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COLLARED BY WOLVES
The Haunt of the Wolves 1
JENNIFER DENYS
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
You are invited to attend Submissive Trials
on Friday, 2nd September, 7:30 p.m.
at The Haunt, off the old Deer Park Road, Spring Valley
Submissive Trials! As Natasha Talbot reread the invitation that had appeared in her morning post, she felt desire rush through her body and her clit started to throb.
She suddenly had to sit down as her legs turned wobbly. This called to her deepest yearnings. It sounded so intriguing, so exciting, and it was something that she had really wanted to do for a couple of years now. But ordinary people like her who had average looks, with boring secretarial jobs, and who lived with their aunts despite being twenty-four didn’t do things like BDSM. They didn’t become submissives who surrendered to the will of a Dominant. They didn’t let another person whip them until they climaxed, or anything else similarly exciting that she had only read about before now.
“Oh, God.” A rush of wetness dampened her panties, and she had to clamp her legs together.
Natasha looked at the envelope again, but there was nothing on it to indicate who it was from, and neither had it gone through the postal system, so there was no stamp. It was just a plain white envelope. So whoever had left it had hand-delivered it. A shiver of fear went through her that someone not only knew where she lived, but also that she could be interested in this lifestyle.
Then she shook her head dismissively and threw the invite on the table. “Don’t be bloody stupid, Natasha. You’ve never told anyone, so how could they know?” No, it was just a leaflet drop.
She bit her lip. Even if it hadn’t been intended for her, she could fantasize about attending this event, which was only two weeks away. She had initially become aware of BDSM when she had read her first erotic romance about a girl who persuaded a friend to take her to a club not realizing the friend actually owned it.
Natasha chuckled. She was now a connoisseur of erotic romance stories, particularly the BDSM ones, and it was frequently the case that the hero secretly owned the venue. “It’s about time it was the heroine who did the subterfuge! Hmm. That’s an idea for a story.”
Sighing deeply, Natasha leaned forward resting her elbows on the table, cupping her face in her hands as her thick red hair fell about her shoulders. Not that she was interested in dominatrix stories herself. She preferred the females to be the submissive person in the book. After reading that original story, she had done some online research and had become absolutely fascinated with it, but also frightened, suspecting that she would have a major panic attack if someone tried to tie her up. At the same time, she was jealous of those women that could do it.
Picking up the leaflet, she looked again at the address and frowned. “Well, I know Spring Valley is about an hour from here, but the old Deer Park Road is a new one on me.” Spring Valley was a rather mysterious forested valley with a range of hills on one side called Hawk Ridge that no one ever ventured near. She’d heard tell that there were wild animals there.
She giggled. It was a tale told to children that anyone venturing inside the woods was never heard of again.
Shaking her head, amused by that myth, she noted the time. 7:30 p.m. It would be entirely possible to get home from her job working in an insurance firm on the date in question, have a quick bite to eat, get changed, and drive there.
Get changed. What on earth does one wear to submissive trials? Natasha made a face. Would they expect basques and fishnet stockings? With four-inch heels? Maybe leather skirts and crop tops? Or would dress code be part of the induction? Were they expecting experienced subs or newbies?
Natasha looked again at the invitation and sat up straight, her heart pounding hard in her chest.
Newcomers welcome.
This was clearly stated at the bottom corner of the card. She gasped. She could have sworn it hadn’t said that before.
Dress appropriately.
It was like all her queries were being answered. It must have said that before, but she just hadn’t read that far down.
“Anyhow, stupid girl, they don’t mean you. You can’t do this. You’re much too ordinary and shy, and besides which, whatever would Aunt Marjorie say?”
Do I have to tell her? Her aunt was away that particular weekend as it happened.
Could she do it? She rose from the table and went over to the mirror, pushing her hair off her face with trembling fingers.
Can I?
Chapter One
The Shroud started to descend.
Shit!
Griff Seamer could feel the compelling demand of what was commonly called “The Shroud” and instinctively fought against the sensation of something clamping against his mind, forcing him to accept its ultimatum.
He chuckled. He could feel the same automatic rejection of this primeval warning from others in the club. For that was what it was, a caution, but more than that, it was a compulsion to those in wolf form to turn back into their human selves instantly as the threat of human beings was close by.
Thankfully, Griff was already in his human guise, very tall, dark haired, olive skinned, and muscular. But he grinned at the howls of those who wanted to stay wolf. One couple in particular was close to climax judging by the speed at which the male was hammering into the bitch. “Bitch” in a wolf sense.
Griff’s grin turned into a grimace as he felt the Shroud pull even tighter, bringing those resisting it into compliance. He gritted his teeth and tried to let it wash over him, knowing there was no way anyone, let alone he with all his alpha strength, could resist it.
Abruptly the couple in question turned into two nude, sweaty humans, kneeling on the dusty floor. The woman’s face was close to the ground with her backside in the air as the man thrust his cock into her ass. He held a leash, which was attached to a collar around her neck, tightly within his teeth. As her claws turned back, her nails scraped against the wood.
Unfortunately, the change was so sudden that the man fell on top of the woman, who couldn’t hold herself upright, and they went sprawling in a heap. A cry of pain came from the female, partly from getting squashed beneath someone larger than her, and partly from the man being forced further into her rectum than he probably intended.
However, it was just in time. A girl stood in the doorway. A human girl. Griff turned to look at her and saw her face was transfixed by the sight of the naked couple rolling around on the floor.
