by Lisa Oliver
“Quickly,” Brock warned, lifting his leg and kicking at the solid door, which flew open under his boot. “The devil knows you’re here.”
Shaking his fur, Dakar dashed inside, followed closely by Brad’s bear form. The air inside the building was surprisingly clean; the doorway opening midway in a long corridor. To one side, Dakar could scent the faintest traces of blood. To the other…Dakar flickered his ears in amazement. Children. He could hear young children singing. He nudged Brock’s leg with his nose and flicked his head in the direction of the singing.
“Oh yes, they must be taken out of here tonight,” Brock agreed. “You, you, you, and you,” he pointed out to four different cat breeds. “Move quickly and quietly but get those children to safety. Brad, you can cover them.”
The huge grizzly planted his feet firmly on the tile and shook his head, lifting his snout in the direction of the blood. Brock threw up his hands in exasperation. “You then,” he said pointing to a wolf Dakar knew only as Steven. He was one of the uniforms and his human form was as solid as his wolf. “Cover them, don’t worry about anything else, just get those kids out of here and to safety immediately.” Steven nodded and ran after the cats in the direction of the singing.
“This way,” Brock said, sprinting in the opposite direction. The smell of blood got stronger the further down the hall they went. Towards the end of the corridor was a large double wooden door, covered in runes and exotic designs. Brock didn’t stop. He just planted his foot into it and ran inside. Dakar was hard on his heels, his claws slipping on the polished tiles as the butler came to a stop.
The room was the stuff of nightmares. Stainless steel marred with blood smears ran up the walls. The floor tiles were originally white, but they too were splattered with blood, some old, some fresh. Across the back wall was a solitary shelf containing thirteen glass jars. Five of them contained human hearts.
The hair on the back of Dakar’s neck rose as he spotted a black robed figure bending over the slender form of another teenager; a blood covered knife in his hands.
“Don’t move, you freak of nature or the boy gets this knife right through his heart.” The voice was harsh, as if dull through lack of use.
“You’re the reason I was created,” Brock roared, throwing himself at the hooded man. The two men fell to the floor in a flurry of limbs and punches. Dakar needed thumbs and with a single thought, shifted to his human form. Hurrying to the steel table, he checked the young man’s faint pulse; Brad still furry by his side.
“Carry him out of here,” Dakar said, one eye on the fighting pair and the other on the young man. “I’ll stay to help Brock.”
The scents coming from Brad were mixed and Dakar wondered if his partner was more emotionally invested in Brock than he’d thought. But with minimal hesitation, Brad sidled up to the steel table. Dakar draped the body over the bear’s back, but the boy was unconscious and couldn’t hold on.
“You have to shift, he’ll fall off.” Dakar didn’t want to hurt the young man any further, but when the fighting duo got perilously close to the table, he had no choice but to swing the injured man into his arms. Grunts and muttered curses filled the air along with the buzz of magic. Rather than shift, Brad stood up on his back legs, his furry head lightly grazing the ceiling, holding out his arms. Dakar barely had time to get the young man settled before the steel table went flying into the air.
“Go. Go,” he yelled, letting his wolf take control again. He wasn’t sure how much help he would be for Brock, especially with the magic in the air. But he could distract the robed man, keep him off balance. Crouching low, his ears flicking madly, Dakar waited for his chance, lunging in and taking a bite whenever the evil doer got close. The stench was nothing he’d ever smelled before – rancid almost, definitely more in tune with rotting meat than a human or magic user smell. Whoever the man was though, he was strong and not prepared to give up. Brock’s cheek was smeared with blood, his hair a mess. His black shirt was ripped along the shoulder seam and his pants were torn in two places Dakar could see.
A boot to his ribs made Dakar snarl. This is the man who’s trying to kill our mate. His wolf wasn’t the giving up type either. Rather than sit in the shadows, Dakar leapt forward as a cloud of black smoke rose from where Brock and the killer were fighting. He staggered back as the smoke filled his lungs. He heard a warning yell from Brock, but it was too late. The last thing Dakar remembered was his head hitting the unforgiving tiles.
