by J. A. Saare
“Easy,” a male voice, laden with desire, murmured. “Take it easy.”
“Where am I?” she demanded tersely.
He moved closer, voice soothing. “Somewhere safe.”
“Who are you?”
“Wolfe Trevlian.”
“Trevlian.” She yelped in panic and tried to pry her eyes open, hissing in agony when the light prickled and burned the surface, and she slammed them closed. Composing herself somewhat, she asked anxiously, “Any relation to Adam Trevlian?”
He chuckled and answered, “He’s my cousin.”
She pressed her hand into her face, grateful for the small shield it provided.
Could things possibly get worse? She was in a strange place—with a Lycae related to the former Alpha who presided over the renowned Bacchus pack—without her weapons.
Her nose flared and she felt a growl of animosity rising from her throat. “Where the hell is he?”
The laughter in his voice was gone. “Where is who?”
She rose and shook herself, unable to see but unwilling to stay in a position of submission. “The goddamned Lycae that came between me and the vampyren chew toy.”
He hesitated before he asked, “What do you want with him?”
“What don’t I want with him is a better question,” she railed. Feeling around, she stumbled past a chair to the right and became entangled in plastic mini blinds.
“Calm down.” He moved as he spoke, crossing the distance. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Both angry and embarrassed, she allowed him to guide her to a chair, but not before she snapped, “If you’re so worried about my state of being, close the fucking blinds!”
His nearness brought on that unbridled surge of hunger, the lure of his blood as intoxicating as the finest Bordeaux. She breathed through her mouth and swallowed loudly. Drinking from an immortal meant the thirst should be completely appeased, not increased.
The hand at her arm vanished, and she sagged into the dusty chair, listening as blinds were turned and the light against her lids dimmed. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, residuals from the sun blurring objects and creating shapes when she forced them open. The Lycae strode from across the way, stopped, and crouched down beside her. She tried to bring his large bloblike frame into focus, but her eyes refused to clear.
“What can I do?” His voice was husky, creating unexplainable prickles along the surface of her skin.
“Nothing,” she sighed and closed her lids, rubbing the skin with the pads of her fingers. The only thing that could counter the burn of the sun was the coolness of the earth, and there was no way in hell she was asking the Lycae to go dig up a chunk of dirt for a mud mask.
She heard Wolfe stand and cross the room, followed by the click of a door opening and closing. After several silent seconds, loud footsteps pounding up a flight of stairs boomed just outside. The door opened and then slammed closed.
She smelled him approaching, was calmed by his balmy scent. Then, she smelled the fresh earth in his hand, held inches from her face.
“Tell me what to do,” he said as he settled beside her.
“How did you—”
He pried her fingers from her eyes before she finished the question and massaged the cool soil against the stinging skin of her lids. “Like this?”
The relief was incredible, and she moaned in bliss, relaxing beneath the large hands with careful fingers that pressed the earth against her agonized flesh. It had been decades since anyone had touched her so delicately.
“That ends now,” Wolfe murmured.
Unwilling to move, she sighed, “What does?”
He didn’t answer, repeating the ministrations. Before long, the miserable sting disappeared. She probably looked an absolute mess, but oddly enough, she didn’t care. Now that she remembered the most marvelous intimacy brought about by a healing touch, she didn’t want it to end.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Wolfe pressed closer, and she felt the heat of his breath caress her face. “I never want to stop touching you, Arden.”
“How do you know my name?”
Just as the question came to mind, she had her answer—telepathy. All Lycae had the ability to read and share thoughts, and in taking his blood, she’d inadvertently bound herself to him. That was why she didn’t indulge in the blood of immortals she didn’t know and trust implicitly.
Being blood bound was as dangerous as being enslaved. And she’d all but forgotten that in the instant she’d gotten a taste of the unknown Lycae inches from her.
He most assuredly sensed her intention to move free of him. He slid between her open knees, forced her smaller body into the chair, and pinned her in place. The hand with the earth vanished and came back empty, insistent fingers twining in the hair at her nape.
“Don’t run,” he growled and nuzzled her nose, his enormous frame forcing her back. “It won’t do you any good.”
“W-what do you want from me?” she stammered, detesting the fear that lined her words and echoed in her mind, knowing he heard both.
“Don’t be afraid.” He sounded shamed. The husky timbre was replaced with the most sinful and luring cadence. “I won’t hurt you.”
Lying wouldn’t be beneficial, so she chose honesty. “You’re crowding me, Lycae.”
“Wolfe,” he corrected. “My name is Wolfe.”
