Page 15 of Memphis Heat

She had the feeling that, if she didn’t get rid of her clothes now, there’d be no saving them.

Not waiting for further encouragement, she yanked her clothes off, knowing she’d need them later.

Good thing too because Butch seemed unable to control his shifting and stood before her in his half-shifted form.

Perversely, she seemed to find this side of him fascinatingly sexy.

There was something about such a powerful man on the verge of losing control that wet her panties but good.

Well, if she’d still been wearing any, they’d have been sopping wet.

All around them, older wolves issued their mating calls.

The air reeked with sex. She’d never thought herself one to get off on watching before, but the sight of the pack surrounding them to watch their sex only seemed to make her wetter.

Some were fully wolf, some only partially shifted.

She wondered if she should shift, but she’d not managed the art of shifting because she wanted to yet.

If that was even possible. So far she’d only shifted when danger threatened her mate.

Butch turned her around, holding her securely by her hips as he bit her shoulder right below her neck.

The sting only heightened the sensation of danger and the claiming she craved.

This was Butch. The real Butch. The Butch he’d held back from her all these months that she’d only caught a glimpse of before.

Like it or not, Butch had been made to be a werewolf.

This was a suppressed part of his nature screaming to be let loose.

Now that it had, Regan was certain there was no containing him.

Snorrasan had better watch out. It wouldn’t surprise her if Butch set his sights on pack leader someday soon.

When Butch kissed his way down her back -- with equal parts lips, tongue, and teeth -- until he nipped the underside of her ass, Regan let out a little yelp of surprise.

The next lick landed squarely on her cunt, with two long swipes of his tongue before he swatted her soundly on the butt with a hand that was more paw than human.

Four-inch-long claws curled across her hips, holding her pinned.

That was all the foreplay he seemed capable of. With a short grunt that felt like a dare to deny him, Butch aimed his cock at her and slid home. It didn’t really matter. Regan was so hot, she was certain she dripped all over him anyway.

He took her standing, his claws firmly on her hips, holding her still as he plunged into her over and over again.

Flesh slapped hard against flesh, loud even among the amazing din the other wolves made.

His fucking was almost brutal in its intensity but Regan loved every second of it.

She gripped his wrists as hard as she could -- her hands wouldn’t come close to closing around them now -- and did her best to push back against him to add to the intensity.

He penetrated her deep, even in the awkward position.

His cock seemed to hit places no man had ever hit with almost painful sensations.

When she thrashed under him, he bit down on her shoulder again.

Without warning, her first orgasm washed over her, pulsing through her with all the fervor of a rocket blasting off into outer space.

Sweat dripped from her skin as she squirmed against him, wanting more. She wasn’t sure what -- just more.

He seemed more than ready to give her everything he had.

Deep shudders rocked his muscles as he pounded against her, his balls slapping her ass with every deep, penetrating thrust. A howl rose in her throat.

Not an echo of the cries that reverberated through the pack, but something deeper.

Something that seemed to scream from her soul.

As if in answer, Butch’s voice rose to join her, that knot forming again, seizing her, holding her to him as he came in long, slow spurts of liquid fire.

Great. Now they were going to be stuck like this for a while.

That was embarrassing. Or it should have been.

Except all around the room the musk of sex linked them to their brothers and sisters, pack members who shared their need.

Suddenly she understood the seventies look -- the scattered couches and pillows that lined the walls.

Doggie beds. Regan did her best not to laugh.

She didn’t have the energy. She was whipped.

Ready to topple had it not been for Butch’s strength still supporting her.

Butch took her to the floor, lying beside her atop a huge pillow. His kisses, soft and lazy, wandered over her neck and shoulder as he lay tied to her, obviously as blissfully contented as she was.

“Let it be known these two, Butch Carson and Regan ‘Sundance’ O’Malley, are one in the eyes of the pack.”

At the nickname “Sundance,” Regan looked up and snarled. It was the colonel. She ought to tell him off for that. Somehow it didn’t seem so bad now, though. Before it had been the guys’ way of teasing a rookie, then she’d grown fond of it because it linked them together.

