Colton's Dilemma (Shadow Breeds)

  Colton’s Dilemma

  Shadow Breeds Series, #1

  By Dara Nelson

  Colton’s Dilemma

  Shadow Breeds Series, #1

  By Dara Nelson

  Acknowledgements

  For my readers – I do this for you, always.

  And for my wonderful family & friends– thank you for all of your support, encouragement and love.

  Also by the author:

  The Link – Pearl Vampire Chronicles #1

  The Recruiters – Pearl Vampire Chronicles #2

  Malina’s Revenge – Pearl Vampire Chronicles #3

  The Return of Jonas – Pearl Vampire Chronicles #4

  Love’s Challenge – Pearl Vampire Chronicles #5

  Sekhmet’s Curse-Pearl Vampire Chronicles #6

  www.daranelson.com

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Caution – Contains some adult subject matter. May not be suitable for younger readers. Parental discretion is advised.

  Colton’s Dilemma © Copyright 2013 Dara J. Nelson. All rights reserved.

  ISBN:978-1610618670

  Chapter 1

  He stared at her as she emerged from the tree line. How the hell had she survived the night? He had heard the wolves on the hunt last night and heard a woman scream. Could this possibly be that same woman? Did those wolves, those pests, actually miss their target? That had never happened as far as he knew. Of course, socializing with what he considered, with a smirk, his monthly nuisance, was absolutely dead last on his list of priorities, or any other list that he might keep for that matter. He hated those damn wolves, but at least they were only around once a month. Now, the Aswangs, those were a real pain the ass. He hated them worse than the wolves. And don’t even get him started about the Abaddon. He’d only encountered one of those in his long life, and one was one too many. A shiver moved down his spine as he remembered that night.

  The woman’s movements outside brought him back to the present and back to the other question that was nagging at his mind: why the hell had he been drawn to the window in the first place? Yes, he had heard the sounds outside, but he heard those same sounds month after month, year after year. No, the sounds were not what had pulled him to the window – and that was what was so confusing. If he weren’t a vampire, he would swear that she had drawn, or compelled as they say in the human world, him to the window. But compelling a vampire was not possible, at least not that he had ever heard of. So how was it that he had actually lurched forward, like an invisible rope had been lassoed around his mid-section and yanked? He knew it was her, he could sense it getting stronger the closer she got. How the hell was this possible?

  He had no answers right now, so instead he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and kept watching. She stumbled forward out of the trees and tried to peer through the thick fog. He gasped slightly at her ragged appearance – her hair was covered with mud and hung wildly down her shoulders, her blouse was mostly shredded just below the breast line, she was barefoot and limping noticeably, her pants were torn, she had blood dripping down her forehead, arms and legs, from what he hoped were just cuts from her escape and not from the wolves. He cringed at the thought that they very easily could be from the wolves.

  The fog dissipated slightly and she caught her first glimpse of his formidable abode. Relief turned to fear as she studied the monstrosity. He smiled slightly – that had been his first reaction to it too. I mean, not only was it huge and, well, creepy looking, but it was ten miles outside of New Orleans, it was ten miles from anything. Why would anybody put a house out here – in the middle of nowhere? Why would anybody choose to live here? Why did he?

  “I like my privacy,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. Oh, who was he fooling? This house chose him….but that’s a story for another time.

  She gingerly took a few more steps toward the house. It had to be an imposing, awesome sight: an enormous, obviously well-cared for, but incredibly dark and sinister old mansion. The only lights on in the place were for his faithful servant, Hansen, and those were few and far between. He figured that she would probably assume that nobody was home and so she’d keep going. Instead, she captivated him by taking a few more steps towards him. Was she insane? Didn’t she see that this house just screamed, “Go Away!”? Another few steps brought her even closer. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. He could even hear the blood slowly oozing out of the numerous cuts on her body, especially the head wound. The head wound was big. He took a deep breath through his nose, sniffing hard. Oh yes, he could smell her now. The blood smelled divine, but it was mixed with too much fear. He didn’t like the taste of fear. He preferred to take his victims by surprise – by sneaking up behind them, or by their invitation – which happened a lot more often than you might think – so that there wasn’t the taste of fear in their blood.

