Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1)

by Amber Naralim

  Izobel’s mouth twitched up at the corner. Her smile was charmed and just a little awestruck. Her expression maintained its amused-monarch-curiosity. “You may touch me.” She even lifted her chin as she spoke.

  He cupped her face between his hands. Grabbed her passionate and tender as any romance movie. Abel pressed his cheek to hers rolling his head in an arc. He grasped her biceps, his grip strong and attentive. He spun her around and plastered her back against his heaving chest. Skimming his fingertips over the side of her neck, he brushed away the few strands that had come loose from her braid.

  His forehead skimmed the same spot a moment later. His breath was hot against her cheek. His hands swept her breasts and she sucked in a gasp. Izobel closed her eyes and draped herself across his solid frame. The palms of his hands cascaded down her front. Able tightened his fists around the swag of silk at her collar inching it downward.

  He exposed the apricot-colored nipple on her left side. Coming back up he cupped his hand around the other side, thumb laid deliberately on the wrinkled skin that surrounded the nub of flesh. Izobel couldn’t bite back on her moan hard enough. It seemed Abel Merrick was a tease.

  His touch was moving before long. He slipped knuckles beneath the collar of her heavy leather jacket, giving it just the nudge it needed to fall down her arm. It came free of her right, but gathered at her wrist on the left. From there he nudged the silken spaghetti strap over the rounded part of her shoulder. He dragged it the rest of the way his hand grasping her forearm as it slid down to her wrist.

  Izobel pushed it off the other side. The shining fabric drifted over her skin, exposing her breasts to the cold night air. Gooseflesh erupted despite his warm embrace. Her breath fogged the air. His hair grazed across her bare shoulders.

  “You may kiss me,” she said with a satisfied grin.

  He shot forward with a wet kiss that took both their breath away. His fingertips slid over her ribs until he closed her in his embrace. Her hands came down around his head. His jaw rolled along with his tongue.

  He was all hands and stinging fingertips. He had to touch her, explore every inch he’d been fantasizing about. She was as smooth as porcelain. Like ice pressed against his skin. Abel dragged her hips closer. She bent her leg to let him support her leaning into the kiss.

  A stiff breeze left her hungering for his warmth. The dancing grass tickled her ankle. His embrace was tight, his touch attentive. He tasted like whiskey edged with honey. She just couldn’t get enough.

  His preternatural strength walked the edge of rough. But that coupled with his control was a combination she was getting drunk on. His tongue slithered along the underside of her chin.

  He closed his mouth over the pulse in her throat. The wetness sent a shiver down her spine. The back of his knuckles glided down the center of her rib cage. He danced her backward a few swaying steps and pressed her against the trunk of a maple that stuck out of the ground at a steep angle.

  Izobel was so lost in her own sensations she didn’t really have anything left to record what he felt like. Soft and smooth, he was warm. She craved him the moment any part of him pulled away. Her touch was grasping. Her body begged for more.

  Abel kissed his way down her breastbone and closed his mouth around her nipple. Sucking on it like a piece of the sweetest candy. His hands drifted down her belly and over her hip. Abel sank to one knee, fingertips caressing the curve between her thighs. The leather was smooth and cold a thin layer spread over her lines.

  She writhed along at his command. His touch drew pleasing lines in her mind that popped and shimmered bright as sparklers. Izobel reached down and dragged the silk shirt she half wore up over her head and let it drop to the ground next to them. Bark bit into her back, just another sensation that threatened to send her spiraling out into bliss.

  Abel unbuttoned the leather pants and tugged on the zipper. He slipped his hand between the fabric and her flesh. One finger dragging between her lips. Izobel pressed her mouth into a thin line closing her eyes. Her mouth fell open with a quick shallow breath. It was all she could manage with the pressure of his pliant fingers.

  A cry fell out of her and Abel grinned, prideful. He pulled away from her a moment giving her time to compose herself and gripped the edges of her pants. Izobel followed his lead kicking out of her shoes.

