Lycan Unleashed. Shannon Curtis

mind us,” his friend commented with a casual wave of his hand toward them.

      “Take him,” Matthias said brusquely.

      “No,” she cried out, trying to struggle against him. He watched as Zane turned and gently pulled the youngster along with him.

      “No, wait.”

      Matthias glanced down at her. Her concern, her worry for the child, was clearly stamped on her face, and he smiled with satisfaction.

      “What do you want?” she looked up at him, then back at the lad. Zane had halted, his head inclined as he listened to their conversation.

      “Take me to your alpha prime, and we will release the boy.”

      “And if I don’t?”

      “Then we’ll take him back to Alpine.”

      “And what?”

      He dipped his head so that his lips were close to her mouth. “What do you think?” he whispered, making sure the boy couldn’t hear them. He didn’t want the lad scared any more than he already was. He had no idea what Woodland wolves thought they did back home, but imagination could be a good weapon.

      Anger flared like blue fire within her eyes. He was surprised by her reaction. Surprised and impressed. Not fear. Not worry, or horror, or distaste. Anger. She was a fighter, one ready to risk her life to protect the boy. Did she have any idea how easy it was to use him as leverage? He certainly wasn’t about to clue her in. He smiled.

      “Your choice,” he whispered against her lips.

      Her frown deepened. “That’s not a choice,” she said, her eyes flashing.

      He grinned. “I’m glad you see it my way. Take him back to camp,” he called to Zane, not removing his gaze from the woman.

      “Trinity,” Jax called out, his uncertainty clear.

      He tilted his head, and she growled softly, then turned her head to look back at the boy. “It’s okay, Jax. We’re going to be fine.” She gave the lad a reassuring smile, and Matthias was caught by the light in her eyes, the glow of confidence.

      He listened as the guardian walked away through the forest. When they turned down the trail, she dropped the smile and turned back to fix him with a steely glare. Not just a fighter, she had the ferocious spirit of a warrior, he realized, intrigued by the visible resolve as her eyes shifted to a steely blue.

      “You’ve got what you want, now get off me,” she snapped. She moved under him, trying to pull her wrists out of his grasp.

      He relaxed, his chest lowering to press against hers. Her gaze flicked up to him, and he could feel her heart pounding against his. There was something in her eyes... It wasn’t fear; it was an awareness, a flare of something warmer. Desire. He could see it, he could smell it. He could feel it as her breasts swelled beneath him, her nipples a sweet torment as they peaked against his chest.

      “Oh, honey, you have no idea what I want,” he murmured as he inhaled her sweet essence again. It was pure seduction, her scent. He trailed his nose along her jaw, and smiled when she rolled her head, arching her neck to give him better access. He sank into her, relishing the feel of her body against his. Her body was lithe and toned, but she was soft and curvy where it counted, and undeniably feminine.

      Luscious. He wanted to dive into her, and not come up for air. He slid his hands down her arms, feeling the shape of her limbs through her lightweight jacket. She sighed, then inhaled, her breasts pressing firmer against his chest, against the chain he wore. He smiled as her legs widened, and he rolled his hips against hers. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, then delved into his hair, her short nails scoring in a delicious, sensual massage against his scalp. He was as hard as granite, utterly consumed by the need to have this woman.

      He trailed his hands down to cup her breasts, and she moaned, flexing her hips against his in response. His need to have her grew. He molded the soft flesh in his hands, taking his time to learn their weight, their shape, her nipples pressing into his palms like hard little studs. He was about to combust. She dragged her nails down his back, and he shuddered in ecstasy.

      “Trinity.” That’s what the boy had called her. Trinity. He tasted the name on his lips. He liked it. He rubbed his erection against her, trying to alleviate the pressure, the ache, but her heat increased, as did his need for her. She stiffened beneath him.

      “God, what am I doing?” she rasped.

      “Getting to know me,” he said as he nuzzled her neck.

      “No.”

      “Are you sure? It damn well feels like it. Your hands are in my pants.”

      Her hands clenched, her nails digging into his buttocks where they’d slid beneath the band of his trousers. Then she pulled them out as though they were burning. “Holy smoke,” she whispered.

      He groaned. He was burning. A molten mess of burning need. For her. For Trinity. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this intense desire, this consuming drive to become part of another lycan. Not even with Cara.

      He rose to his feet, grasping the tracker and dragging her up to stand. He held her close, peering into her eyes. They weren’t cold and steely anymore; they were dark and turbulent, full of stunned dismay and smoking-hot desire. His eyes narrowed. She’d made him burn, damn it.

      Nobody made him burn. He took pride in his self-control, in his self-imposed punishment, and all it took was one tackle with this she-wolf and he was ready to forget everything, forget his plans, forget Jared, forget the rest of the pack that looked to him to avenge their alpha prime’s death. All for a roll with the enemy.

      He nudged her in the direction Zane had taken with the boy. “Let’s go.”

      * * *

      Trin resisted, turning back to face him again. She stared at the muscled figure for a moment, her body humming. Holy smoke, indeed. Like his friend, this lycan wore only a pair of low-riding camouflage pants, the button undone, revealing a tantalizing patch of golden skin before the fabric covered a noticeable bulge that seemed to match in scale the rest of him. She’d thought the other lycan was big. Good grief. This lycan towered over her, his shoulders so broad and thickly roped with muscle. Smudges of dirt and blood covered him, his short white-blond hair a stark contrast against the tanned skin and dirt. His eyes, staring back at her so solemnly, were a beautiful green.

      He was beautiful. She should have been grossed out by the gore and filth, but there was something so magnetic, so charismatic, that all she could see were those beautiful green eyes, that stunning chest. He wore a gold chain around his neck, a ring resting in the dip between his chest muscles. Perspiration slicked his skin, turning his pectoral muscles and deeply-ridged six-pack into a shiny playground begging for a woman’s fingers. Her fingers. Her gaze dipped. He had an old scar that slashed across his abdomen, yet it only added to the sexy, dangerous air about him. He was muscled and toned everywhere, no spare fat. She sucked in her breath. She’d seen some good-looking lycans, but she’d never had such a bone-deep, compelling reaction to anyone before. At least, not in her pack.

      But he was Alpine, and he was here, in Woodland territory. She wasn’t quite sure of the details, but she wasn’t stupid. That howl to war had everything to do with the man in front of her. She released her breath, letting it out slowly, grabbing on to some measure of calm.

      “Who are you?” She took a step back, trying to put some distance, some perspective, between them. Good grief, he was Alpine. She should be howling to the skies, calling her pack—not that any would be racing to rescue her, with her current standing within the group, but still, she should be raising an alarm, and doing her utmost to fight him. Although, he was such a massive unit, and she was just a tracker; she didn’t like the odds of facing him down. Jax. She had to get back to Jax, get him to the safety of their den, such as it was with Rafe in charge.

      “Matthias Marshall,” he said, inclining his head.

      Cold crept