replaced by insect song and the brush of our feet through the tall grass. The bear shifter followed me down a steep embankment, through a wooded area and to a clearing where moonlight reflected off the surface of the stream, the golden blink of fireflies giving the whole scene a fairy-like atmosphere.

  I heard the crack of the seal breaking on the bottle and the nudge of glass against my bare arm.

  “Here. You first.”

  Crap. I’d forgotten glasses. I can’t believe I was about to drink hundred-dollar booze out of the bottle.

  I lifted it to my lips and took a sip. Warm and smooth with a honey and oak aroma and a sweet, slightly bitter finish. Just because it was so very nice, I took another sip before handing it back to the bear.

  He took it and sat on the moss, his back against a tree. I dropped down beside him, chuckling as I watched him gulp the bourbon.

  “Whoa there, wild man. We’re not at a frat party here, that’s sipping whisky.”

  He eyed the label then passed the bottle back to me. “I was sipping. Otherwise half the bottle would be gone.”

  Sheesh. How this guy was still standing after drinking two werewolves under the table was beyond me. “So…Karl the grizzly shifter at a werewolf party,” I said, taking another sip. “What made you decide to come to the barbeque? Were you in the neighborhood and drawn in by the amazing aroma of hamburgers and ribs?”

  “Get asked every year and figured I’d see if you wolves had any decent food and booze.”

  He was such a bear. “So…?”

  He took the bottle from me. “Ribs were good. Burgers were better.”

  Yes, they were. Brent, our Alpha, had made a mix of beef, venison, and sausage. We’d been taste-tasting spice blends for a month, and Allison had ordered in some specialty goat cheese. Drew had even cooked a bunch of pork loin and shredded them to use as a topping.

  “Next year I’ll bring some smoked trout. You like fish?” He nudged my arm again with the bottle.

  Surprisingly I liked the idea of a “next year” with Karl. Being second to the Alpha had kind of put a damper on my dating life. The dominant wolves chafed at my superior position in the hierarchy, and I wasn’t attracted to the submissive wolves. I’d tried dating some of the guys from the other packs, hoping to find a dominant wolf that wouldn’t want to constantly be in a battle for control, but the distance killed any idea of a relationship with them. When it’s three hours by plane to see your main squeeze, romance snaps from the strain—at least for me.

  So that left me with humans who, although they made for fine bedfellows, lacked the connection I needed, that something more. Yeah, I was picky—too picky according to my parents who were desperate to see me mated and bringing a guy home for the holidays. I’d kind of given up at this point, throwing myself into my careers—both in marketing and with the pack management. It’s not like it was that weird to be unmated. Our Alpha was and he was in his midforties. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but for me it was. But I’d never thought to try to date a bear. Shifters were shifters, but bear society was very different than ours.

  Wait. What was I thinking? This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything long-term. This was a booty call, if it was even that. Afterward he’d go back to his den to prep for the winter, coming out in the spring to go hunt down and screw a sow in Fairbanks or Anchorage, and I’d work my butt off, spend Christmas with my folks, and hope he meant it about bringing smoked trout to the next year’s barbeque.

  Yum. Smoked trout.

  “Absolutely. I love fish. If it’s meat, then I’ll eat,” I joked. I took more than a sip this time. I’d been nursing my beers all night and this bourbon was really going to my head. I scooted closer, my thigh resting against Karl’s, my shoulder brushing his. It was a toasty August night and the booze was warming my blood, but nothing compared to the heat I felt coming off this bear shifter. His hand touched my leg and worked its way up to the hem of my shorts. My breath hitched and I mentally willed his hand to go higher. I was sure the scent of my arousal was filling the air.

  Which was totally okay, because his was too.

  Karl took the bottle from my hand, carefully setting it aside. I watched him, watched his muscles flex under the snug shirt, watched the swing of his shoulder-length wavy hair. My thoughts swirled in a bourbon haze, my inhibitions nowhere to be found. When he turned and slid me onto his lap, I pivoted to straddle him, feeling myself perfectly positioned against what was clearly a raging hard-on.

  “Prettiest wolf I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, wrapping one of my red curls around his finger. Then his hand moved up to the back of my scalp and he pulled me to him.

