by Nikki Sex
Occasionally bordering on violence, we nip, grab, and practically consume each other. We can’t get close enough, he can’t get deep enough, thrust hard enough.
In a red haze of need, only wild will do.
Breath ragged, my blood roars. With one touch of his hand between my legs, I come violently, almost painfully. Amazingly, the climax does nothing to lessen my monstrous need.
We fall upon each other, biting and clawing. As he drives inside, I feel him pulsing. My inner muscles clamp down on him. My body doesn’t want to let him go.
Screaming, another massive orgasm slams into me—this one with the force of a landslide.
Between long bouts of ferocious animal sex, Stafford and I fall into short periods of unconsciousness. Sometimes, when I pass out, I feel as though we’re beating each other senseless.
My body’s been pummeled and battered so much tonight. Stafford’s body is the same. We could charge each other with assault. But damn, it feels so good!
Mostly—like now, we fuck “doggy” style. “Wolfy” style?
The last rays of moonlight illuminate our bed as the Beast Lord ruthlessly pumps and grinds against my begging, aching, body.
Rough.
Urgent.
Intense.
Stafford smells of man and wolf, high-voltage lycanthrope power sizzles over my flesh. Our bodies pound together in frenzied strokes, his length moving deep within me.
Our inner wolves are similarly engaged in a heated rut, while my demon rides high from a ridiculous amount of power. Buzzing with magic and energy, he feeds on the Beast Lord’s entire pack.
On hands and knees, I cry out from overpowering sensation. My sensitized nipples peak into hard points, rubbing against cotton sheets. My mate presses against my back, his fingers gripping my hips. His face nuzzles at my neck, his hot breath sending shivers dancing through me.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “Stafford! Yes! Yes!”
Another climax rips through me, sharp and brutal as claws. My body viciously clenches, pulses around him.
Teeth bared, Stafford grunts—a guttural, masculine sound. His thrusts come short and fast, hard and deep. With a muttered oath, and one last nip of my shoulder, he releases. Spent, he collapses upon me.
Stafford’s climax, combined with his bite are the best thing ever.
I come instantly. Again.
And again.
Fucking hell, I think I’m gonna die with a smile on my face. Death by orgasm. What a way to go.
In that exact moment, the light of the full moon—along with its urgent, demanding magic—vanishes.
“Thank, Christ!” he utters.
“Tell me about it,” I send to him, too bone ass tired to speak. I’m astonished I still have enough energy to breathe.
It takes a moment or two before Stafford rolls over, sprawls onto his back. His strong arms reach out to embrace me, pull me closer. He lifts me so easily, I adore his strength.
I end up draped over his broad chest. The Beast Lord is so damn warm—lycans burn hotter than any human. On the other hand, I’m scorching hot myself. We’ve been expending a ton of energy.
“If moonlight still filled this room, would we still be at it?” I ask in a breathless murmur.
“Yep. That’s why dawn to dark after a full moon is a pack holiday. Most people sleep the day away. Now you know why.”
“Sweet baby Jesus.” I nuzzle into his neck, brushing against his morning stubble. “Any more sex would have been the end of me.”
“You and me both.” Stafford snorts out a laugh, a heart squeezing masculine sound.
Chuckling, we curl into each other, his arms tight around me. Weak and wrung out, I’m languid in the afterglow. Secure, content, and connected, probably half an hour passes in satisfied silence.
Thighs, inner core, butt, lips, jaw, and breasts—I’m deliciously sore. I lost count of how many times we made love tonight. Hmm, let’s see. Twice on the balcony—I remember that. Once in the shower. A couple of times on the carpet. I straddled him on his living room chair, he bent me over the dining table. We ravished each other—what? At least four more times in this bed?
I think back. In a daze, at one point I’d limped into the kitchen, dying of thirst. After drinking straight from the tap (I couldn’t be bothered with a glass) he’d slipped up behind me, slipped into me, fucking me over the kitchen sink.
Both ultimately drenched, we’d dissolved into a fit of exhausted giggles.
Concentrating, I frown, still attempting to count. It’s all an erotic blur. How many times did we make love?
