Bewitched by Their Mate [Feral 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Page 6

  Hewitt made no move to join them. He just closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, watching in silence. Even so, Mason could feel his witch’s arousal echoing inside him. He was not surprised when he saw Hewitt undo his pants and release his beautiful prick from its confines.

  Simply the sight of it was enough to push Mason over the edge. With another thrust against Devon’s sweat-slick body, he came, barely managing to suppress the urge to sink his fangs into Devon’s shoulder. If he did that, he would be unable to keep himself from completing their bond, from claiming Hewitt, too.

  Wet heat splashed against his stomach as Devon found his peak as well. Mason held the other feral through the shudders of the afterglow, all the while watching Hewitt jacking himself off slowly. He beckoned Hewitt closer with the crook of a finger. “Don’t you want me to help you with that?”

  Hewitt grinned. “I like that idea.”

  He made his way to the couch while Devon and Mason pushed away from each other. Hewitt knelt at their feet, licking every drop of cum from their stomachs and their spent cocks. Unsurprisingly, Mason’s body responded, his cock hardening again.

  Mason pulled his mate into his lap, groaning at the feel of Hewitt’s tight ass against his prick. The temptation to take Hewitt again felt strong, and so did the need to claim him. He gripped Hewitt’s hips, and instantly noticed his mate tensing up. His heart fell as he realized his mate was in pain, and his arousal began to fade.

  Mason took a deep breath. He knew he needed to approach the possibility of a discussion with the spirit wolves. Gently, he pushed his mate away. “Sorry. Maybe later.”

  Hewitt frowned. “All right. What’s the matter?”

  “Devon and I have been talking,” Mason answered. “Perhaps we should reach out to the spirit wolves after all.”

  “You meant to call Dietrich,” Devon added. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

  Hewitt arched a brow. “What brought this on? I thought you didn’t want to talk to them.” When they didn’t answer, realization seemed to dawn. “I see. You don’t know how to approach this…relationship.”

  For a few moments, they all remained quiet, until Hewitt finally broke the thick silence. “I trust Dietrich. He won’t betray me. But I can’t guarantee the spirit wolves would do the same. Should we try anyway?”

  “I don’t believe we have much choice,” Devon said.

  Hewitt nodded. “In the end, it’s only a matter of time until the spirit wolves here report in to Wolfram.”

  Hewitt got up and retrieved his cell phone. Mason waited while Hewitt dialed his friend’s number. The phone rang a couple of times, and after a few moments, a male voice replied. “Hi, Hewitt. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Dietrich. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Dietrich chuckled. “Not at all.” His voice turned more serious, even concerned. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve been receiving some surprising visitors these days,” Hewitt replied. “They seemed to be very interested in my connection with you.”

  At the other side of the line, Dietrich cursed. “Are you all right? I just knew something like this would happen.”

  “It’s fine,” Hewitt answered. “I can take care of myself. I’ve already talked with your people here in London. We just needed your input on an issue. “

  “We?” Dietrich repeated inquiringly. “You and who else?”

  Hewitt didn’t get the chance to reply, as Wolfram’s voice replaced Dietrich’s at the other side of the connection. “Hello, Hewitt. What’s going on? Were you attacked by ferals?”

  “Again, don’t worry about me. I just needed some information.”

  “What are you hiding, Hewitt?” Wolfram growled.

  Mason hated the tone the Magistrate used with his mate. Furious, he snatched the phone from Hewitt. He took a deep breath and focused to keep control of the beast that was very close to bursting out of him. The recent events set him on the edge, and Wolfram’s voice brought back vivid memories he hated and feared at the same time.

  “Hello, Magistrate,” he greeted his former leader. “I hear you’ve been busy.”

  For a few seconds, Wolfram didn’t answer. “Mason?” he asked at last. “Is that you?”

  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Devon replied. “And yet, nothing’s really changed. You’re still the same arrogant, bossy bastard. Do you really think you can change the world?”

  “You don’t know until you try,” Wolfram replied. “Mason, surely you understand why I’m trying to do this. So many people have suffered. So many have died, mates and children lost.”