Her Butch. As she was his Sundance.

A team. Always.

Let’s hope they didn’t end up dead in Mexico, legends for future generations to smile over.

* * *

What felt like hours later, a cell phone rang, pulling him back from the edge of a blissed-out haze. Butch shifted, on his own this time, back to human form. He thought he might be getting the knack of this. His uniform obligingly reappeared.

Not his phone.

“Time to move out! We’ve got a new lead.”

And just like that, their pack orgy dissolved into a tense, alert, fighting team. Butch suddenly understood the whole mating thing. They were tighter now. A real pack. He could even accept Snorrasan’s lead, as long as he had the colonel’s backing.

It didn’t take him and Regan as long to disengage this time. Apparently, his body was becoming used to the changes between human and wolf. Thank goodness, too, because the rest of the pack was leaving with or without them. And he wouldn’t let them go out there without him and Regan to back them up.

Regan scrambled to find the scattered pieces of her uniform, looking a little less than official after their time on the lounge floor.

To his surprise, she shifted. The first time he’d seen her go full wolf without a life or death threat at their throats.

She shifted back again, looking more than a little pleased with herself as she inspected her uniform.

“Neat trick!” she observed.

“Come on, Sundance. We’ve got work to do.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but hopped in the police cruiser beside him before they sped off after the others.

* * *

The carnage they found in the back alley turned Regan’s guts. She’d have retched if she’d been a little weaker on the stomach. They were too late, this time. Finally she understood how her fellow wolves could turn the dying. She couldn’t have let them go. Not like that.

Gone. Again. Another team gone. This time with no way to save them. They were already wolves. Which meant not even shifting was always going to keep them alive. She’d thought, when she’d managed to salvage her ruined uniform…

She really was a rookie. Some things couldn’t be fixed.

They followed the trail of gore to the edge of their district and beyond. To another small industrial park at the outskirts of town. The by now familiar scent of wolves lingered, though she didn’t know this pack by smell. Foreign. Evil .

They were gone. Lock, stock, and barrel. She could smell the cold steel of weapons and munitions, a tang of lead and brass assaulting her nose. And there were other smells. Smells she’d come to know by now. Wolves. Sex. Blood. Death. But mostly guns. Lots and lots of guns.

“Colonel! Over here!” One of the pack called the Alpha to him. Without a word, the colonel went to the lesser wolf’s side, looking gravely at his feet. Two shattered tracking pellets lay on the concrete floor, smashed beyond any hope of ever working.

“I’m not liking this,” the colonel muttered. He lifted his nose and took in a long, slow breath, obviously searching for a particular scent.

Regan closed her eyes and sniffed as deeply as she could, blocking out everything around her. She knew those smells. “Belle and Jarod? I thought they were transferred to the FBI task force.”

“Yeah. The FBI Paranormal task force. They were supposed to infiltrate the Russian pack.”

“Well, either they did, or they really did,” Snorrasan growled. “Either way, we have to find them.”

“Damn fucked-up mess, us not being there when those two were turned,” the colonel complained.

“Good team. Too good to lose to the fucking FBI bozos. Who the fuck do they think they are, moving in on our pack jurisdiction, anyway? If they’ve gotten our wolves killed, I’ll personally gut that damn Agent Miller. ”

“We both know the FBI pack leader is too cavalier with his agents’ lives,” Snorrasan agreed. “But Jarod and Belle are smart. If they’re still alive, they’ll find a way to contact us.”

“I hope you’re right, Snorrasan. I hope you’re right.”

Snorrasan looked out across the gathered wolves. “Carson. Callahan. I lost my best field commanders today. Like it or not, like me or not, I know you two have got what it takes. I’m counting on you two to give this team all you’ve got. As of now, you two are my new lieutenants.”

Good. This was good. Butch might not respect Snorkelface the way he did the colonel, but he’d accept his leadership, because the man was older and wiser, and had the colonel’s complete confidence. And if that confidence proved to be misplaced, Regan knew where her loyalties lay.