I honestly can’t possibly remember.
“You want water?” Stafford asks, sliding out from under me.
“Yes, please. I’m dehydrated after that work out,” I send mentally, too exhausted to speak.
He laughs out loud at my comment, a cheerful, sated, dog-tired (wolf-tired?) sound.
I muster the strength to sit up cross-legged, stare at the mess we’ve made. Damn, our sheets are bloody, sweaty, and drenched. Even with the glass doors open, the room smells like an overbooked house of ill repute after a US Navy shore leave.
A yummy, Beast Lord-scented brothel.
I watch Stafford stroll out of the room, into the kitchen. How could I not stare at his muscular back and perfect ass? He’s such a hottie. My eyes widen when I see several teeth imprints on his beautiful butt. Love bites. Literally.
Oh my God, I did that?
I smirk. Good thing I can’t shift. Fangs would’ve done real damage.
He returns with two large glasses of water, hands me one. I drink it all, set the glass on the table. When my mate drops on the bed beside me, I regard him with an inquiring eye.
“Do other couples go this crazy during a full moon? I only had one thing on my mind.” I snort. “Whatever mind I had left after a dose of moonlight.”
He laughs, kisses my forehead. “All werewolves experience a monthly heightened libido. They go full-on wild when copulating in wolf form.”
“Does it bother you or your beast, not being able to have sex as a wolf?”
His eyes light, his smile is smug. I feel his vast affection for me right down to my toes. “As I recall, our beasts did mate.”
I snicker. “Yeah, they did,” I reply, flashing on a vivid memory. His beast catching mine, mounting my inner wolf, gripping her white ruff in his sharp fangs.
Greedy.
Needy.
Possessive. Territorial.
Victoria’s envy flashes through my mind. “Do wolves fight over sexual partners? Try to kill one another because they’re jealous?”
He shrugs. “Not really. Mated couples are monogamous, others pair off for the night. There are altercations—especially when a she-wolf is sexually receptive. Christ, when a bitch is in heat, their scent is a-fucking-mazing! Wolves battle, sure. But in our world, it’s the female’s choice. No one fights to the death.”
“Huh. I wonder if my wolf will ever be in heat?”
He sets his glass down on the bedside table, frames my face with his hands. “To me, your scent is already irresistible. I could never cheat on you. Being fully mated, it’s impossible. The scents of other wolves repel mated pairs.”
Stafford gently presses his lips to mine, soft. Sweet. It’s the most incredible thing—it’s everything.
With this one kiss, I know he’ll always be there for me.
This man represents so much. Super-hot sex, sure, but also love, comfort, family, and fun. I need his understanding, his strength, his humor. I feel the depth of his goodness right to my soul.
I pull back from him. “You’ve done this mating thing before.”
“Once, as I told you.”
“Is it always like this?”
“Like what?”
“You know. Intense. Incredible.” I wave a hand in front of me in a je ne sais quoi gesture. Mystified, I shake my head. “Being with you is not what I expected. I don’t know what I expected, but certainly not this profound
connection. Was it like that with Susanna?”
“No.” He stretches his legs out, crosses them at the ankle. “Susanna and I loved each other, and we were close. In that, it was similar. Yet what you and I have is beyond anything I’ve felt before.”
He takes my hand, interlaces our fingers. “Our bond is deeper, and you are intoxicating. I’ve always been strong, yet you’ve made me—the Magic Lands Alpha, even more powerful. Together, our packs will thrive.”
“I have even more magic than you realize.”
He turns toward me, pulls my hand to his mouth. Gently nipping the fleshly underside, he sends shivers through my body. “Oh, yeah?” he asks.
Ashamed and uncomfortable, I shift restlessly, pull my hand away. “I haven’t been trying to hide anything—I seriously doubt a mated couple could. It’s just that I remembered something today at the ceremony.”
Remembered what I’d been trying so hard to forget.
He feels my unease, as I’m aware of his concern for me. “What is it?”
Stafford could simply look in my mind, as I can look in his. He won’t violate my privacy in a time like this. I don’t want to tell him of my raven army.
Our raven army.