  She turned, as if she had re-thought her decision to go to the house, and took a few hesitant steps toward the right side yard. She stopped again and looked back at the house. He could see that she was completely exhausted. She looked about ready to collapse as she stood there trying to decide what to do. He was trying to figure out why he almost seemed to want her to come to the house. A visitor, an unwanted guest, was the last thing he needed or wanted. But he found himself holding his breath as he watched her.

  “Sir?” Hansen said as he quietly appeared by his side. They knew each other so well by now, that a few words spoken here or there was all they ever needed to say.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said as he sighed.

  Suddenly his eyes were drawn back to the trees as he heard the wolves howl. They had picked up her scent again. She heard it too. Her eyes went wide as her head whipped back to the trees and then she quickly made her decision. She ran the last few yards to the porch, stumbled up the door, collapsed to her knees and began pounding on the door.

  Hansen looked at him questioningly.

  “Damn it, now they’ll know she’s here.” He took a split-second to make his decision. “Let her in and tear her shirt off. I’ll take it out and leave her scent from here to the river. Hopefully they’ll think she fell in. Hurry, quickly!” he said as he pushed Hansen towards the door.

  Hansen unbolted the three deadbolts, turned the knob, and she collapsed into his arms as she whispered, “Please help me.” She went limp in his arms as she lost consciousness. Hansen froze. He looked up at him, “Sir?” he said.

  Frustrated at Hansen’s lack of action, he quickly tore her shirt off himself. He turned as he stepped out onto the porch, “Bolt the door then take her up to my room. Quick man, move!” he said as he slammed the door shut. He waited just long enough to hear one deadbolt click into place then he ran off the end of the porch and around the side of the house, letting her blouse periodically touch the ground and bushes as he ran past them. He didn’t worry about his own scent – they couldn’t smell him. He could hear the pounding of the wolves’ feet behind him, he could hear their panting breaths, but he knew that they were far enough behind him that they couldn’t see him. And he also knew that he left no scent for them to trace. He quickly closed the seven miles to the river. He chose a branch down by the water line to impale the blouse on it: hopefully those mutts will think she fell in and drowned. He circled the long way back around, emerging on the other side of the house about an hour later. He sneered as he heard the wolves howl in angry defeat as they reached the river – his ruse mus
t have worked, for now.

  Hansen opened the door for him when he stepped onto the porch, “You are unharmed, Sir?” he said.

  He smiled. Hansen’s sense of humor always made him smile. “Yes I am unharmed,” he said, “The woman?”

  “Asleep in your bed. I’m afraid I will have to burn those sheets, she smells atrocious. I’ll never be able to get that smell out.”

  “She’s been running from the wolves all night, Hansen. What did you expect her to smell like? Roses?” he said.

  “I expect her to not smell like anything, because I expect her to not be here. She will be going away soon, won’t she Sir?”

  “Yes, Hansen. As soon as she’s well enough to leave, she’ll be gone. Until then, try to play nice, won’t you?” he said, smiling. Hansen meant well – but he guarded their privacy almost as intensely as he did.

  Hansen rolled his eyes. “Will you need anything more from me tonight, Sir?”

  “No, that is all. Thank you, Hansen, and goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Sir,” Hansen said as he turned and made his way down the hall to his own room.