  The grass was a shock of cold against her bare feet. Abel pushed leather over the curve of her ass and didn’t miss a single caress in their wake as they fell down her legs. Izobel stepped out of them kicking them aside.

  Abel kissed the skin an inch below her bellybutton. He traced the tips of his fingers down her thigh. Open-mouthed kisses spilled over her belly. He kissed that mouth through the thin film of her sheer black panties. His tongue snaked out in teasing lines. It dulled the sensation just a little bit. She begged for more with the noises she made. All of them were lovely music to Abel’s ear.

  Abel stood up to his full height. Izobel’s head dropped back against the branch of the tree trying to catch her breath. Mouth open she couldn’t stop gasping. She wanted to slap the smug grin right off him.

  She reached out and instead tore the buttons of his shirt open. She worked at his belt throwing it open and yanked at the button fly of his tattered Levi’s. His jeans slid over the curve of his hip and sagged down around the backs of his knees. Izobel pushed at the threads of his shirt and watched hungrily as it grazed his body falling to the ground.

  Her mouth dropped open begging to be kissed. He closed in again leaving a cushion of illusory nothingness. He licked his lips hesitating, denying, teasing. She laid her hands over his broad shoulder, one on either side.

  He rubbed that silken hardness against her through the cursed fabric of her panties. How she wanted them to just wink out of existence in a puff of wishful thinking. The rock of his hips alone felt good enough to keep her ready for more.

  Izobel was never one to sit idly by wishing. She pushed at the edges of her panties. Abel joined in, his hand tangled with hers pushing at the gossamer cloth.

  His hands closed over her hips. His left hooked under the back of her thigh. Izobel bent her knee, resting her foot against the gnarled roots. Abel lifted her to straighten to his full height. He rolled his hips against her feeding at her mouth.

  That first hard thrust bowed her spine. It left her gasping. She closed her legs around his hips. Her nails tore down his rippling back. Abel’s hand slid down her thigh. The other closed her back in tighter. He shifted his weight to change the angle of his drive.

  She cried out against his mouth. Her hands drifted into his short brown hair she closed it in her fists. The moon bathed them in her light. It gave their skin a blue shine. Izobel glowed an ethereal white. So bright and over-saturated, it rivaled the stars. Her hair was a swath of black velvet. He’d never known anything more beautiful.

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  Kye held the katana in perfect elongation of his form. His muscles screamed. His face was a blank mask. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. He’d trained his face to never show it. One twinge and what he dealt with was nothing compared to what was coming.

  His opponent slashed high just to dodge low and to the left. Kye saw the metal coming. He leapt back rolling in a summersault and coming to his feet once more in a fluid motion full of liquid grace. They squared off, dancing around each other in deliberate circles.

  Swords sang. Metal clashed again and again. Every stroke, every thrust was met by an equal and opposite defense. Those not good enough were dodged and evaded in a ballet of violence kept to this half of the enormous room.

  At the other end perched on an enormous, leather sectional three men watched in stoic neutrality. Their oppressive silence punctured by the sharp breaths and swords ringing. Alike in stature and age, all three of these men wore tailored suits. A gradation of black and greys in a monochrome palette with only the blond wood floors and the pops of red in the few ceramic vases displayed on shelves.

  The m
an on the end stood out, not because he moved, or screamed or did anything at all to draw attention to himself. It was more that an aura radiated from him. It got just a little brighter every time his son Kylen allowed the impudent maggot Hihatchi birthed to elude an attack that should have skewered the child.

  Yes, the match was unfair. Kylen was a trained soldier of the crown. The maggot hadn’t even made her first change yet. That was the point of the game. Hihatchi’s line was dead. He was deluding himself to believe anything that came from the font of his family name could rise above the stigma of Folk, no matter what his accomplishments were.

  It takes far more than skill with a gun to be a lord. Hihatchi was a good soldier. He followed orders well. But he should not have looked beyond his station. It would be a lesson well learned. That is if Kylen would stop playing games and finish it.