“Wolfe,” she breathed and cleared her throat, thinking that naming a Lycae Wolfe was as imaginative as calling a cat Pussy.
“Not very inventive, is it?” Wolfe chuckled.
“Not particularly,” she agreed and groaned, unable to silence the sound of want when his pelvis and pronounced erection pressed against her thigh.
“You smell so good, Arden.” His throaty growl was back. “I want to devour you.”
She shook her head and attempted to move away from the hand at her neck, struggling against the web he weaved. She’d never imagined a Lycae would want her in his bed. They loathed those that ingested blood too much for that.
Hell must have frozen over when I wasn’t looking.
Always a first time for everything. Must have been the bite that aroused him.
“We can’t, Wolfe.” She struggled to speak, swamped by his presence. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea. I was hungry for blood, not a quick tumble between the sheets.”
“Who said anything about a quick tumble?” His lips brushed against hers, the motion featherlight.
Feigning annoyance, she countered, “I’m not stupid. All Lycae want casual and unattached sex. You don’t settle, not until you’ve found your mate.”
He continued tracing her lips and face with the softness of his mouth. “You’re right.”
When he didn’t move away, she grumbled, “If I’m right, back off. Give me some space.”
“I couldn’t give you space even if I wanted to. You can’t conceive of how difficult this is for me. Being this close to you”—his tongue flicked against her lower lip—“smelling and tasting you.”
“Come on.” Her words were muffled by another, longer, touch of his tongue. “It can’t be that difficult to find a willing female.”
“No.” He shook his head and bumped her nose in the process. “It’s not difficult.”
Those plush lips of his continued teasing her mouth, waiting until she opened her lips to speak, and then his warm tongue slid inside.
Sweet Jesus.
His mouth tasted as good as his blood, completely masculine, and each lap of his tongue told her that he knew exactly how to use it. He mastered her lips and mouth gently, encouraging her to relax by giving versus taking.
Why not? A primal part of her urged.
Sex was something she could never risk. Something she was doomed to remain detached from. Recently, she’d learned the dangers of getting horizontal with a male—she’d nearly killed him. She was too strong for mortal men, too damned tempted to drink as the need arose.
But Lycae . . . Lycae were superi
or by design. All immortals feared them. They were the most fierce—the strongest of all the races.
She went soft, enjoying the clean taste and incredible feel of him.
“You concern for my safety makes me ache, cher.” Wolfe lowered his head, nipped at her throat, and licked the skin in a smooth, decisive stroke.
Cher.
The endearment triggered a memory from the night before, and Arden placed the southern tenor of the Lycae pressed so intimately against her. The very one who had allowed Taylor Martinson to slip away and, by default, Lucius Mercoix.
Goddamn him!
He didn’t have the opportunity to brace himself, forced away when he lifted his face and she flung her head back and then slammed it forward, bestowing a full on Glasgow kiss. The crack of her forehead meeting his nose was mildly gratifying, the scent of blood sprouting from his nose easy to distinguish. She leaped over the side of the chair and stood, swiping at her muddied eyes.
“You son of a bitch!” she screamed, struggling to see despite the reprieve of the cool appeasement of earth. “You slimy fucking bastard!”
“Calm down.” He spoke from lips coated in vivid red; that much she could see. The rest of his face was still blurry and out of focus.
“Where are my Berettas and daggers, mongrel,” she snarled, shaking her head forcefully.
“You’re not going anywhere, Arden.” Wolfe was angry—the blow she delivered was impossible to be happy about—but she instinctively realized he was grappling for calm. “Not until there is an understanding between us.”
“Us.” She laughed caustically and started for the door. “There will never be an us, Lycae.”
Facing the blinding sun was preferable to the future she’d face after she killed off the cousin of Adam Trevlian. She’d just have to bide her time and go after Taylor when the opportunity presented itself again. In the long scheme of things, two decades weren’t shit. She had an eternity to see to her vow.
What good was immortality without something rewarding to look forward to?
“Me.” Wolfe’s large body blocked her path to freedom. “You have me to look forward to.”
“I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last available male on the planet and the survival of immortal race rested on it,” she snapped hotly.
He lurched for her and she crouched, avoiding his arms and spinning in a kick that connected with his lower back and sent him to his knees. The door waited, and she lunged, leaping over his all-but-prone body and grasping the handle.
A pair of strong arms captured and snared her from behind, dislodging her fingers and bringing her back into the room. Two long strides found her face up on the bed, her hands clasped above her head by one of Wolfe’s, her legs trapped by the weight of his pelvis.
Thrashing wildly, she thundered, “Let go!”
