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  Pleasure Pact

  B. J. McCall

  The Arasani and Chanta wolf packs fought a bloody war over a claim to a sacred mountain. To end the war, a treaty was signed—the Pleasure Pact. Unfriendly neighbors, the packs have honored the treaty for two hundred years. Then fate takes an untraditional turn. The Chanta have a female pack leader and to fulfill the terms of the pact the Arasani must provide a were for two nights of pleasure.

  Fawn Rivers wants Nash Blackthunder, but falling for an Arasani will destroy her dreams of keeping her job. Being the Arasani’s sacrificial were isn’t a duty Nash Blackthunder expected to perform, but serving the Chanta pack leader is a true pleasure.

  Two nights will never be enough, but Fawn and Nash will have to resist the natural forces drawing them together as true mates, while confronting old hatreds and traditions pulling them apart.

  Pleasure Pact

  B.J. McCall

  Chapter One

  “A female pack leader! The idea is absurd!”

  Fawn Rivers expected Elder Clay’s reaction. A traditionalist, Clay resisted change with every fiber of his ninety-year-old body. His long hair was as white as snow and he’d served as an elder for longer than Fawn had been alive.

  “I am the only living direct descendent of Talon the peacemaker,” Fawn said. “Whether we like it or not, time does not stand still and change is inevitable. Packs have always had an alpha female.”

  “To serve at the side of the pack leader,” Elder Clay said. “Damon’s mate would have fulfilled that role.”

  Fawn’s grip on the chair’s arms tightened. She sat before the five pack elders, and if she displayed the least bit of emotion, she’d lose this battle. The recent loss of her only sibling in a car accident had shocked the pack as much as her father’s fatal plane crash last summer. Damon’s loss tore at her heart, but she had to keep her feelings in check.

  How many times had Damon commented that she was better suited for the job of pack leader? The Chanta leader was chosen by bloodline rather than being voted in by the elders as was the tradition in most wolf packs. Talon’s blood ran in her veins, which was more than could be said for any of the elders sitting before her.

  “Like my brother, I am of Talon’s bloodline,” Fawn said. “I worked at my father’s side for years and my brother depended on me. I can do the job. I’ve been doing it since his accident.”

  “No one doubts your abilities,” said Elder Rayne.

  At forty-seven, Rayne was the youngest of the group. Fawn had hoped for Rayne’s support.

  Elder Clay shook his head. “The pack won’t accept a she-wolf.”

  Fawn looked at Elder Lance, the leader of the council. He knew as well as she that females now outnumbered the males and, as the years passed, the tradition of the exchange moon was losing support with the pack youth. The exchange happened twice a year. One year was all she needed to prove her abilities and to gain acceptance, but the elders would never agree.

  “Let me prove myself. Give me six months?”

  “Never!”

  Elder Lance frowned and looked at Elder Clay. “Your feelings on this matter are noted.”

  Lance turned back to Fawn. “What about the winter moon exchange? It’s less than two weeks away.”

  The Chanta pack owned the lands surrounding the Mountain of the Moon God, but the peak was also sacred to the Arasani. A terrible war had been fought two centuries ago over the rights to the mountain. Her ancestor, Talon, had fallen in love with an Arasani she-wolf. Taking her as a mate wasn’t an option, so Talon had forged a treaty between the packs. The Arasani wanted access to the mountain and Talon wanted Moonflower. The exchange, commonly referred to as the pleasure pact by the Chanta weres, became a tradition honored by both packs.

  Fawn believed the archaic pact should be banned, but traditionalists like Elder Clay clung to the old ways. If she voiced her true feelings now, she’d never be pack leader. “I will perform the duties of a pack leader, including the tradition of the winter moon exchange.”

  Elder Clay shook his fist. “But the terms of the treaty require that a Chanta male demand an Arasani female.”

  “The terms of the treaty state that in exchange for access to the mountain, the Arasani must provide a descendant of a living elder of an appropriate age to the leader of the Chanta pack for two nights during the first full moon phase after the winter and summer solstices,” Fawn said. “The treaty does not specify gender, but neither party participating in the exchange can be mated. If the Chanta pack leader is mated, the Arasani are still allowed to access the mountain. This rule was added to the treaty to ensure Chanta mating law was respected and that peace between the packs would prevail.”

