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  Gunnar Eriksson, a two-hundred-year-old werewolf, knows there's no place in his life for love because everyone close to him is doomed. And then he meets Stella O'Sullivan, the one destined to be his, and battles with his instinctive need to claim her.

  Stella is instantly attracted to the ruggedly handsome Gunnar Eriksson, but soon discovers he is a man with secrets, a man filled with pain, a man plagued with inner demons. And as her attraction for him mounts, so does her compassion and warmth. She discovers he is grieving for his dead son.

  As their passion and attraction heightens, a sinister plot unfolds. An evil so malevolent, her life is in danger. And Gunnar must race against time to save Stella.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Lycan Mate

  Copyright © 2011 Anastasia Maltezos

  ISBN: 978-1-55487-936-6

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Devine Destinies

  An imprint of eXtasy Books

  Look for us online at:

  www.devinedestinies.com

  Lycan Mate

  By

  Anastasia Maltezos

  Dedication

  To Effy.

  Chapter One

  Gunnar Eriksson parked his car and looked up at the bed and breakfast. He drew his gaze around the two-story cottage and saw nothing but fields, a long, winding rural road, and a spatter of homes. It was perfect for a man who wanted anonymity. A man who had dark secrets.

  He picked up his gun from the seat next to him and leaned forward as he shoved it in the waistband of his jeans. Then, he opened the glove compartment and grabbed the box of silver bullets and shoved it in his coat pocket.

  His gaze fell on the picture of his two-year-old son taped to his dashboard.

  He used to think hell was the beast he'd become more than two hundred years ago. It wasn't. Losing his son two years ago was hell, an eternal hell.

  A low, deep growl rose from his throat as he balled his hand into a fist. He would have given anything to take that day back. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. The beast within him wanted to be unleashed.

  "Dammit!"

  He had to control himself. It was still daylight and someone could see him. Slowly, he managed to bring his racing heart back to normal and swallowed hard. He'd always managed to control his turning, even on a full moon, but since losing Tyler, he couldn't control the beast raging to escape. Anger, hatred, fury, it was all there, every day because the one person he'd loved in all his existence had been torn from his life.

  His face grim, he got out of the car and went to the trunk. He pulled out his laptop and duffle bag. Straightening, with a bag in each hand, he strode to the three steps going up the entrance of the B&B.

  He stiffened violently on the top step as a feminine scent wafted around him, seducing him, arousing him.

  "What the hell?"

  He staggered to the porch and inhaled sharply through his nose, unsteady on his feet. The scent was alluring, intoxicating, stirring the wolf within him. Gunnar clenched his jaw, fighting the overpowering hold the female inside the inn had on him. He'd always picked up on feminine scents, but this one was different. It wasn't just another female. A heat began to course through his veins, stirring his loins, and he swore roughly under his breath.

  Only one woman could make him feel this way.

  He'd found her, he thought coldly. His one was inside.

  And he was far from pleased.

  He didn't need this in his life. He didn't need her. He was incapable of loving, incapable of feeling, and the lust heating his loins was not enough for him to claim his mate because he knew it would come with a price. Death.

  Since losing Tyler, he'd lost the desire to feel anything. His heart blackened, his spirit died, and guilt stabbed at his gut every damned day. He could have saved his son that day.

  Gunnar was a shell of a man, a beast who had an eternity ahead of him filled with nothing but pain and anguish. He didn't deserve to love. He didn't deserve to feel.

  Slowly he turned the doorknob, warring with the wolf within him fighting for escape.

  He'd fight his baser need to claim her as his own because he knew anyone he truly loved was doomed.

  * * * *

  Stella O'Sullivan tucked a long, red-haired strand behind her ear. "I'm just going to have a little peak," she murmured.

  Slowly she put down her card and stared at it.

  The Lovers.

  She scowled at the entwined couple. It was all there for her in the next week, passion, desire, attraction. This was obviously wrong. There was no way she was going to indulge in sexual pleasures any time soon. Her clients were mostly families and couples or students out for a long weekend. She chewed her lower lip and stared at the Tarot card.

  She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she would have liked to feel the warmth and strength of a man in her life, but she seriously doubted it was going to happen any time soon. How? She never went out. All she did was spend most of her time in her B&B, cooking, cleaning, and catering to her clientele.

  She was almost tempted to draw another card, but stopped. She hated giving herself readings because disappointment always followed. She remembered the last time she'd drawn the cards for herself and stiffened. Discovering her boyfriend was cheating on her had not been good news.

  With a resigned sigh, she rose from the kitchen table and tucked her cards in the drawer next to the sink. Love had always been elusive for her. Apparently telling a man you were somewhat of a witch was a turn off.

  "Maybe in the next life," she murmured as she turned away from the sink.

  She was about to go through her patio door to inspect her vegetable garden in the backyard when she heard the sound of chimes in the hall signalling a new customer.