“All right, hellcat, listen up.” Wolfe’s face slowly came into focus, fuzzy around the edges. His green eyes were bright, browning flakes of blood drying at his nostrils. His thick, dark hair spilled forward, masking his temples. “Rage at me for coming between you and Taylor. I deserve it. I did what was necessary at the time to save both our asses. But don’t ever try to run from me. You won’t get far, and it causes the beast under my skin to clamor for control. I don’t want that for you, Arden. Not the first time.”
“Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked, aware that struggling would do her no good but doing it just the same. “There won’t be a first time, you crazy son of a bitch!”
“Oh, there will be a first time.” He intentionally pressed his impressive erection against the softness of her core and rotated his hips. “And second, and third . . .”
The throaty moan that slid past her lips betrayed her and, in the process, fueled her outrage. She would easily give it up to this bastard, even after the trouble, and the opportunity, he cost her. She cursed her weak body, damning herself for feeling so drawn to a male her pride wouldn’t allow her to have.
She met his eyes and ordered icily, “Get off of me.”
“I won’t let you go, Arden. I can’t.” His voice and eyes never wavered. “Do you understand me? Not now, not ever.”
He stared at her as if she were no longer just a woman, but a possession. A little warning chimed in her skull. The dawning comprehension made her belly cramp and her heart falter. It couldn’t be. There was no possible way. She couldn’t be his mate. Werewolves mated humans they could change or others like them, not vampires.
“I didn’t believe it either, not at first.” He relaxed against her but didn’t release her wrists. “But it’s true. I knew the moment I touched you.”
“It can’t be,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Is the concept of being mated to me so horrific?” He lowered his face but stopped short of contact. “You’ll never have to be alone again. You’ll have someone to rely on for the rest of your life, Arden.”
The world reeled, thoughts coming in too quickly to be processed properly. So many insecurities arose at the prospect of lifelong companionship, the fears of having been an abandoned child resurfacing—harsh, painful, and unwanted.
Those that knew and cared for her always went away, either by force or by choice.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed her then, lips soft and tender, the deadly hands on her wrists going slack. The overwhelming temptation to relent was too much, overriding common sense.
She couldn’t think like this.
“Bathroom,” she mumbled, pushing against the unyielding wall of his chest and struggling.
“Come again, t’keeira?”
Her eyes slid closed, and she went still. “I need to use the bathroom.”
She knew he sensed her need for space, having invaded the privacy of her mind yet again. He shifted his enormous frame up and over and motioned to a door to the left. She slid off the mattress without a word, rushed to the door, and slammed it closed behind her. She pushed in the lock on the handle and sagged against the thin wood. Her breathing was jagged, her heartbeat erratic.
Her fingers were trembling when she reached for the faucets and turned them numbly. Fresh water flowed into the sink, a clear, steady stream cascading against porcelain. She cupped her hands and splashed the cold liquid onto her face, removing the traces of mud before she stared at herself in the mirror. Her long blonde hair was ratty, her eyes puffy from the strain of the sun. She looked like hell and felt even worse.
There was no way in God’s creation she was returning to that room.
To his bed.
The ramifications of allowing Wolfe to take her were irreversible. Mating a Lycae meant an eternity shared together. When they discovered their mate, nothing else mattered.
She turned to stare at the window over the shower and made peace with the fact that the intentional infliction of pain is oftentimes necessary to ensure survival.
A soft knock sounded, followed by Wolfe’s concerned voice. “Arden?”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She spoke over the loud sounds of running water, grateful that the noise distorted the slight quaver in her voice.
“We need to talk, cher.”
Inhaling deeply and striving for calm, she said, “Give me five minutes.”
He stood on the other side of the door, and she welcomed the chaotic thoughts as they returned. She was trembling all over, and her frazzled mind was mush. After a minute, she heard heavy footsteps departing and sprang into action.
She left the water running, hurried for the window, and climbed through the small space without delay. The bright and painful beams of light blinded her completely, and she slammed her lids down to protect retinas that were weak to the sun. When she landed two stories below, she turned to her nose and ears for guidance and ran as quickly as her unsteady feet were willing to carry her.
A destination was uncertain, but at the present moment, all she needed was a direction.
And in this circumstance, that direction was whichever took her as far away from the
unforgettable Lycae, Wolfe Trevlian, as possible.
Chapter Five
Arden pounded on the door she couldn’t see, listening intently as the tiny metal numbers overhead rattled with each violent burst. Heavy stomping from within indicated she’d lucked out and Trevor was home.
Thank God.
“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold on tae your water.” The chain latch came undone, and the whoosh of air escaping accompanied what she guessed was a half-assed perusal. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”