  “She’s right,” said Elder Wynd.

  In his capacity as the keeper of pack records, Elder Wynd had access to one of the original copies of the treaty signed by the elders of both packs in the early eighteen hundreds. The Arasani council had the second document. Fawn had reviewed the document before addressing the council.

  Elder Lance cleared his throat. “Fawn, you do understand what’s required of you?”

  Elder Clay gasped.

  Although Fawn philosophically disagreed with the terms of the peace treaty, she knew exactly what was required. “I know my duty. The Arasani can send a were as easily as a she-wolf.”

  * * * * *

  Nash Blackthunder scanned the faces of the seven Arasani elders. Their grim expressions boded ill. Responsible for pack security, Nash mentally reviewed his quarterly report. Nothing in his security survey should have caused such long faces. Even his father, a recent addition to the council of elders, looked as if someone had died.

  “Thank you for coming,” said Elder Stone. The leader of the pack council was seventy, with a sharp mind and a hearty laugh when amused. Stone looked far from amused. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we are meeting at such a late hour?”

  The elders were seated around a table. In the center was a half-empty bottle of scotch. The weekly poker game was tomorrow night, so something significant had happened. Only an emergency would bring the elders into the council lodge at midnight.

  “How can I be of help?” Nash asked.

  His father rose and picked up the bottle of scotch. At fifty-one, Danath Blackthunder’s dark hair was starting to gray. His usually cheerful brown eyes were somber.

  Glasses of scotch were passed around. Nash received his last. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good, and it appeared Nash was involved in whatever decision the elders had made or were about to make.

  “What are we drinking to?”

  Elder Stone lifted his glass. “The winter moon exchange.”

  Nash almost choked on the liquor. His sister, Asia, was the only unmated she-wolf of an appropriate age to fulfill the archaic ritual officially called the exchange by the elders. The rest of the Arasani pack referred to the ritual as the sacrifice moon. After all, it wasn’t Chanta females being used as personal sex slaves for two nights of pleasure. Damon Rivers’ unexpected death had given Asia a reprieve, or so Nash had hoped.

  Nash tossed down the scotch, welcoming the burn. The glasses were refilled, but Nash left his untouched. This meeting was important and he wanted to remain sharp. Nash knew something unusual had happened.

  Because their leader was mated, the Chanta hadn’t demanded a sacrifice for crossing their land in twenty-six years. When the pack leader had died in a plane crash, his son, Damon Rivers, had assumed the role. Nash had thought the death of young Rivers, the only male descendent of Talon, would mark the end of the sacrifice moon, but the Chanta must have made an unexpected move.

  “Have the Chanta chosen a new pack leader?”

  “They have,” said Elder Stone.

  A new pack
leader meant the sacred treks would continue. As head of security, Nash was responsible for the safety of the trekkers and to ensure the Chanta’s lands were respected during the two annual events.

  The physically able Arasani made the long trek to the high plateau to perform the ceremony of the Moon God. By tradition, the trek must be made in wolf form and the trail was narrow and dangerous.

  By agreement, the Chanta performed their worship of the Moon God during the spring and fall and the Arasani were given the access during the summer and winter. The treks had gone well for the last twenty-six years.

  Nash addressed the group. “The Chanta have broken tradition by choosing someone not of Talon’s bloodline?”

  “Damon was the last male of Talon’s bloodline,” Elder Stone said. “Damon has a sister, Fawn.”

  Nash worked with the Chanta leadership to organize the treks. “I’m familiar with Fawn Rivers. She’s my contact person for planning our treks,” Nash said. “I find her competent and personable.”

  Although Fawn kept her distance and never interfered with the Arasani trekkers, she’d kept an eye on things. And in Nash’s opinion, Fawn was easy on the eyes. Unlike her brother, she’d inherited her famous ancestor’s blue eyes. Her sun-streaked hair fell well past her shoulders, and while her figure was on the slender side, her legs were long and her walk seductive. Fawn was a striking woman, but given her bloodline and pack affiliation, she was strictly off limits.