  Mason chuckled bitterly, remembering all too well the way he himself lost his family. “Indeed. But we didn’t contact you for that. I hear you came up with a way to claim your mates, some sort of miracle to help the ferals. We’d be interested in what you have to say.”

  “Truly?” Wolfram sounded skeptical. “Very well. It’s like this. We finally found a way to control the virus. It might not be perfect, but it can help us all.”

  Mason’s anger just increased. “How could a drug possibly help? How can it erase the past? You’re a fool, Magistrate. Either that, or you’re a fucking liar and a traitor.”

  To Mason’s mind, both were equally possible. At the other side of the connection, Wolfram took a deep breath. “I know I’ve disappointed many people, including you. But you asked Hewitt to contact me for a reason. So whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  Mason hated to admit the other man had a point. “Fine,” he growled. “But this changes nothing, Magistrate.”

  Hewitt intervened before the conversation could deteriorate any further. “Could I suggest a meeting?” he asked, his gaze holding Mason’s pleadingly. “Here, at The Witching Hour, on neutral ground.”

  In spite of Hewitt not actually having the phone, Wolfram still heard him. “Very well,” the Magistrate answered. “We can be there by tomorrow, at this hour.”

  Mason could do nothing else but agree. The call ended, and he was left staring flabbergasted at his mate. “Why did you do that?”

  Hewitt cocked his head at Mason inquiringly. “What do you mean? You wanted to meet up with the Magistrate. This place is safer than any other suggestions the spirit wolves might make.”

  Mason supposed his mate was right, but even as he thought so, Wolfram’s words finally registered. The spirit wolves would come tomorrow. What would he and Devon do until then? They couldn’t stay here with Hewitt, that much seemed clear. They would be unable to keep themselves from claiming their mate.

  Obviously sharing his fear, Devon sighed and reached for his clothes. Their pants had survived the flurry of passion, and Mason watched with regret as all that gorgeous flesh was covered up.

  Sighing, Devon looked at Hewitt. “I hate leaving you, Hewitt, but until the Magistrate shows up, I’m afraid I’m going to have to.” He shared a look with Mason. “And so is Mason.”

  Hewitt gave them both confused looks. “But why?”

  “Because we both desperately need to claim you, and that would only harm you.” Mason rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Believe me, the last thing I’d have wanted to do is to ask for that prick’s help, but there is no other way.”

  After a brief pause, Hewitt nodded. “All right. I understand. Go. But stay safe. Other ferals might not be happy about you cooperating with Wolfram. And who knows what else is out there?”

  Personally, Mason didn’t fear the things that went bump in the night. He considered himself scarier than anything that could attack him. What frightened him was that someone might seize the moment and attempt to hurt Hewitt. This brought the three of them to a vicious circle. If he and Devon stayed, they would not be able to control themselves, and they’d end up hurting the witch. If they left, one of their numerous enemies might do something worse.

  As if guessing his thoughts, Hewitt offered Mason and Devon a small smile. “Don’t worry about me. The w
ards around The Witching Hour are very strong. I can protect myself.”

  Of that, Mason had no doubt. Hewitt had held his own against both him and Devon, not to mention the other feral who’d come here purely to cause trouble. Still, possessiveness came naturally to spirit wolves and was even more intense in ferals. His urge to stay by Hewitt’s side was only matched by the one he sensed coming from Devon.

  Sadly, they had no other choice but to go with their previous thought. Leashing the beast inside him as best he could, Mason brushed a brief kiss against Hewitt’s lips. Devon did the same, his entire being irradiating need and frustration.

  The witch wasn’t immune to their emotions, even if their bond hadn’t been completed. He looked visibly pained when he spoke again. “We’ll see each other soon.”

  The words seemed to be meant both as a promise but also as a self-encouragement, as if Hewitt was trying to convince himself their departure would truly be something temporary. It pained Mason deeply to know he and Devon were the reason of Hewitt’s uncertainty and yes, his sorrow. But for the moment, they had no other options. They’d just have to find a compromise.

