Dark Moon Gathering
Alison Paige
Chapter One
I smelled the stale beer and chocolate cake long before the park pavilion emerged in dark relief from the blue-green shadows that surrounded it. I raised my muzzle, scenting the air.
Humans; hours ago, their perfumes, their body secretions, still lingered on the air, like the first tinge of meat going bad. They’d left their scent everywhere, like fingerprints. Not that I minded. I’m human too, most of the time.
It was late. The park was empty. I padded onward, eager to finish the game, my paws silent through the short, manicured grass. The pavilion’s floor was concrete and my claws tick-tacked as I crossed. My nose led the way to the cake, following the chocolate-scented footprints to the garbage can at the far end. There it was, a big slice, icing-side down, tread marks squishing the corner flat, the whole of it covered with ants. Gross.
I backed away, running my long tongue around my muzzle, over my nose, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling tickling under my fur. A hard snort shook my whole head and finally blasted my senses clean.
Damn, Mattie Banebridge, you are good. Nearly giddy with the win I gave a sharp yip of a bark, turned and took a running leap onto the wooden picnic table. I raised my head, filled my lungs with night air and sent a high, clear yowl up and out through my throat. The sound pierced the night, echoing off the wood rafters of the pavilion, filtering through the surrounding trees, traveling long and wide. The howl died as my lungs emptied.
God, it felt good, primal, natural. A heavy thud on the picnic table turned me around.
The large honey-blond wolf was double my weight and several inches taller. He moved in near silence. Scary for something so big and potentially deadly. But he was beautiful. A soft thick coat smelled of fresh air, forest and earth, with the faint hint of men’s cologne underneath. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue that looked almost violet in the moonlight. And even in wolf form his lean muscled body made a girl go warm and wet in all her special girl places.
He closed the small distance between us and licked the side of my face behind my eye to my ear, his tongue barely rough enough to feel through my fur. I leaned into him, nuzzling my head under his chin, running my body along his. As solid as a mountain, he didn’t budge, taking the full press of my weight so my fur stroked against him. When I reached his tail my nose tickled with a familiar scent. Arousal.
I dropped my snout; a quick peek between his back legs and my suspicions were confirmed. There, nestled among all that lush fur, wagged his stiff, glistening, pink penis. I wasn’t surprised. A late night run always made me horny as hell, too. But when I felt the cool wet nudge under my tail and then the sudden stroke of his tongue over my pussy and anus, I nearly jumped out of my fur.
Instinct spun me around, teeth bared, a hard snap clenching my mouth. Anthony yipped and jerked backward to avoid my bite. Not fast enough. I was spitting fur from my tongue as he tumbled off the table and landed with a clumsy grunt on the cement floor. His whole body twisted and spun to get his feet under him again. And when he stood I could’ve sworn he was laughing.
I shifted forms, fast and painless. I can shift at a run now, sensing the second before my hands and feet become paws so my stride remains unbroken. It had taken practice, and a lot of tripping ass over head.
Thirty seconds, maybe a minute later, I was sitting on my hip, my legs curled, my arms locked, bracing me. Anthony waited until I finished before he shifted and I couldn’t help watching that pink little penis grow and thicken into a fully erect human cock. It made my thighs cream. No matter how large a guy is, he’s bigger, much bigger, in human form. And Anthony was scary big as a wolf.
Fur receded as though pulled beneath tan, taut flesh until all that remained was a wavy butterscotch mop on his head that brushed his shoulders and the darker thatch that encircled his cock. The body of an athlete, long and lean, broad-shouldered and powerful.
“Not into the fur-on-fur scene, love?” he said the second he was able.
Anthony Ricci wasn’t British; he was Italian. But sometimes he slipped into this weird British accent. I don’t know why—I never asked. Besides, I thought it was kind of cute, sexy even. Most of the time.
“I don’t screw dogs,” I said, rolling onto my butt, shifting my hands to brace behind me on either side. Anthony moved toward me, using the picnic table bench to climb on.
He positioned his long, hard body over top of me, kneeling between my open legs, his hands next to mine, his bearded, scruffy face inches away. “But pet, you were a dog.”
I narrowed my eyes, forced a scowl I didn’t feel. “Do you want to fuck me or poke fun at my hang-ups?”
“Not hang-ups, sweet Mattie. Endearing quirks that make you even more irresistible.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and he leaned close like he’d kiss me. But he didn’t. His warm lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine, waiting. Waiting for me to kiss him. It was one of those unspoken games we played. Who wanted whom more?
Anticipation tightened my nipples, pulling a light tingle through my breasts. Muscles in my sex flexed and a hot rush of liquid flooded between my thighs.
Screw that. I found the cake first. I already won.
“Right.” I sounded almost unaffected. Pretty good, considering. “Stop trying to charm me and start putting that thing to good use before you pass out from lack of blood flow.”
He glanced down his chest to his cock and I snuck a look. Lord, he was even thicker than he’d been when he’d shifted. Ropy veins twisted beneath the darker flesh, the fat head glistening with a small bead of come at the tip. I licked my lips on reflex, wanting to be filled by him in any way.
When he looked back he must’ve seen the need in my eyes and his expression heated to match. His lids sank low over those violet eyes, and his voice came deeper, resonating through my body like the strike of the lowest key on a piano, echoing forever inside me. “Winner’s choice. How do you want me?”
My breath shuddered. I couldn’t help it. Every muscle in my body tightened, heat thrumming through my veins and pooling wet and wanting between my thighs. “I wanna ride you.”
One brow lifted, a crooked smile slanting his mouth. “And so you shall, love.”
He shifted backward and sat, swinging his feet to the bench below, knees spread, cock thick and stiff like the pole of a carousel horse between his muscled thighs. He held out a hand to me. “All aboard.”
My hand in his, I found the bench with my feet and stood. My legs trembled as I shifted around him and placed a foot on the outside of his. He was watching me, our gazes locked, as I straddled him, my hands on his shoulders, fingers squeezing those hard round muscles beneath hot flesh.
His grip tightened on my hips, tugged lightly at my body, encouraging me to lower myself onto his shaft. I resisted. Winner’s choice. His face was chest level—perfect—and I arched my back, offering my breast to his mouth. He dropped his gaze and seemed only then to realize the treat at his lips. His mouth opened, eyes fluttering closed as though the taste and feel of me on his tongue was something to savor.
Hands slipped from my hips to the rounds of my ass; fingers squeezed, pulling me toward him until the damp hairs at my sex crushed against his chest. I knew he must feel my wetness on his skin. With my knees spread wide to accommodate his large lap, my pussy was open against him.
The low moan that vibrated through his chest rumbled into my groin, humming over my clit, and sent a quick shiver of delight racing through my veins. He suckled harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple, teeth nipping and tugging, making my breath catch and my