The Werewolf's Secret Baby: A Paranormal Shifter Romance

Chapter Two

Within moments of Arin leaving, the sound of a pistol being cocked behind him alerted him to the presence of another living creature seconds before an achingly familiar scent hit his nose. The pull that kept him so enthralled, attached and unable to forget, swelled overpoweringly until his entire ribcage seemed to vibrate with the sensation. She was here. Marceline.

"You take one step and I fire. These bullets are silver, you hear?" a distinct, creole accented voice of a female called out to him. His beast surged through him in response to the threat to the point it was hard to contain it.

"Turn around, right now. Go on."

Desmond did as he was told though his skin had begun to ripple and his eyes shone with the silver of his wolf instead of the blue they should have been.

"I didn't think you'd forget me so much that you wouldn't recognize me from behind," he said, voice low and gravely. As he turned around, his eyes immediately sought out the curvy form of his ex, and his heart all but shattered in his chest at the pain and anger that raged rampant in her dark eyes.

The pull he'd tried so desperately to ignore for years drew him to her and his entire frame flooded with the heat of desire. One look at her dark, satin skin and thick, exposed thighs and his beast spirit went from challenging to aroused. Sparks of longing shot straight to his groin as his mind flooded with the images of passionate nights of making love to the very woman he stared at.

Mine.

Only, she wasn't his. Not anymore. She'd made that very clear when she stormed from his house, straight out of his life. A full body shudder rolled down his spine and he clenched his eyes shut with a nearly imperceptible whine.

"I'm not taking your crap, Desmond. You're redhanded in my territory. I knew you were petty and vengeful, but I didn't think even you would destroy everything I had left to care about!" she snapped, as she lowered her gun at the sight of him and the faintest traces of grief and longing colored her dark eyes. Her dark, beautiful eyes. They still captivated his very soul even after all this time.

She felt it, too. He could see it in the way her hostile stance softened. The pull. Imprinting. He'd thought it'd only been legend and myth, but that was before they'd met. Everything between them was fiery and rough, hot and heavy, full of a passion he hadn't been able to find with anyone else he'd tried to mate. None of them were as good as her.

"I didn't do this. Use your nose, sweetheart," he whispered.

Desmond had to force himself not to move as she moved closer to him and further into the destroyed cabaret. The way her thighs trembled with each step she took was maddening, not to mention her breasts. He wanted to bury his face in them. They were just as perfect as he remembered. She was just as perfect as he remembered.

"You lost your right to call me that, Papa Dog." Marceline snapped. The causticness of her previous words had faded away significantly, instead being replaced with sadness. "But, you're right at least. They smell like Ramson and his wolves."

The other alpha's name hit him like a freight train.

"You've been talking to him?" he growled out, stalking forward with a furious gaze until he stood mere inches from her. The very scent that rolled from her body, spicy, dominant and all too feminine, only fueled his anger that she even knew the other alpha's name. She was his! She belonged to him and him alone.

A lesser wolf would have backed down from the display of aggression, but she held her ground and met his gaze evenly, not as a lesser, but as an equal. Just serving another reminder of how much he had loved her once. How much he still loved her.