  “The Chanta elders have made Fawn Rivers the pack leader,” Elder Stone said. “We’re told it’s a temporary assignment.”

  A female pack leader? The ramifications of the Chanta decision slammed into Nash. He realized why his pack elders were holding a midnight meeting. Damon Rivers’ very recent and unexpected death must have sent shock waves through the Chanta clan.

  “Have the Chanta have cancelled the winter trek? We’ve lived in peace for over two hundred years, isn’t it time to renegotiate the treaty?”

  “A unanimous vote is required by all the Chanta elders,” Elder Stone said. “With the current group, that isn’t likely to happen.”

  “There must be a solution?”

  “There is. The Chanta have demanded an Arasani were to fulfill the winter moon exchange. We’ve agreed to their demand.”

  Stone’s words shook Nash to the core. The duty of delivering the sacrifice fell to the chief of pack security. The job was his to perform and he’d dreaded the thought of having to escort his sister to Damon Rivers’ bed.

  Nash’s hobby was clan lore and he’d read every journal or history available. For generations, the Arasani elders had sacrificed an unmated female descendant. The Arasani males saw the sacrifice as a necessary evil, but it was the chosen she-wolf who suffered.

  The Chanta marked her with a pack tattoo on her belly. Talon had begun this tradition to prevent an Arasani were from taking Moonflower as a mate. Two hundred years later, Talon’s selfish act had the same results. No Arasani were wanted a sacrificed she-wolf as his mate.

  Nash quickly sorted through the possibilities of eligible males. Including himself, there were five unmated descendants of Arasani elders. The four were healthy werewolves and younger in age than Nash. The chosen were would be tattooed, marked for life by the Chanta.

  His insides twisted. Nash wouldn’t shirk his duty, but escorting one of his pack brothers to the Moon God cabin to sleep with Fawn would be one of the most difficult tasks he’d ever performed.

  Nash scanned the elders’ faces. Little wonder they looked so solemn. “Who is the chosen sacrificial were?”

  Nash’s father poured a generous shot and downed it.

  “The decision was unanimous,” Elder Stone said. “We’ve chosen you.”

  Chapter Two

  After hours of hard work, Fawn curled up in the corner of the loveseat to sip a glass of wine and watch the flames dance in the fireplace. The cabin was warm, the furniture dusted and the linens fresh. When Damon had decided to continue the pleasure pact, he’d had the cabin renovated. After twenty-six years of being used as a fishing lodge, the upgrade resulted in a cozy lakeside cottage. The kitchen, dining and living area consumed the main room, with a very small bedroom and bath to one side. A set of French doors opened off the living area onto a deck facing Moon God Lake.

  Fawn hadn’t planned to spend the night, but as she cleaned and stocked the cabin for habitation, the idea of becoming mentally prepared and comfortable with the place appealed to her. Tomorrow was the beginning of the full moon phase and the thought of spending the next two nights alone with Nash Blackthunder had stirred Fawn’s lycan senses. Refusing to be intimidated by the event or the sexier-than-sin were, Fawn decided that spending twenty-four hours alone in the cabin would make her feel more in control. By the time Nash arrived, the cabin would feel like home.

  When Elder Stone had told her the name of the werewolf the Arasani had chosen she’d managed to school her reaction, but her heart had thumped in wild anticipation. She’d worked closely with Nash planning the biannual treks, and when he had focused his brown eyes on her, Fawn had definitely felt the heat. A relationship with Nash beyond pack business was out of the question and Fawn hadn’t stepped an inch over the line, except in her dreams.

  Now the lines had disappeared and Nash was hers for the full moon phase. She wondered if this was how her ancestor, Talon, had felt about Moonflower and why he had tattooed her with his personal symbol, four claw marks running diagonally across the belly.

  Talon and Moonflower had met for two nights every summer and winter for years until the Chanta elders forced him to take a mate so that the bloodline was ensured.