  Kye moved slow telegraphing his moves. The girl was frail, a skinny little twelve-year-old whose father taught her to throw a punch. She had good instincts. A few more years and a hundred pounds and she might have stood a chance.

  As it was, his lead was too fast for her. Eventually, the attrition would catch up. He had to end this. There was a good man on the other side of that door trapped in hell. He walked into this room and said goodbye for what he was sure was the last time.

  Kye’s father had the nerve to force him to wed and produce an heir for the good of the clan. But he would sacrifice a potential because her blood wasn’t pure enough for his taste. This kind of baring of his teeth disgusted Kye. He refused to be a part of it.

  Kye watched the girl’s footwork. He matched her pace. Leaning forward just a little off-balance, he gave the kid the perfect opening. Kye smiled at the girl. The tip of her sword punched through his chest. He gasped as it shredded his lung and burst through on the other side. Kye staggered, going to one knee. Blood dribbled out the side of his mouth.

  The little girl’s eyes flew open wide. She froze for a second. Kye opened his eyes and they were full of compassion. She came back together quick. Miyo Hihatchi jerked her sword free. Kye shuddered with it, sucking a ragged breath. He looked up at her and smiled reassuringly. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  Kye slowly came to his feet. The wound in his chest was already beginning to knit closed. A gong rang out. The double doors to their left opened and a man of oriental bearing stepped through the threshold with halting steps.

  Benjamin Hihatchi didn’t want to see it. But the image of his little girl lying in a pool of her own blood was etched into his brain. He had a plan. Put it together in the hallway. He just couldn’t imagine life without his Miyo.

  He saw Kylen first and his face crumpled into desperate confusion. Kye held a hand over a wound in his chest. His next step took him further than he thought it would. A table disappeared from his view revealing Miyo.

  She was alive!

  He ran the rest of the way. Falling to his knees he scooped the child into his arms and rocked her back and forth thanking every deity he’d ever heard tale of. Tears scalded his cheeks. The girl buried her face in his chest. Hihatchi kissed her silken black hair. His eyes met Kye’s.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be part of the King’s guard in no time.”

  Hihatchi was stunned by the kindness Kylen showed his family. He knew full well the punishment Kylen would receive. He would never be able to repay a life debt such as this. But Hihatchi would find a way. He nodded slowly.

  Three-piece suits moved from guarding the door to looming over Kye. He rolled his eyes at their presence. Tonight would be long and painful. But it was worth it.

  The three men at the other side of the room stood as one. The middle man, a portly fellow, offered a smile to Hihatchi.

  “To defeat such a foe speaks to the future of your name. Go with the blessings of your house, and know she has done you proud.” His jovial tone was a far cry from his behavior just a few minutes ago.

  Hihatchi nodded silently. He lifted his daughter and carried her out of there at a brisk pace. Afraid they would change their mind at any moment.

  Hiroki Eito adjusted his tie. His movements were deliberate and meditative. He bowed to his counterparts and set his eyes on his son.

  Blood painted Kye’s sculpted chest. The wound knit together visibly, but it took its time perfecting each stitch. The further from the beast your shape the longer it took to heal. Eito fought his smoldering anger with every step. Kylen’s insubordination infuriated him. These shows of rebellion were no longer tolerable.

  Kye closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. To think he once loved that man with everything he had. Willful blindness hides so much. Sometimes Kye wished he’d never opened his eyes to the man his father truly was. Maybe she’d still be alive if he had.

  Eito’s hand begged to lash out, instead, he lay it against Kye’s neck and shoulder. He loved his son. Disappointment colored Eito’s terse expression.

  “You have too much of your mother in you,” he said simply.

  Kye’s jaw bunched with the trouble of leashing his tongue. He wanted to yell and scream. Didn’t matter. Hiroki Eito kept his own counsel. Kye squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of a blade parting flesh. Of a woman calling out for him with her dying gasp. Every detail played out in a sickening ballet that ripped his stomach out from underneath him.

