Nor had he. They’d met in Austria three years ago, when he’d gone with Wraith to literally sniff out a relic made from warg hide. Wraith had returned to the hospital, but Luc had remained with Ula and her pack. He’d intended to make the move a permanent one, his longing for relationships with his own kind a factor. But a rival clan had attacked them, and when Ula had gone down beneath three enemy warriors, her family abandoned her in favor of saving their own cowardly skins. Luc alone remained, standing over her and defending her until the battle ended, her pack proving victorious.
But her family’s abandonment of her when she needed them had made him realize he wasn’t ready for pack life, and he’d returned to New York, disillusioned and more alone than ever.
Ula hadn’t forgotten him, and when she felt her season coming on, she’d sought him out, arriving two days ago on his doorstep. Other males had challenged him; a she-warg’s season attracted males from miles around. He’d battled the other males, unable to resist the draw of her heat.
Nor could he resist the draw of the moon, and his muscles began to stretch tight under his skin. Ula shoved away from him, her expression one of ecstasy and misery as her own body trembled, her muscles writhing.
Blood pounded through his veins. His joints popped and contorted, the discomfort always on the verge of overwhelming the pleasure of the transformation.
But no, the real pain would come after he’d made the change and then realized his human side had locked him away, unable to hunt, unable to feel the tear of flesh and bone between his jaws, the warm tang of blood pouring down his throat.
Ula completed her change before he did, and she stood on two strong, silver-furred legs, watching him with silver eyes. Her lips peeled back from her sharp teeth in a snarl, and he snarled back, willing his body to hurry. Her mating scent had grown stronger, making his mouth water and his sex throb.
Throwing back his head, he howled as the last of the transformation took him, and then Ula was on him, snapping at his shoulder, claws digging into his chest. He took her down to all fours, more than ready to mount her, but she didn’t give in. He had beaten his opponents, but he had one more test to pass in order to prove himself worthy of fathering her cubs.
He would have to subdue her by force, and once she was satisfied with his performance, she would allow him to take her. They would mate in beast and human form for three days, and then, exhausted, would probably sleep for another three.
It would be the first time he’d ever asked Eidolon for so many days off work in a row.
Grasping her haunches, he covered her as she crouched on the straw-strewn floor. He closed his powerful jaws over the back of her neck, pinched her scruff between his teeth.
She growled, twisted, raked her claws over his flank. He felt nothing, was too deep in the feel of her body, the rasp of black fur on silver, the heat radiating from between her legs. With every motion, the tip of his shaft inched closer to the place he wanted to be.
The sound of the door opening didn’t register until it was too late.
“Shit,” shouted a male voice. “There’s two of them!”
Luc wheeled around.
Humans.
The Aegis.
He launched at the man standing in the doorway, crossbow readied, but Ula was a split second ahead, and she struck the slayer full in the chest. The extra-narrow crossbow bolt pierced her neck, and even as her claws tore open the slayer’s rib cage, she shifted to human form.
“Morph dart,” she gasped, rolling off the dead man. She came easily to her feet, but as a human, she was weak, and she didn’t stand a chance when the female slayer at the base of the stairs shot her through the heart with a silver-tipped killing bolt.
Ula crumpled to the floor in a pool of blood.
Bastards! Roaring with rage, Luc body-slammed the female slayer to the ground so hard he heard the unmistakable and satisfying crack of spine. Two more slayers, males, came at him with stangs. Luc pounced on the closest, claws ripping, teeth snapping, and then pain, white-hot and searing, exploded in his gut when one of the man’s blades found its mark.
“Get him,” the guy screamed, and Luc felt another stab of pain in his side. The other male had injected him with something, silver nitrate, probably. Agony like a million razor cuts spread through his veins and sucked the air from his lungs.
His vision grew fuzzy, dimmed to a pinpoint. He had to get out of there. He lurched toward the stairwell, barely avoiding the swing of a cudgel aimed for his head.
“Goddammit, Cole, don’t kill him! He’s worth thousands.”
Chills shivered over his skin, ruffling his fur. Their goal was to take him alive. No way in hell. Panting with pain and effort, he scrambled up the stairs, the sounds of cursing following him. He didn’t bother opening his front door; burst through it in a shower of wooden shards. Dropping to all fours, he sprinted down the street. The night air revived him, gave him a temporary burst of strength and speed.
He had no idea how long or far he ran, keeping to the shadows and ducking behind parked cars, but when the adrenaline ran out and he began to fade again, he was in unfamiliar territory, caught on the edge of the city and well out of his suburban neighborhood.
Fire seared his lungs with each breath, and nausea tumbled in his stomach.