  She turned around and stiffened. The man's aura hit her like a ton of bricks, anger, grief, hate…and…and passion. His lust was thick and heavy, consuming her and she felt weak kneed and lightheaded. She stared at his massive form filling the entrance and willed herself to breathe again. She had never in her life felt this assault by another person's energy on her senses and she was frightened. Her connection to him was instant, powerful, and mutual because she clearly sensed his own shock at her appearance.

  She ran a swift gaze over his appearance and her stomach jolted at the masculine energy emanating from his powerful frame.

  He was well over six feet with massive shoulders and dirty blond hair that fell past his collar. He wore black denims, a gray T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Her gaze rested on his face and she had to stop herself from parting her lips in awe. Good looking couldn't even describe him. He looked fierce, rugged, primal.

  A thread of excitement flickered through her veins as she stared at him. He had a strong jaw, deep-set blue eyes, and an angular face with a firm cleft chin. He deposited his bags on the floor and strai
ghtened. He stared at her and their gazes locked with such force her breath caught. He epitomised masculinity in its most primitive form and she swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure.

  Her gaze flicked to his mouth. It was strong and firm with a sensual lower lip.

  "Welcome to The Serenity," she said, trying hard to hide the nervous pitch from her voice.

  * * * *

  Gunnar's nostrils flared as her scent reached him. It was powerful in close proximity as it wrapped itself around him like a soft, sensual caress trying to calm a beast. She was beautiful. Medium height, slim in tight denims and a green T-shirt, her hair fell past her shoulder blades like long strands of fire. He stiffened. Fire burned.

  He sensed her shock. He smelled her fear. He felt her instant attraction to him.

  Dammit! He knew he should turn around and find another inn, but he couldn't. Her green gaze held him captive, and he gritted his teeth as he fought the desire assaulting his senses. The animal within took over and all he could think of was how he wanted to taste her, to feel her, to take her. And the more he wanted her, the angrier he got.

  There was no place in his life for her. She was human, he was a Lycan. And the memory of Tyler reminded him that anyone who came close to him was doomed to die.

  * * * *

  "I need a room."

  His deep voice drew shivers on her skin. "How…how long will you be staying?"

  "Indefinitely."

  "I have four rooms upstairs. Their prices vary--"

  "I want the biggest one."

  "A lovely choice. It has a--"

  "I'll take it."

  She stiffened. "It's a large suite with a private bathroom. You'll find it very satisfying." She went to the hall desk and opened a drawer. She pulled out her logbook. "What's your name?"

  "Gunnar Eriksson. I'll be paying cash."

  She wrote his name down. "Great." She smiled up at him. "There's a Jacuzzi you can use on the back patio and a fully equipped gym in the basement." She waited for him to respond, but he remained silent. "What brings you to Vermont?" she asked politely, hoping her voice didn't betray her nerves.

  "Work." He glanced briefly at his watch before he returned his gaze to her. "If you could show me to my room now, I would appreciate it. I have some more bags I need to bring in from my car."

  So much for pleasantries, she thought. Upon closer look, she noticed something haunted behind his eyes. It was dark and painful and it touched a remote region of her heart. Suddenly she wished Brenna was here. All her sister had to do was touch people and their thoughts were revealed.

  "Certainly. If you'll follow me, please," she said, leading him upstairs. Once they reached the top, she opened the door to his room, stepped inside, and turned around to face him. "Meals are included in the fee. Breakfast is served between seven and eight, lunch is at noon, and dinner is at seven. If you make arrangements to eat out, please let me know. I'll make up your room daily and you'll have fresh towels in the bathroom. The fee for this suite is two hundred an evening."

  He stepped inside and barely looked around as he dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. He handed her twenty crisp one hundred dollar bills. "This is for the next ten days. And I prefer to make up my room. You may leave the clean towels by the door."

  She gave him a wary look. "Mr. Eriksson, it will be my pleasure to clean your--"

  "I don't think you understand. I require privacy while I'm here. I want no disturbances of any kind and I need to know you'll be on the same page as me before I commit to stay here."

  Her sixth sense told her this man wasn't prone to rudeness and if it wasn't for that haunted look behind his eyes, she would have bristled at his stark manner. "I understand. If you require anything, please feel free to call on me. My name is Stella O'Sullivan." She extended her hand.

  He stared at it for a few seconds before taking it. She hadn't expected anything other than a brief, perfunctory shake and a curt dismissal from him, but the second he touched her, her breath caught.

  Grief and despair hit her with the force of a tidal wave. She couldn't breathe as the world around her changed. The sunlight dimmed, the warm air cooled, the colours faded. She was in a dark place with no light at the end of the tunnel. Somewhere in the deep recess of her mind she heard a child sobbing. And then she saw it. It was brief. A flash in her mind, but the image stunned her and she withdrew sharply from his warm, solid grasp. She'd glimpsed an eight foot beast with jowls, protruding forehead, and eyebrows meeting at the bridge.