  He stood for a few minutes in the dark, unsure of what to do. His eyes moved up the stairs. She was up there, sleeping, in his bed. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He could go out for the night – find a few tasty morsels at one of the clubs or bars. But he had fed, quite amply, the last few nights. He’d be okay if he stayed in tonight, and for some reason he wanted to be here in case she woke up. He snickered as he thought if – God forbid she were to wake up with only Hansen here in the house, good luck getting any kind of help from him. But what should he do? Should he stay downstairs? He knew he’d hear her down here. But for some reason, he wanted to be able to see her too. He felt like that was important. He moved slowly up the stairs, much slower than he could have. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the doorknob. The door opened silently and he slipped inside. He wrinkled his nose at the stench coming off of her, boy, Hansen wasn’t kidding. He ducked into the bathroom to grab a bowl with warm water, a washcloth and some first aid supplies. He’d been a doctor, once upon a time, sort of, among other things, so he thought he should tend to her wounds. He hadn’t practiced in a long time, but he had three medical degrees and two law degrees – might as well put one of them to good use – obtained throughout the years to assist in whatever way that he could in leading his men, of course field dressing, battle wounds and court tribunals hardly compared to what he was dealing with at the moment.

  He began with her head would. He cleaned the wound as best as he could then he turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed a magnifying glass. Looking closely, he studied the wound. After studying the jagged edges and the indentation in the middle, he was confident that the wound was from a fall, probably onto a rock or something. He proceeded to inject a numbing agent into it so that he could stitch it up. While he waited the few minutes for the medicine to take effect, he glanced down at her face. It was a face filled with so much emotion he thought it might burst – pain, fear, beauty, peacefulness, love – everything was written all over her face. He forced his eyes away – he had to complete his exam. He was looking for bite marks, or scratches. Bites were bad – they would mean that she would turn at the next full moon. Scratches were worse, much worse. If you were only scratched by a werewolf and not bitten – you would turn at the first full moon, but not a full transformation into a wolf. You became this horrible mass of half-human, half-dog, in complete agony and never able to turn back. Nothing ever survived that. You get scratched, you writhe around in agony on the floor for several hours until your body can’t take it anymore. He knew: he’d seen it happen once. He squeezed his eyes shut at the painful memory. He tossed the covers off of her and whispered, “I’m sorry, but I have to check,” as he slid his hands behind her back to unhook her bra. He slid it off of her arms and tossed it on the floor as he tried not to stare at her beautiful, round breasts. He was just a doctor examining her, after all. But he was a doctor who was used to examining men on the field of battle with limbs torn off, deep gashes, and while there were some women in his army, on the field of battle he never saw them that way, they were just wounded soldiers – this was different. And now was different because he had been alone for a long time. And now was different because he was also a man, a man who had denied himself the company of a beautiful woman for many, many years. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it just sort of happened that way. He preferred his solitude at the moment, at least after her – and his men, mostly in Scotland but some scattered throughout the world, all understood the reasons for his self-imposed exile – they understood and they waited patiently until he contacted them once again – which they knew would happen eventually, once his heart had had enough time to mend. They all knew utter devastation that had been unleashed upon his heart – something that took years, decades, to recover from. So, he preferred his solitude, at least he thought he did until there was a beautiful, half-naked woman lying in his bed. He shook his head slightly to try to clear it then he began examining the scratches on her arms. None looked like the parallel scratches from claws – they all looked like they were from tree branches as she ran through the forest. She had some bruises on her arms and wrists that confused him, but so far, so good. He leaned over her to exam the other arm. Again, nothing too deep that required stitches and nothing that looked like it was from an animal. As he moved to stand back up, his hand accidently brushed across her right nipple. He inhaled sharply and felt a tingle in his loins. His cock throbbed a few times in his jeans, like a bear beginning to wake up from hibernation. He sighed then grabbed her arm and rolled her onto her side so he could examine her back. Nothing but a few tree branch scratches here too. Good enough, now for the lower half. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the button on her pants. He unzipped them and slid them down her legs, revealing a pair of black lace underwear that forced him to suppress a groan. Once upon a time, he had really appreciated a woman who wore sexy lingerie. He felt his cock throb again. “Stop it,” he mumbled to himself as he moved down to the end of the bed and pulled her torn pants off at her feet. He began his exam at her feet. Her left ankle looked swollen and bruised, sprained for sure, possible broken. And it was very painful, he noticed, since she groaned in her sleep when he touched it. “Sorry,” he whispered as he gently set it back on the bed. He went to his bag and pulled out a bandage then he wrapped the ankle as carefully as he could. He continued his exam – up her left leg until it reached the crest of her firm buttocks, then down the right. She had a gash on the right calf that he would need to stitch up, but still no bites or claw marks. He rolled her onto her side again then reached into this bag for another needle. As he injected the numbing agent into the cut, something caught his eye – on her left butt cheek, just at the panty line. Was that a bruise, he thought? He reached up and gently pulled her underwear down enough to reveal the bruise, and groaned. It was a bite mark. But something about it looked odd. He grabbed his magnifying glass and gently rolled her onto her stomach so he could get a better look. That was when he saw the dried blood on the inside of her thighs. “What the hell?” he whispered. He looked closely at the bite – it didn’t penetrate the skin, it was more of a bruise, and it looked almost human, almost but not quite. His eyes moved to the dried blood on the insides of her thighs. Sighing, he spread her legs apart slightly then he carefully slid his fingers underneath the thong that ran through the crack of her ass and up to her slit, and pulled it to the side. One quick glance confirmed his suspicions – there was definite tearing, she had been raped. “Fucking animals,” he growled. That was when it began to dawn on him what must have happened to her. The scoundrel wolf-man must have been raping her when he began to transform. That would explain the bruises he saw on her arms and throat. He must have tried to bite her, but it was before he had fully transformed. What kind of a sick fucker would do that? Rape a woman on the night he was going to transform. Was that what they did now? Rape them
and then kill them right away? He felt the wolves were a minor annoyance before. But they left him alone and he left them alone. Up until now that had been a satisfactory arrangement. Now his blood boiled at the thought of them – they were a menace and it was time for them to go. He quietly stitched up her leg as his anger grew at the thought of what had been done to this poor woman. He used the rest of the warm water to clean her up as best as he could, including gently cleaning the dried blood from beneath her panties. He was trying to save her from as much trauma as he could when she woke up. “Nobody’s going to hurt you ever again,” he whispered. He rolled her gently back onto her back and slid the panties off of her – she didn’t need the dried blood on them as a reminder of what had happened to her. He dipped the washcloth into the warm water once more and spread her legs apart. He sat on the bed between her legs and moved the wash cloth towards her folds. He hesitated slightly as he looked at it. Should he really be doing this? He looked down at her – she had waxed her hair into a single strip that led down to her clit, and what little hair remained in that strip was neatly trimmed. This was a woman who took pride in her appearance and cleanliness. She would want to be cleaned up. He pressed the warm cloth onto her full lips, waiting a few moments for the dried blood to loosen up before he began wiping. He wiped first the left side, then the right. As he wiped down the middle, from her clit to her ass, he couldn’t help himself from admiring how beautiful her sex looked as the moisture glistened on it in the moonlight. Suddenly she moaned in her sleep. He quickly pulled his hand away like he had been burned. He stood up from the bed and quickly gathered up his supplies – his medical bag and the basin with the washcloth. – and set them on the nightstand. As he tried to bend over to grab the comforter, that’s when he noticed it – his cock was wide awake now and it was rock hard and straining painfully against his jeans. He couldn’t chance being this sensitive when he was around her – so he decided to take a quick shower. He grabbed his bag and the bowl and made his way to the bathroom. He dumped the dirty water, rinsed out the bowl, dried it and put it in the cabinet underneath the sink. Then he rinsed the washcloth out and squeezed it dry as best as he could before he tossed it into the hamper. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the linen closet and hung it next to the sink. His medical bag went onto the bottom shelf of the linen closet. He peeled of his clothes, stopping to stare for a moment at his rock hard cock. A few drops of pre-cum dropped onto the rug at his feet. Too long, he thought to himself for the first time in a long time, he had gone too long without a woman’s touch. He silently cursed himself for allowing things to go so long that he couldn’t even be in the same room with a woman without getting a hard on. He sighed as he grabbed another washcloth and stepped into the shower. The bathroom was one of his favorite places in this house – it was one of the few rooms he had allowed himself to modernize. The shower was huge – big enough for several people if that need were to ever arise – with no door and jets throughout, ready to relieve any kind of stress you might have. And if a shower with jets wasn’t what you needed, there was a giant soaking tub in the corner complete with jets and bubbles, or if you so desired, you could relax in the sauna in the other corner. Any spa owner would be jealous in this bathroom. He knew that taking care of himself this way wouldn’t completely alleviate his desire – that could only be accomplished with biting during sex – but it would help lessen it, a little. He pressed the buttons to start the shower, choosing to use only the upper spray jets – the lower ones might feel nice but they would eliminate the soap that he needed to accomplish his task. As he squeezed soap onto the washcloth and began to lather it up, his cock ached for immediate release, but he knew that if he went too fast, if he came too quickly, his desire would be back by the time he climbed out of the shower – and that wouldn’t be good. He moved the soapy cloth down to his balls and groaned at the spasm of pleasure that shot through his body. His cock ached to be touched, “Not yet,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. As he massaged his balls, he felt his fangs drop – oh how he wished he could plunge them in somebody’s neck and taste their sweet elixir right now. He moved the cloth from his balls to the base of his shaft, careful to not tighten his grip. He moaned and braced his left arm onto the shower wall as the cloth slowly moved from the base, down his shaft on the underneath side of his cock, around the tip and then back down the shaft on the top side. His legs wobbled slightly. He silently cursed himself for neglecting his needs for so long. His cock screamed at him to grab it but he held back. He gently ran the wash cloth over it a few more times. His throbbing was pounding in his ears. His entire body shook at the need for impending release. He could wait no more. He gripped the soft cloth tight around his shaft and groaned. He needed both hands for this. The hot water coursed down his back as he began to slowly stroke the length of his shaft. He pressed his forehead to the shower wall as his left hand came down to cup his balls. He could feel the impending climax reaching for him like a wave to the shore. He deliberately slowed his hand to force it back. He knew that he needed to bring himself to that precipice several times before he allowed it to flow over him – the climax would be much larger and the satisfaction would last longer. Over and over he brought himself to the edge only to back off once again. Finally, as his left knee tried to collapse from underneath him, he knew it was time. He dropped the cloth to the shower floor – he needed to feel skin on skin for this, even if it was his own skin. His dark eyes flew open as he watched his hand close tightly around the shaft and start to move towards the tip. His tongue moved up to his fang and he allowed himself to pierce it. The blood flowed into his mouth and he groaned. It wasn’t the same as someone else’s blood, but it would do for tonight. He felt the monster wave as it approached. His body shivered in anticipation. He sucked the blood from his tongue as his orgasm finally hit, watching as he exploded onto the shower wall, pulse after pulse of hot white cream landing on the tiles. Shivers racked his body as he slowed his hand, milking the final few drops from his still throbbing cock. He was gasping as he finally released his grip. Placing both hands on the shower wall to keep from collapsing, he watched as the thick globs made their way down the wall, onto the shower floor and into the drain. His cock made one final jerk, as if trying to cling to its erect state and scream “I want more” then it began to relax down his leg. “That’ll have to do for now, but I’ll give you more soon, I promise,” he said to it. He climbed out of the shower, dried off then wrapped a towel around his mid-section and walked through his room to his dresser. He pulled a new pair of silk pajama bottoms from the dresser and pulled them on then he settled into the chair in the darkest corner of the room, watching her as she slept.