/~/~/~/~/
Sy woke with a start, his heart pounding, his breath ragged. Using their bond, he tried to get in touch with Brock, but all he got was static. That in itself was a warning signal. As he jumped off the bed, he tried to remember the last thing he’d been doing. At the precinct. I got a link. Flea-bitten Hellhounds, they’ve gone without me. Sy’s heart ached. Brock had been his rock for decades and Dakar…He cares about me and for Sy that was a rare and precious gift he wasn’t prepared to lose.
Now is not the time to sit around like a wilting daisy, he told himself firmly as he sent out his powers looking for Brock’s last known whereabouts. The link he got was faint, as though it was blocked by magic. But it was enough for Sy to act on. Pulling on his finely honed magic skills, Sy disappeared from his bedroom.
/~/~/~/~/
Brock’s fury grew as he saw Dakar’s beautiful wolf form slumped on the floor. Baring his teeth, he shook his head at the killer who was staring at him aghast. “Magic doesn’t work on me, idiot.”
The killer regained his senses quickly and laughed. “But your pet’s not immune. How sad. Too bad. Tell me how to kill you, golem and I’ll make it quick.”
“What makes you think I can be killed?” Brock snarled as he reached for the killer’s robes. “I was created with you in mind.” Tugging the man to his feet, Brock grabbed the side of the killer’s neck. “You, however are nothing more than flesh and blood.”
“Magic beast, your deed is done, return to dust from where you come,” the killer babbled, his fingers tugging at Brock’s hand.
Brock stood firm, his grip never wavering. “Not while I have a master to protect.”
“The Necromancer must be stopped. He threatens us all.” The killer coughed.
“And killing innocent young men is your way of doing it?”
“I’m just the tool.” The killer smiled showing a mouthful of missing teeth. “Collecting the ingredients needed for my master’s spell. You can’t stop him. He sees all, he knows what you are doing.”
“Then he can watch this.” With one quick twist of his hand, the killer’s neck was broken. But the things Brock saw in his mind lingered and a shiver ran down his spine. Dropping the killer’s body, Brock turned to see Sy hovering over Dakar’s body as if unsure of what to do. Tears do not belong on that young man’s face, he thought as he hurried over and picked Dakar up from the floor.
“Ingested magic,” he said quickly. “He will need your powers to counter the spell, but not here. Don’t use your magic here.”
“But Dakar… and you. What happened to you?”
“I’m fine. Nothing a bath won’t cure. And Dakar will be fine after you’ve cleared the spell and he’s had a good night’s sleep,” Brock promised. “It is your turn to look after him for a change.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rolling over, Dakar rubbed his head. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?” He asked as he opened his bleary eyes. The first thing he noticed was that he was in Sy’s bed and he inhaled sharply, letting his mate’s scent work its magic on his tired body. Turning slightly, he saw Sy was sitting in a large chair, the skin under his eyes bruised, his curls a mess and his eyes were dull as though he hadn’t slept for a week. “You look tired, sweetness. Come over here. I don’t bite.” He patted the covers beside him.
“Brock told me you’d need food as soon as you woke up.” Sy’s elegant fingers were twisting on his lap. “Shifter metabolism is faster than other paranormals and humans, requiring large amoun
ts of food to keep the animal side strong. You’ve been hurt…you….” Sy’s voice broke.
Shaking the last dregs of sleep from his system, Dakar sat up and swung his legs over the bed.
“You can’t get up until you’ve fed.” Sy jumped up from his chair. “I’ll get Brock. He can…he can….”
“I need to hold you,” Dakar said firmly. “My wolf doesn’t like you being so far away from us, especially after last night.”
“Last night? Last night? It’s been three days. You’ve been here three days, just lying there…,” Sy mumbled as he took a step closer and all at once Dakar understood why his mate was upset.
“Come here, please,” he begged softly. “All I want to do is hold you. I want to hold you in my arms while you tell me what I missed.”