  Gunnar frowned. "Are you all right?"

  She wasn't. She was as tense as a guitar string. "Er…yes. I'm sorry, I…I just realised I left something on the stove."

  He nodded.

  Stella turned and fled down the stairs before he could say another word. Her connection to him was overwhelming and she tried to shake the feeling of impending danger from her bones.

  She kept herself busy with housework the rest of the afternoon and just before dinner, he came downstairs.

  He offered a curt, "I'll be dining out this evening," and left.

  She watched his retreating back and released a breath she didn't know she was holding.

  Throughout the evening, she tried shaking him from her mind, but it was easier said than done. She couldn't stop thinking about him, and around nine, while she was putting away the dishes in the kitchen, she heard him come in and retire to his room. She tensed with awareness, sensing his presence in his room upstairs.

  What was wrong with her? Had she been single for so long her inactive libido sprung to life at the first attractive man she saw?

  She needed to get a life.

  She went to her bedroom around midnight and turned on the shower in her adjoining bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and slipped under the steamy spray. Stella moaned with pleasure. Slowly, she felt the day's tension ease and she lingered under the therapeutic spray. A few minutes later she towel dried herself and slipped on her bathrobe.

  Her head snapped up at the creaking floorboards of Gunnar's room directly above hers and she stiffened. He was still up.

  She crawled into bed naked, expecting to sleep, but every tiny noise from his room made her restless. She glanced at her nightstand clock and drew in a frustrated breath. She had to get some sleep.

  Two hours later, and no closer to getting any sleep, she heard something. A long, drawn out groan. She frowned, staring at her ceiling. A few seconds later she heard a long, gut wrenching moan filtering down through the floorboards.

  He sounded like he was in pain. Concerned, she rose from the bed and slipped on her robe, wondering if she should go upstairs and ask him if he was all right.

  She heard another hoarse moan and stiffened. Something wasn't right. She left her bedroom and went upstairs. She stood in front of his door.

  "Gunnar?" she called softly. "Are you all right?"

  No response except for a muffled, thrashing sound. Her sixth sense rose and she quietly opened the door. His room was cast in shadows and she saw him lying bare-chested on the bed, a white sheet draped over him up to his waist. He was tossing and turning, a low growl rising from his throat. She gasped. The sound was almost inhuman. Slowly, she walked into his room and stood by his bed. She looked down at his face and her heart swelled with compassion at his anguished, tortured expression. She felt something by her feet and looked down. It was a framed photograph of a blond, little boy smiling for the camera. She picked it up and stared at it, captivated by the sweet, angelic face. The little boy had Gunnar's eyes, sky blue fringed with sooty lashes. This must be his son, she thought.

  "Tyler. God, no. Please, no," Gunnar said hoarsely, his head thrashing from side to side.

  Carefully, she placed the picture on the nightstand and looked down at him. He was obviously having a terrible nightmare. The corner of his eyes glistened and her heart began to thud at the expression on his face. It was heartrending sadness. His grief consumed her, choked her, and she drew in an unste
ady breath.

  "Gunnar. Wake up," she whispered, placing a gentle hand on his forehead. "You're having a bad dream."

  He didn't wake up as he continued to moan and grimace in his sleep.

  Stella's heart ached. She had to do something. Taking a deep breath, she carefully ran her hand over the side of his face and let it rest on his cheek while she slid her other hand over his muscular chest and let it rest over his heart. My God! His skin burned, like he was on fire.

  She closed her eyes and prayed he wouldn't suddenly wake up.

  Healing was second nature to her. She didn't know how she did it. She didn't know how she did any of the things she could do. Her gifts had been with her all her life and she just went with them, like breathing or sleeping.

  And that's what she did now. She went with it. And the result was immediate.

  All his emotions exploded on her senses and she gritted her teeth. My God! He was hurting. She resisted his darkness reaching out, trying to weigh her down. She channelled her energy and comforted his pain. She soothed over his fears, eased his agony, and calmed his distress. After a few moments she felt him relax a little beneath her touch and she continued. She inhaled sharply through her nose and fought the rest of his pain. Sweat formed on her upper lip and her head began to pound. God, this was hard. She couldn't believe how resistant he was, almost as though he wanted to guard his pain.

  He was afraid to let go.

  The thought startled her. Who wanted to carry around this devastating form of grief? How could a person live like this? She pressed her hands further into his warm, solid skin and pushed deeper into his psyche, past his pain and suffering.

  She went deeper and deeper into his soul. Stella gasped. Something powerful pushed her, stopped her from going further. She opened her eyes and stared down at his face. He was still asleep. She closed her eyes and tried again, but something buried within him would not allow her to go deeper. It seemed animal in nature, a beast warring with her--and winning. She retreated back to his surface grief. What she'd sensed deep within him was too powerful to pierce, an impenetrable wall of defence unlike anything she'd ever come across.