He took advantage of her distraction to study her, noting that she was reasonably pretty, if red-faced at this moment, as the couple pulled apart, swearing volubly, and the girl became aware of their private parts in their full glory. He smiled wryly as she clearly attempted to halt her shock from showing, but not achieving it.
It was illegal for sex acts to be performed in public, but this club, commonly known as “The Haunt,” managed to stay secret from the human authorities, partly because of the mysterious Shroud. No one knew where it came from other than it had been spoken about for generations. But also, due to the remote location in a forest a long way from human habitation, not even near any werewolf homes, it had been possible to stay secret. He chuckled to himself. “Deer Park” was a misnomer as there weren’t any deer there, not where wolves lived.
This venue was necessary as it was the only place he knew of where werewolves like he could act out their darker BDSM needs, ones that were frowned on even within the wolf community. Of course, they could go to a human club offering this lifestyle in a town or city, but none of them could turn into their animal selves there.
Shaking his head, he chuckled at the image of human Doms peeing in their pants at the sight of a werewolf sub turning wolf as he whipped her. And, in any case, wolf BDSM sometimes differed from that practiced by humans, being more violent, more exposed. One big difference was that sex in public was not only allowed here, but expected. If someone wanted to be private, they went to their own homes.
He could never understand why the clubs he visited in the city had “private” rooms. If one was into the lifestyle, that indicated a certain degree of exhibitionism, surely. It was only laws, human ones, which forced people with his type of sexual inclination to consummate their acts behind closed doors. Thankfully he wasn’t human.
Narrowing his eyes, Griff studied the girl more closely now that her shock was dissipating. At first she looked like she was going to turn tail and run out of there. In fact, the few humans that had ventured over the threshold had done just that, and she was obviously human. Apart from the warning of the Shroud, he could smell her from here. Like wolves, he could smell another animal a mile away, and she had an almost alien scent. It was amazing to him that humans didn’t have stronger olfactory senses or they would have realized centuries ago that werewolves really existed. He may be part human, but Griff was very much aware that all werewolves had a unique scent like every other animal.
Looking at the girl, he deemed that she was average height and figure for a human. Lupine women were generally taller and leaner than their human counterparts. But what stood out was her glorious red hair, dark red, not the pale, wishy-washy blonde red that he personally disliked. It fell over her shoulders, gently curling at the ends.
His cock surged up in desire. “Down boy,” he growled softly. There was no way he was getting involved with a human. In fact, most wolves stayed clear of the human species. Apart from the threat of exposure, it was too much trouble as couplings of this nature generally split up, the human being unable to accept the animal side of a werewolf’s nature. Not that these sorts of relationships happened very often. The Shroud made sure of that.
The girl still hesitated in the doorway. He could tell from her expression that she was undecided about entering. Not surprisingly considering the hostile vibes that were being emitted from around the room in her direction. He was stunned when she steeled herself and came forward. Admittedly she walked slowly, but she did step into the lion’s den, or more appropriately, the wolves’. Griff mentally sent a nod of applause in her direction. It took guts to come into a venue like this, even more so if one was a different species. Not that she knew that.
He watched curiously as she glanced around. He wondered if she was looking for someone specifically but decided probably not when the first person she approached gave her the cold shoulder turning his back on her. Her shock was evident, and she vacillated, looking down at something she held. Griff shifted on his feet to see what it was and noted it seemed to be a piece of paper. Lifting her head, she tried another person. He didn’t reject her, just glared at her, and Griff saw her step back. Her expression was getting anxious.
Uh-oh.
Griff saw her looking in his direction. Breaking eye contact, he leaned his head back to tip some more of his vodka down his throat hoping to show his disinterest.
It didn’t work. She walked up to him.
Hell!
“Um, excuse me, s–sir. Can you tell me where I am supposed to go?” Her voice was surprisingly deep—and husky. She sounded almost wolf-like. His cock throbbed in his tight jeans at the alluring sound, and he had to alter his stance to relieve some of the ache. He tried to concentrate on what she had said instead.
Go? What did she mean?
He must have been showing his confusion on his face because she thrust her piece of paper toward him. Frowning, he reluctantly took possession of it, scanning it quickly, wanting to get rid of her despite his arousal.
“Submissive Trials,” it said.
What on earth?
It wasn’t the suggestion that submissive trials would take place in this venue. In fact, they often did as wolves as much as humans had their Masters, Doms, subs, and switches, but how on earth had she got a copy of the notice?
He rested an elbow on the bar as he glanced at her face again. Her green eyes showed her earnestness. He smiled as a wicked thought came over him, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to set the cat among the pigeons. Talk about throwing the poor girl to the wolves. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.
Raising his voice so he could be heard by everyone, he called out loudly in the direction of the bartender, a tall, closely cropped fair guy, built like a lumberjack who had been with the venue forever, it seemed. “Hey, Al.”
Griff’s deep voice reverberated around the room.
“Where are the Submissive Trials taking place tonight?”
He paused as he waited to get everyone’s attention and grinned as hush descended and all eyes glanced his way. Some were horrified, some indifferent, but most were intrigued to see where he was going with this. Oh, he did like to mix things up when he could. It was entirely too boring at the moment.
Al gave him a look of “mess with me and you’re toast.” Griff just tilted his head to the side and gave him a broad smile. It was the smile he used when he was thoroughly enjoying a joke at someone else’s expense.
“Why do you want to know? Weren’t you banned from the trainees’ room?” Al’s voice was low, obviously wanting to keep the conversation between themselves. Griff laughed to himself. No chance of that happening.
He raised his voice even louder and lifted his glass to indicate the human. “We’ve got a new girl wanting to join in.”
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