“I’ve never been so frightened for another person before,” Sy admitted, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he stepped into Dakar’s embrace. “Brock said, he told me the magic was meant for him. If you’d been a smaller man, or in your human form you would’ve died. You didn’t shift back until last night. I don’t understand what I’m feeling but I don’t like it and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“Oh Sy,” Dakar knew exactly what Sy was feeling; the same way he’d felt since he knew the young Necromancer was his mate. “You care about me and that’s exactly the way it should be between mates. You were scared for me and you’ve no idea how good that makes me feel.” Raising Sy’s face gently with his hands, up close Dakar could see how stressed his mate had been and something in his heart unfurled. “We have a connection, you and I. Once claimed, you will always know where I am or if I’m in any danger. You’ve promised me wards on my skin to help protect me from something like this ever happening again and if for some reason, the Fates felt it was time for me to pass, I would never leave the edge of the veil, no matter what forces compelled me to. I will always, in this life and the next, want you close to me.”
“You won’t die!” Sy said fiercely, his fingers curled around Dakar’s shoulders like a vice. “I won’t allow it. What use is it you having a Necromancer for a mate if I can’t save you? You have to claim me, I must claim you. You need those wards, but no, Brock said you needed to eat first. Please, let me get him and then….”
Not likely. Dakar gave into his instincts. His mate was bordering on hysterical, albeit quietly and while he could understand the maelstrom of feelings swirling around Sy’s body, the Necromancer didn’t. With no concept of mates, Sy had no idea what is was like to crave being so close one man couldn’t tell where he finished, and his mate started; where breaths were shared along with every heartbeat. Dakar understood it and without giving it a second thought, he fused his lips over Sy’s, exhaling gently from his nose.
Sy froze for just one second, and Dakar had to remind himself it wasn’t a rejection. Something that was made clear in the very next blink. Pressing closer, Sy’s hot hands flew across Dakar’s back muscles while his lips twitched under Dakar’s own. Teeth and tongue were involved, and Dakar recognized that for what it was. But what Sy lacked in technique, he made up for with enthusiasm.
Taking a chance, one his cock would never forgive him for if he didn’t try, Dakar tugged at and then slipped his hands under Sy’s shirt. He was sure Sy could feel his heartfelt groan right down to his toes. Sy’s skin was smooth as velvet with not a blemish Dakar could feel. He felt the rumblings of his own stomach, no doubt complaining about the lack of food, but Dakar needed his connection with his mate so much more.
Falling back on the bed, he brought Sy with him, finally wrenching his mouth free when breathing became paramount. “Tell me you want this,” he growled around his fangs.
“I do,” Sy panted. His flushed lips were puffy and slick with Dakar’s saliva and his nostrils flared as though he struggled to breathe. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. These last three days have played hell with every part of my being. You have to help me, I don’t know what to do, but I want to be your mate, I promise I do.”
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Wasting no time, Dakar rolled them over, pushing Sy’s shirt up to his chin as he nuzzled the soft skin of his mate’s belly. Sy wasn’t ripped like most of the partners he went for, but Dakar hadn’t realized what he’d been missing. The softness, the smell that permeated Sy’s skin, the leaking hardness in Sy’s pants all filled Dakar with emotions he wasn’t used to either. So, he focused on the one he knew best – lust.
The smell of precome assaulted his nose as Dakar tugged at Sy’s zipper. From the damp spot on Sy’s boxers, his mate wasn’t going to last long enough for Dakar to do what he had to do. I hope he’s got a good recovery period. But of course, all of that was moot. This was their claiming. In a matter of mere minutes, they would be as one no matter when Sy got his orgasm. Dragging the pants and boxers down lean legs Dakar buried his nose in the dark curls that framed Sy’s dick.
“Yum,” he grinned up at Sy’s shocked expression before licking along the length he’d exposed. “I love a good-sized cock in my mouth.”
“Yeah, well, get used to that one, because you’re not having anyone else’s.” Sy’s voice turned into a wail as Dakar sucked the mushroomed head, his mouth filling with spunk almost instantly. He wanted to chuckle; not an easy thing to do with his mouth full, but he sensed Sy’s embarrassment and just swallowed before licking his mate’s length clean.