  “We will,” Devon confirmed. “Once the spirit wolves get here, we’ll meet and find a permanent solution.”

  “How will you even know when they’ll come?” Hewitt inquired, a tinge of confusion and apprehension in his eyes.

  “We’ll know,” Mason replied simply.

  Even if they hadn’t completed their bond, Hewitt was still Mason and Devon’s mate. The witch’s feelings still reached out to them both. Besides, Mason had no intention of leaving the city or anything like that. The best thing he could do right now was to keep a reasonable distance from Hewitt and watch him from afar.

  Mason shared a look with Devon and saw the same knowledge in the other feral’s eyes. He forced himself to turn away from Hewitt, and without allowing himself to hesitate further, he rushed out of the office and into the main club. From there, he burst out into the street with Devon following right behind him. Every step he took away from Hewitt was harder than the previous one, but Mason forced himself to keep going. He would rather die than allow his feral nature to hurt Hewitt.

  “So what now?” Devon asked him once they were a safe distance away from the club. “I’m guessing we need to find a place to stay somewhere around here.”

  Mason nodded, his mind already working even as his beast strained to break free. “Come on,” he told Devon. “I think I know a place where we can crash.”

  Devon wordlessly followed, and Mason couldn’t help but be thankful that he had the other feral by his side. He’d never in his life thought that he would ever feel something like this, not for another of his own kind, but there was no denying that Devon and he fit together. All three of them did, in a way Mason would have never dreamed would be possible for a feral.

  His mate smiled at him, obviously guessing what Mason was thinking. “Lead the way,” he told Mason. “I’m right behind you.”

  There were so many things Mason wanted to say, but he’d never been one for effusive romantic declarations. Instead, he gestured his mate in the direction of the small, discreet hotel he knew in the area. In spite of the time he’d been away, it hadn’t gone bankrupt. Mason had caught a glimpse of it while he’d been on his way to the club.

  As they walked in silence, questions riddled Mason’s mind. What would the spirit wolves bring with them? Mason still didn’t trust Wolfram, and having to put his fate in the Magistrate’s hands irked him greatly. He only hoped this time he would find understanding, and not betrayal, among those who were supposed to be his kin.

  Chapter Five

  Hewitt struggled to make sense of the numbers on the paper, but it was pointless. The most recent financial report of The Witching Hour seemed to mock him, the stats and figures blurring in his vision. He felt restless, the absence of his two lovers like a physical ache. Even the presence of his normal customers bothered him. He could sense them as they passed through his wards, and it irritated him to no measure. Under normal circumstances, he had no problem with it, but today, he couldn’t focus for the life of him.

  The spirit wolves of London had briefly been here during his absence and taken away the feral who’d attacked him. Others like that man might be out there, but Hewitt wasn’t too worried about being assaulted again. What did concern him was not knowing what to do about Mason and Devon.

  With an irritated sigh, Hewitt abandoned the report on the table and looked at the clock. It was quite late already. Hewitt got up, deciding there was no point in trying to do any work today. No matter how much he tried to think about something else, his mind always returned to Devon and Mason.

  But how could he possibly forget about the two ferals? Their appearance in his life had been so unexpected and, in a way, devastating. They’d swept aside everything Hewitt had considered true and certain. Hewitt’s world had always struggled within shades of gray, but now, the lines between good and bad, friend and enemy, had been blurred so much that he simply couldn’t figure out which path to take.

  At the same time, Devon and Mason reached out to a part of him Hewitt had never even realized existed. When they touched him, Hewitt forgot about everything else except taking them inside his body, being claimed and claiming in return.

  Just the memory of what they’d done made Hewitt’s prick harden. Groaning, Hewitt left his seat and sat on the couch. He undid his zipper, reaching into his underwear to grip his own shaft. At the same time, he lifted his shirt and pinched his nipple, releasing a soft gasp as pleasure coursed through him. In his head, it was not his own hands pleasuring him, but those of his mates. Devon and Mason. So wild, so untamed, so passionate. Perfect for Hewitt, and everything he’d ever dreamed before he’d even realized it.