  “When will you learn? You’ve changed nothing, Kylen. The girl will die.”

  Kye turned his head away, lips pressed into a straight line. He sucked in a breath that gave away just how frustrated he was. Not a line on his face moved. His mask was handcrafted and finely detailed.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Eito sighed heavily, shaking his head. His chagrinned smile made Kye’s skin crawl.

  “I love you. You are my son, and I will never give up on you.”

  The worst part was… he meant it. Eito loved his children. He committed heinous acts to be sure they succeeded in this life. He also held them to a level of perfection unattainable by anyone. And when they failed he took his cruelty and spite out on the people they loved. His brutality was unmatched by any warlord in history. Hiroki Eito used a scalpel to assassinate his enemies. His patience gave him time to be sure it hurt.

  “Ten lashes,” he commanded the two brutes standing behind Kye. “For the eleventh. Use silver. Scars are reminders of our mistakes.”

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  She wove the spell together using trimmings and exotics of other charms. If you were willing to take the time, magic could be tailored. She could narrow down the search parameters just like on a search browser, the trick was knowing what to look for.

  Izobel had a special kind of man in mind for the sacrifice. It was like threading a needle the point was so singular. Izobel was damned sure she’d never be able to live with herself if it was any other way.

  In the end, you’re left alone with your choices. No one gets to judge you because they don’t live with the consequences. But you sure as hell have to live with it. That simplified philosophy was the sword her every moral quandary died on.

  She pricked her finger, wincing. A drop of blood fell onto the essential oils and wrapped herbs. It oozed into the lighter colors menacingly, spreading ever deeper. The sage leaves turned from that verdant silvery tinged green to a withered brown. She counted four drops, no more, and stuck her finger in her mouth.

  She hummed a clear, ringing A-flat. Pressure built as the magic wove itself around the anchors she’d set out. Growing and unfurling with every cascading second. She watched it grow rapt. It dripped into her senses spreading warmth and a pleasant sweetness in their wake.

  She adored the effervescent fizz of magic. Some spells had the faint hint of a scent. This one smelled like licorice. The longer it went in circles it matured into the sour tang of black licorice before finally, it fizzled out.

  She sat back. Her closed eyelids twitched. A fringe of black lashes contrasted against her pale
skin. Her eyes snapped open, irises still swimming with molten gold. It hardened and sank beneath the blue as reality solidified once again.

  A tone rang out. The toll of a bell. And they had a winner.

  The sound of a knuckle rapping on her closed door chased the swirling magic away and left her gasping in its wake. Izobel frowned but called, “Come.”

  Abel came through the threshold with a smile that charmed her down to her bones. That was a bad sign. Izobel’s fear of intimacy always sent her running from an encounter like the one they shared the other night. With him, she found reasons to share smiles and glances. Little touches and stolen moments had her questioning everything.

  The fear was still there. Her heart pounded whenever he was close. Her fingertips pricked with remembered sensations she longed to indulge in despite the way they closed her throat. His very presence left her begging for breath.

  Her eyes were wide as he leaned in for a kiss. But she didn’t stop him. She welcomed it. Lingering on the pop and fizz it sent crawling over her brain.

  “I think your sister suspects something,” he tattled.

  “Why?”

  “Because she made fun of me for half an hour and sang Abel and Izzy sitting in a tree at me.”

  Izobel rolled her eyes. “You can’t expect a girl to keep this secret from her sister,” she excused.

  “You tell anybody you want. Matter of fact I think we should shout it from the rooftops,” he said taking her hand. Abel lifted it and kissed her knuckles.

  Her mouth dropped open to end this before it really began. But the words just stayed there balanced on her tongue. It didn’t matter anyway, she thought as she sifted through her thoughts and reactions. He kissed her again. Soft lips, and tender fingertips, he had her saner thoughts drowning in his honeyed sweetness.

  “Listen. The Culling is coming faster. I know what this spell is taking out of you, Sparrow. I can see it. I can practically feel it. You don’t got to do this.”