  Talon’s eldest son and his descendants had continued the terms of the treaty and the tradition of the tattoo. Even Damon intended to follow the practice. Now she was expected to demand the same of Nash.

  Fawn rose from the sofa and walked into the bedroom. The blue-and-white-pattern quilt was cheerful without looking frilly. She’d purchased the quilt, matching pillow shams and sheets several weeks ago in preparation of Damon’s occupation of the cabin.

  She ran her hand over the cotton material. Part of her still couldn’t believe that her brother was gone.

  “Damon. Damon,” she whispered. She missed him dearly.

  Fawn had been so busy with pack duties and the winter exchange, she’d managed to keep her pain and sorrow at bay. But the depth of her loss overwhelmed her and tears welled in her eyes. Tomorrow, she’d wear the mantle of pack leader. Tonight, she’d allow herself to mourn.

  * * * * *

  Nash’s breath clouded the cold air as he trotted along the snow-dusted trail. Despite the low temperature and the late hour, he needed the solitude. His powerful wolf’s body relished the physical challenge of climbing the mountain.

  Tomorrow night, the full moon phase would begin and he was violating the rules by being on Chanta land tonight. The moon rode high in the sky with only the thinnest sliver of dark along its edge. He crested the ridge and stopped at a rocky outcropping that overlooked the Moon God Lake. Moonlight danced on the surface of the water, its silvery light leading to the lakeside cabin he’d share with Fawn. To Nash’s surprise, the building was ablaze with light.

  As the time of the moon sacrifice approached, Nash’s thoughts had often turned to Fawn and the two nights they’d share in the isolated cabin. He’d started to dial her number on more than one occasion just to discuss the situation, but had resisted the temptation. He was eager and excited, but how did she feel about having sex with him?

  After the elders had made a formal announcement, Nash had been subjected to myriad reactions from pack members, ranging from heartfelt commiseration to crude jokes. He took it in stride, but no one, not even his father, knew how he truly felt.

  His closest friends were angry and Nash might have felt the same fury if the she-wolf had been anyone but Fawn. He might be his pack’s designated sacrifice, but for two long winter nights, Fawn would be his.

  Curious abou
t the lighted cabin, Nash headed down the trail. Reaching the cabin, he reared up and placed his paws on the window ledge and looked into the main room. A fire was burning in the stone fireplace, but no one was visible. He moved to another window. Fawn sat on a bed, tears pouring down her face.

  Feeling as if someone had punched him in the heart, he left the cabin and raced for the ridge. At the top, Nash lifted his muzzle and howled in pain.

  Chapter Three

  Waiting. Fawn had never been good at it. Her mother said she’d been born impatient, arriving a week early and a minute after midnight.

  Fawn paced the cabin, poked at the logs burning in the fireplace, and tossed on a couple more pinecones. He’d come at moonrise and every few minutes Fawn peeked out the French doors that opened onto the deck. Scattered clouds drifted across the sky, but the visible stars were diamond bright in the night sky.

  The cabin smelled of pine and beef stew.

  Fawn had prepared supper. The stew simmered in the crock pot and the salad was in the refrigerator. Add a freshly baked whole grain loaf and a bottle of red wine and Fawn believed she had a perfect winter meal to satisfy a hungry werewolf.

  She glanced out the French doors and saw the rim of the full moon peeking over the mountains. Any minute now, she expected to hear a paw scraping the door. By tradition, the Arasani descendant must arrive in wolven form without the trappings of human clothing. Thankfully, her mother had heard a first-person account from her husband of the details of the exchange. Elder Stone hadn’t been so forthcoming.

  Just like a man to keep a female naked and at his beck and call for two nights!

  Unlike her male predecessors, Fawn had gone shopping several days earlier. Fortunately, Fawn had met Nash on several occasions to plan the biannual treks. On one occasion, he’d bent over to tie his shoe and Fawn had caught a glimpse of the size label on his jeans. At the time, she’d let her thoughts drift about the leanness of his waist compared to the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs. She never imaged she’d buy him clothes, but she had imagined him without them.