  He swept his thumb over the head of his cock, toying with the slit and losing himself in the sensation. Generous amounts of pre-cum already leaked from the tip, and Hewitt used it to move his hand up and down his shaft. How he wished his lovers were here. Even if they’d just met, he felt them so close to his heart, as if they’d known each other forever.

  Pleasure gathered in his balls, and Hewitt increased the speed of his strokes. He was just moments away from orgasm when, all of a sudden, he felt something was very wrong. His arousal died as his wards started to scream at him, Danger.

  As quickly as he could, Hewitt arranged his clothing and shot to his feet. Hastily, he left his office and ran into the main club. He was almost instantly struck by an even worse feeling of doom. The blinding lights of the club suddenly seemed ominous. From the direction of the club’s entrance, Hewitt sensed an incoming presence, one of pure evil.

  Screams started sounding in the area as foul beasts invaded the first level of the club. They moved so quickly that Hewitt couldn’t even tell what they were. He just saw a blur of bowlegged, humanoid creatures scattering about like cockroaches. The electrical equipment faltered under their assault, and the music stopped. It only made the cacophony of shouts sound louder, and the grotesque symphony of cries was made even worse by the inarticulate screeching and grunting coming from the creatures.

  Hewitt’s guards tried to fend the attackers off, but they were simply outnumbered and overpowered. Furious, Hewitt focused on his wards and summoned the magic within him. He called upon the elements that always did his bidding and ordered them to destroy the things that had invaded his home.

  To his surprise, the beasts were not deterred in the slightest by the spell. It did, however, have the effect of drawing their attention toward Hewitt. “There you are,” one of them said.

  As they rushed toward him, Hewitt at last managed to put a name to his foe. Their misshapen forms, sallow skin, and wide, fanged mouths reminded Hewitt of the nightmarish descriptions he’d once read in his most-ancient tomes. The only thing that came close to their disgusting appearance was the orcs.

  Hewitt had thought them to be a legend. Humans had quite an imagination, and while oftentimes they hit
the nail on the head with regards to some paranormals, more often than not, superstitions could be just that. But these creatures were definitely flesh and blood, and they were right here, with Hewitt, coming toward him.

  Struggling to keep a calm head, Hewitt tried another, even more powerful spell. His eyes widened when the first orc just grinned at him and licked his lips. “That won’t work on me, pretty,” it said.

  Fuck. That had never happened to Hewitt, not once in his entire existence. Having mastered the magic of the aether, Hewitt was one of the most powerful witches in the world. The energies of the sun and the moon were at his disposal, unending sources of energy he could use at his beck and call. And yet, no matter how much he tried, his spells didn’t work on the orcs. They kept coming at him, and there was nothing he could to stop them.

  In a final desperate attempt, Hewitt ordered the floor to move, sending the creatures falling into the ground. They were very agile, but Hewitt managed to trap a good number of the creatures. As he closed the ground over them, though, more came at him. He heard the captured orcs screeching below, clawing their way back to the surface, while their companions continued advancing toward him, undeterred in their pursuit.

  Hewitt knew he didn’t have much time. The good news was that they seemed to be after him, so they’d left the customers and the guards alone. The bad news was...well, the same as the good news, really.

  In his long life, Hewitt had learned many things. He’d long ago realized that sometimes, discretion was the better part of valor. While he’d have liked to stay and defend his home, he preferred to live to fight another day. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared to face this threat, and he knew better than to try to face a swarm of orcs when they seemed immune to his magic.

  He could, however, use the various items in the club as weaponry. They couldn’t oppose blunt force and the laws of physics. But first, he just needed to draw them out of here, pull them away from the injured, and grant the rest of the people a chance to escape.

  Turning on his heel, Hewitt fled back up the stairs. He heard them following, but he kept his head. They were faster, so Hewitt had to get to his car, or else he was toast. Using various spells, he sent all sorts of objects toward his pursuers, hoping to at least slow them down.