Perhaps Stafford will be pleased. Maybe he’ll see our compelled defense force as a valuable tool for pack survival? You know, another arrow for his metaphysical quiver?
No, he’s gonna be pissed. I’d be, if I were him.
Instead of getting rid of Stafford’s collar, my demon and I managed to collar hundreds more. If the Beast Lord’s pack members discover their enslavement, they’ll be outraged. Then when I release them, their inner wolves will take over. As a pack, they’ll hunt me like wounded prey, pull me down, tear me apart, and devour me in their fury.
I’d sure as hell better reverse the enchantment before they find out.
Gulp. No pressure.
Chapter 27.
Abruptly, my body starts to tremble. I jerk with painful memories that seem far too real. Raw fear speeds my heart. I clutch my chest. I can’t breathe!
“Jan, what’s happening? What’s wrong?” I feel the depth of his concern, as well as his confident male-Alpha certainty. Stafford would shield me with his life. He thinks he can protect me.
But can he protect me from myself?
“I’m OK, I’m OK,” I manage to choke out, but I’m obviously not OK. I feel it coming an instant before it arrives.
Flashback…
I relive the memory in a red haze of horror. Despite endlessly battling in spirit form, I shriek as I lose the war. No! I’m sucked in, absorbed by the tangled spell of joining. If I can’t escape I’ll be stuck here like everyone else, suffering for all eternity.
Days have gone by, months have passed, an eternity of hell and damnation is visited upon me. My skin burns with fire, I freeze with cold. Mad with pain, desperate to escape, I scream in agony.
We need more power!
The moment my demon and I find it, we pull it in to us.
We use that magical energy to rip apart the demon’s sorcery. To separate millions of suffering souls, to set us all free.
As we feast, pain becomes euphoric pleasure.
My ravens, my wonderful ravens! They have such beautiful wings! So much energy! Their magic is mine to command.
Then, I have THE THOUGHT. The evil, soul-destroying idea. It’s such a sly and sensible whisper in my mind.
I love wielding this power, why shouldn’t I keep it?
Hating myself, with a gasp I return to the present. Unable to meet Stafford’s penetrating gaze, I look away.
“Another flashback?” he asks. Holding me tight, he knows I’ve had my share of heart palpitations and panic attacks since returning from that damn cavern.
“Yeah.” Slightly winded, I get my bearings. “Give me a sec.” I manage to sit up from my defensively curled-into-a-ball fetal position.
He slips off the bed. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“Thanks.”
For years I’ve been smug and self-satisfied. Certain that by focusing on the virtues, I was immune to most transgressions and human failings. Pride. It’s such a sneaky sin! What do they say? Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely?
The moment I had access to unlimited power, that hunger shadowed my soul. Ignorance is no excuse. Without intent, I fell victim to the dark side.
Wickedness happens—it isn’t always some well-thought-out plan. More often, it sneaks up on a person. One thing evil understands is its most effective weapons. It’s tricky. Sly and underhanded.
Doing the wrong thing can appear logical. Rational. To keep body and soul together, even murder seems justified. Captured by dark sorcery, I’d used compulsion to steal power—to save myself and others.
One taste was all it took. Afterwards, greed was a fire in my veins. I couldn’t let all that power, energy, and magic go.
I whole-heartedly believe in freedom. Overruling another’s will is as wrong as can be. I justified enslaving Leonidas as self-defense, it was the only way I could escape the Jugulo. Collaring Stafford was an accident. Besides, he feels our mating bond erased any effects, so that worked out OK.
I’ve enthralled so many! Why? Because I wanted their magic at my command. I’m guilty of the very thing I’ve spent a lifetime fighting.
I’m ashamed. Complicit.
First Leonidas and Stafford. Now, I’ve collared everyone I’ve ever shared energy with. Everyone I’ve helped, or healed. So many! They’re all mine.
Every.
Single.
One.
Stafford returns, hands me a cold glass of apple juice. I accept it with shaky fingers, take a sip.
To me, energy shows itself as a vibe or an aura—but not all power is the same. It can be dark with coarse, jagged wavelengths, or too fine a wave to measure. The power I used to enslave others is dark as midnight and arctic cold.
