The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter Two Hundred Thirty-Nine ROSE Every single particle of my being is facing with awareness when Bartlett sitson his lap. The truck we are in is a newer model and definitely roomy enough for the two of us, but when I try to move to grab my own sent, he closes his arms around my body and I'm pressed tightly up against him. For a moment I simply stare at the side of his face. The dark caramel tan that evenly coats his flesh is set off by the brightness in his jewel blue eyes. Thick, dark lashes fan out beneath his brow, much longer than should be considered fair any man to have. The punch of his jawline is barely hidden behind the scruff of his beard. A beard that is the exact smedium shaus of brown as his hair. Like a mingle of butterscotch curls and chocolate, the locks look so soft that I'm dying to run my fingers through them. He is gorgeous even with half of his face covered and for a moment I wonder what he looks like behind all that fuzz.

Tearing my eyes away, my gaze rushes over the winding tattoos that twist up his forearms to disappear beneath his shirt. Peeking out once again along his collarbone and up the back of his neck. I am dying to see the rest of it. I want to know how dark his tattoos are beneath his shirt. What do they represent? What do they mean? Do they stand for something special? Someone special? I want to actually know him.

If I hadn't been in danger when we met, would he have even noticed me? Probably not. But i would have noticed him anywhere.

There is no denying it now. I am one hundred and fifty percent crushing on this handshero that's holding me. The way it feels to have his strong arms banded aroundis bewitching. I can almost pretend that we're a couple. That we're not just simply sexy, tattooed God and boring, average Rose - but we're a unit. A pairing. A man and his woman on their way to the docks.

God, wouldn'tE I that be nice.

Stop being such a dork, Rose.

Pretending? Really? You are eighteen.

And a virgin I doubt that Bartlett would wantsitting here if he knew just how inexperienced I am. It's not just the virgin thing. It's way worse than that. I've never even been kissed or asked on a date or given a valentine or done anything romantic, ever. Never.

As my nerves begin to crawl down from my thoughts, my body tenses and I'm suddenly worried that I may be crushing him beneath my enormous weight. Okay, so Im not that big, but I'm thicker than most. I've definitely been labeled a fatass a tor two.

As the truck rumbles down the hill, the wide expanse of the ocean is revealed and I try to make out any islands that might be out there, but I can't see past the quickly thickening fog. We're close now, I can see boats bobbing on the water and- my God... What is he doing? My heart stutters as a warm demanding hand splits my thighs, massaging and strokingover my jeans. Its Bartlett's hand, I'm sure, it couldn't be anyone else's and I'm too much of a chicken to even look at him. Instead, I simply sit there like a frigid old bird. Or a dead bird, take your pick. Shwashes overas I realize how stupid I must look pretending that I don't know that he's touching me.

In the dark of the cab, with the black suede seating and limo tinted windows, I should feel a bit braver. I should at least have the courage to acknowledge him. But I don't. My breath freezes in my chest, my lungs tightening as I'm suddenly too anxious to breathe. As my cheeks. flush hot and my brow begins to sweat, I wonder how long it will take forto pass out from lack of oxygen.

But then... Bartlett's fingers trace the outline of my slit over the denim of my jeans and air whooshes into my chest as I gasp. A whimper escapes me, my clit pulsing. Beating with enough vigor to have a heartbeat of its very own. Oh my God that feels so good. Much better than when I do it to myself. He isn't even doing much more than tracing the seam of my pants at the center of my mound, but somehow it's enough.

1/3 Fri, Nov Chapter Two Hundred Thirty-Nine Thirty-Ning Nevermind, it's not enough. With every light stroke of his hand he devastates n me, because now I'm starving for more.

My hand claws at his wrist and I hear him inhale sharply before he reaches over to peel my offending fingers from his flesh.

Shit, my bad.

"S-sorry," I whisper sheepishly, lowering my head so that my hair falls over my face like a curtain, hidingfrom his eyes not sure, but I think I hear him growl and I realize for the first tthat he never released my hand. Instead, he guides it toward him, drawing it down to his lap boldly and placing it over the front zipper of his jeans. Something thick and as hard as steel pushes against my palm. As he attempts to close my hand around it, I realize what it is. The tip of his erection and... my God, are they really that big? s to a His fingers between my thighs press harder against my clit and I tremble, my legs separating wantonly as the truck suddenly comes stop. That was quick. Are we there already? My answer comes when someone dips his nose into my hair and 1 feel his lips along my ear. Bartlett's voice is dark and husky when he speaks, "We're here Princess. Now remember what I said before. You are to do every little thing I say. Got it?"

My chest heaves and his hand between my thighs squeezes my sex one last tbefore he releasesto open the back door and step out of the truck. The sky is a dying gray as the sunlight dissipates over the horizon, but somehow it doesn't seem gloomy. Maybe it's the fact that I'm about to head out onto the ocean with my real life knight in shining armor or maybe it's just the atmosphere of this place. I've never been out on a boat before and I'm completely unfamiliar with this town. We're not in Blackjack, that much is clear. We must be further north. As I step out of the truck I glance to the right to spy an entire row of houseboats alight with laughter and love. The clink of wine glasses and the soft warble of music caresses the air around us. The unfamiliar cacophony of engines heading out and coming in, a surprisingly pleasing sound as I spin around in wonder. I like this place. It's... different.

For a moment guilt rides over ine. Stomping my good mood into the ground as I stand there alive, well, and ready for adventure. While Bartlett is talking to Charlie-another little surprise I wasn't expecting - I step toward the wharf. Toward the boats and the people, all careless and carefree as they either hop in their cars to leave or disappear in their watercraft.

What would Rosen say if he knew what I was about to do?

I snort. He'd probably say "Thank God. Although he helpedget recognized by the Elder Few, he never wanted that life forI'm the one who wanted it. I'm the one who loved to hunt. Rosen had never gotten over the way they made him kill Piper, his Golden Retriever. A pet he'd had from the the was small. It's my belief E that he only did it because we'd just gotten the news that she had cancer. She was going to die anyway and she was already suffering. It was a mercy, realht My case was different. Melody was only two years old and slept withalmost every night. When they toldthat I was going to have to hunt her, kill her, my beautiful and loving Siamese Cat, I did something terrible. I went to the pound and found a look-alike. A poor unsuspecting creature that was fooled into thinking she'd just been adopted. On the day of my trials, that cat, which I decided to call Milady, drew her very last breath on her second day of freedom, the very moment I lifted my rifle. Something tellsthat Fl be paying for that little trick before they letto heaven.

Ive sacrificed so much to be one of them. One of the Elder Few. It was my dream. My father's legacy-And here I am just giving it all up. Running away like a coward.

I should be screaming, or raging right about now. If it's true what Bartlett says and my friends really haven't been found in all this time, then they probably never will be. I should be out there looking for them or out there hunting that bitch of a lion, but what am I doing Instead? Heading to an island with the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on to lay low. How utterly selfish of me. That realization is like a knife to the gut.

I have to go back," I say to myself. "I have to go hand face the music. It's the right thing to do."