  His lips met mine. I’d expected something gentle, tentative and soft. This kiss wasn’t. He was demanding and forceful. His hand twisted into my curls, pulling the hair so tight it stung. I was trapped, his one hand controlling my head, his mouth devouring mine, his other arm pinning me against him. I, second to the Alpha, was well aware that this guy could crush me, could do whatever he wanted to me and beyond inflicting some minor damage, I’d lose in a fight against him. It wasn’t just that a grizzly would always beat a lone wolf, it was the force of his personality, the internal strength of the man. I’d met powerful Alphas before. Jake of the Swift River Pack was like a current of hot, dangerous electricity, unpredictable and deadly. Karl was…he was like the mountains that separated us from Canada—huge, quiet, unmovable, and even more deadly in his own way.

  It made me feel unsettled and on edge to lose control to another like this. And it turned me on beyond belief.

  I shuddered, my tongue playing with his as I slid my hands up his chest. Everything about this man filled and touched every sense. I tasted his mouth, felt the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders, smelled his wild woodsy scent mixing with my light perfume. He growled, a low rumble deep in his throat, then pulled his mouth from mine, releasing my hair to fumble with the buttons on my shirt.

  “Don’t want to tear your shirt,” he said.

  It was adorable, this rough sexy man trying to undo tiny pearl-shaped buttons and not rip them off in his hurry to get me naked.

  “Here.” I helped, popping them loose one at a time, then slid the fabric from my shoulders.

  He drew in a ragged breath, his eyes devouring me. Then he took a finger and traced the lacy edge of my scarlet red bra. I felt my nipples harden as he brushed his palm over one. With a snap he’d unhooked the center closure and the bra hung loose on my breasts. I went to shrug the undergarment off, but he stopped me, slowly nudging the lace aside with his fingers until the small globes popped free.

  He cupped one breast in his hand and bent his head to the other, licking and nibbling across the skin before pulling my taut nipple into his mouth.

  I arched my back, losing myself in the feel of him. He pinched and rolled, nipped and sucked. I moaned, grinding against the bulge in his pants. He might have not wanted to rip my shirt, but I had no such restraint. Putting my werewolf strength to the test, I gripped the cotton neckline and tore downward, running my hands over the warm skin of his chest.

  He made that low, deep growl again and the sound shot heat right between my legs.

  “Pants.” He muttered, shoving me backward onto the damp mossy ground. Before I could protest at the caveman tactics, he’d removed my shorts and undergarments. Then he stood, towering over me as he shucked off his jeans. My breath hitched as I watched.
I was sprawled naked on the ground in front of him as he loomed over me, muscled and powerful, eyeing me like a cougar watches a snared rabbit. Me. A wolf. Wet and quivering, feeling helpless before an apex predator. I’d never been so turned on in my life. And judging from the incredible boner the grizzly shifter was sporting, he was equally aroused.

  I took action, springing to my feet and slamming into him, driving him back against a tree as I pressed myself against his torso. He was so darned tall that I could do no more than kiss his chest, nipping and licking as he’d done to me. I reached a hand between us to grip him, giving his shaft a few quick, firm strokes.

  He groaned and slid down the tree, pulling free from my hand, and yanking me down on top of him once more. I squealed, losing my balance and squashing my face against his shoulder where I felt the rumble of his laugh. His arm flexed, pulling me firmly against his broad chest, holding me steady as he trailed a line of hot kisses down my throat. I squirmed against him, trying to rise up so I could sheathe his cock between my legs, but he held me tight.

  Then his fingers slid down the crack of my ass, skating between my folds and brushing against my nub. I arched back in his arms, my fingers digging into his shoulders. His breath caught, then his finger slid into me. I opened for him, eager for more, and he obliged.

  “Damn. You’re tight,” he murmured against my neck. “This might not work.”

  “It will work,” I gasped, riding his hand. “Trust me, it will work.”

  Pulling his fingers free, he glided the slick wetness along my folds. I rose on my knees as he positioned himself, then lowered slowly onto his cock—slowly because he was a lot to take in. I stretched around him, feeling the burn of being widened almost to the edge of pain. He gripped my hips, holding me still a moment to adjust before letting me slide down an inch at a time.