So cold! This is my last thought as the walls close in.
The glass falls from my hands. Then everything goes black as I lose consciousness.
~~~
“Jan! Jan! Can you hear me?”
Cold! So cold!
In the darkness, I hear Stafford’s voice. It echoes as if coming through a long tunnel far, far away. I open my eyes, stunned to find myself in the bathtub. He’s holding my head above steaming hot water.
“I’m OK,” I manage to say, but my voice sounds strange to my ears.
Stafford’s animal power surrounds me, the scent of the forest under the stars, fresh cut grass in sunlight. I look up at the love of my life, see his dark eyes swimming with worry.
I lift a hand, lightly touch his cheek. “I’m OK,” I repeat, but I’m not. Unless I find a way to fix this “I’m-the-empress-of-all” shit I’ve gotten myself into, I don’t know if I’ll ever be OK again.
No wonder I’ve been in denial. I’m surrounded by good people, all affected by my magic. It’s difficult to face the terrible thing I’ve done. Guilt is a psychic burden. Like an invisible, unmovable boulder, it weighs heavily upon my chest.
Why does Stafford love me? I’m so evil! How I can live with myself?
In that instant, I don’t even want to.
That’s the moment I lose consciousness. Again.
~~~
This time when I wake, I’m flat on my back, staring up at a white ceiling. I blink, getting my bearings. OK. I’m on the bathroom floor with an oxygen mask hissing on my face.
I hear the low hum of a motor as something squeezes. My upper arm compresses. Blood pressure cuff. Huh. Okee dokee. As I breathe in, my chest is tender, my heart feels weird.
Safe. I’m safe.
Stafford, powerful and worried, is a strong presence all around me. His earthy energy fills the room.
The smell of sage and sweet grass is in the air, First Native purification incense. The Shaman’s been here.
“Jan, Jan!” I hear Leonidas’s frantic mental call.
“I’m OK. I’ll f
ill you in later. I’m alive. Sorry to worry you.”
“You are with your mate?”
“I am.”
His profound relief floods our connection. “Stay well.”
He’s gone.
“What’s going on?” I ask, managing to shakily drag the mask off my face.
“You lost consciousness and your body went ice cold,” Stafford replies. “I put you in a hot bath—it seemed to help. You woke. But not long after, your heart stopped. I did chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth until our on-call doctor arrived. He’s still here. Maloo left. She did what she could. Whatever happened, it’s not spell related.”
“Jan?” A werewolf with a scholarly face, angular jaw, and closely trimmed goatee bends over into my vision. Intelligent, alert, his eyes study mine. “Your vitals look good. Your pulse is strong—in normal rhythm. How do you feel?”
“My chest is a little sore from CPR. Otherwise, fine.”
“Good, good.” The doctor nods to his Alpha. “You are free to move her now.”
Wereanimals are accustomed to nudity. Unlike humans, shifters don’t associate being naked with feeling vulnerable, ashamed, embarrassed, introverted or even aroused. Maybe their blasé attitude is the effect of having an inner beast. As a pack, they strip en masse during the full moon, so it could be the result of acclimatization.
The Magic Lands might as well be an animal kingdom or nudist retreat, for all anyone here cares. Unless sex is on the menu, seeing others naked causes zero reaction.
Wolves don’t wear clothes. Neither do demons for that matter.
I’m bare-assed naked, but my monster feeds on sex. Accordingly, any nudity-related modesty I once had, vanished more than a century ago. Still, naked or clothed, Stafford always affects me.
My mate hooks one arm under my knees, the other behind my shoulders, lifts me. Carrying me, he steps out of the bathroom, gently places me on our bed. I have EKG leads connected to the heart monitor the doctor carries beside us. As I sink into the soft sheets that no longer have the scent of stale sex, I realize some kind soul has changed them.
How mortifying! After hours of mating madness, those sheets were practically a science project.
I wonder what my demon thinks of my near demise, but he does nothing. He sends no sensations. No impulses. Apparently, no interest. Is that good or bad?