“Delicious,” he said, sitting up and licking his lips. “Please tell me you have lube.”
Sy muttered something into the pillow he was clinging to.
“What was that?”
“I’m already ready, you know, down there.” Sy waved his hands at his hips.
This I’ve got to see for myself. Torn between the needs of his gut that thought his throat had been cut and the pressure in his balls, Dakar flipped Sy’s legs over his shoulders, his hands running down lightly furred thighs until his hands cupped Sy’s butt cheeks. Keeping a close eye on Sy’s serious but flushed face, he gently pushed a questing finger in the deep grove, closing his eyes as he felt dampness on his first swipe.
“You, my sweet, have hidden depths,” Dakar said as he forced his eyes open. “I plan on spending the rest of my life learning all there is to know about you.”
“I read a lot while you were sleeping. I found….” Sy’s cheeks got impossibly redder and he had difficulty meeting Dakar’s eyes. Dakar reminded himself, that to the buttoned-up Necromancer, with his legs in the air and his shirt still wrapped about his neck, his current situation was very new and possibly difficult for him. “Brock found a book of spells he thought might be useful.”
“I’m glad to hear Brock didn’t suffer from his run in with the serial killer,” Dakar smiled. His heart was racing and there was a flutter in his guts that had nothing to do with his empty stomach. His wolf lurked under his skin, ready, primed, and waiting for the claiming they’d hankered after for fifty years. Looking down, Dakar noted his cock was already dripping and as he caught a glimpse of Sy’s loosened hole, he swallowed hard and tilted his head back up to catch Sy’s eyes. “Prince Sebastian York, Sy, will you be my mate? Will you allow me to claim you, fill you with my seed and bite you in the way of our kind? Will you be mine forever more?”
“I vow to ensure you never regret your decision to take me as a mate.” Dakar was momentarily thrown by the formal answer, but he put that down to Sy’s nerves. His mate’s heated gaze, the way his cock was already hard again told the true story. Gripping the base of his cock, Dakar lined up. Don’t. Fuck. This. Up. He thought as he pushed forward and immediately groaned.
Dakar expected Sy to feel tight around him. The man was a virgin and even with a spell, he felt incredibly snug. But even if Dakar discounted the virgin status that made him want to beat his chest with some misguided caveman pride knowing he would be the only one who would ever take Sy like this, he still felt a deeper sense of coming home. When the Fates crafted this man, they did it with him in mind and my gods, he fit. He fi
t too well. So well in fact, his carefully crafted reputation of being able to pound an ass for hours was in serious danger of being shredded.
“Are you okay?” He panted in an effort to divert himself. Speech was difficult. With his fangs grazing his bottom lip it was damn near impossible, but for the first time since he’d learned what it was for, his cock wasn’t in the driving seat. His heart and wolf combined to put a rein on his urge to pound, and Dakar tapped into his rarely used caring side.
“Please.” Sy gave a full body wiggle. “It’s…I feel…aren’t you supposed to move or something?”
Gently sliding Sy’s legs down his arms and onto the bed, Dakar leaned over. Due to their differences in height, kissing was difficult, but Sy reached up and grabbed him around the neck bringing their chests together. This is it. I am staring at the rest of my life, and instead of feeling trapped or anxious as he had in the past when anyone got clingy, Dakar felt nothing but pride…and the overwhelming urge to climax.
Rocking gently, Dakar kept his movements soft and slow, despite the clawing inside of him pushing him to punch forward to the end. Sy would never have another first time. He’d never go through another claiming. On one hand they were having sex and yet the ramifications of their actions would echo through the rest of their lives. Electricity arched between them as Dakar felt Sy’s emotions swing from nervous anticipation into passion.
When Dakar angled slightly, Sy yelled; he actually opened his mouth wide and yelled to the ceiling as Dakar’s cock grazed the spot he was looking for. This was the man Dakar dreamed of alone in bed at night. Flushed, eager, and completely uninhibited, his straight-laced magical powerhouse was everything Dakar didn’t realize he needed. The slap of skin on skin let Dakar know his thrusts had sped up, but Sy was matching him perfectly.
