Mind Mates (Pull of the Moon Book 2)

by Mary Hughes

  She bent, dug her hands under his sweater vest, and tried to work loose the buttons of his shirt, fumbling the small plastic disks in her need. “Do the thing.” Her words were panted, her heart already hammering in anticipation.

  “What thing?”

  “You know what thing. Don’t pretend not to be the cleverest man in the world.”

  “In the world?” His grin flashed. “That’s pretty impossible with people like Stephen Hawking and Marilyn vos Savant in it.”

  “Fine.” She glared at him. “The cleverest man in my world. Do the thing, before I turn your vest into yarn dust.” She held up one hand and grew claws.

  He chuffed a laugh and tossed his glasses onto the nearby nightstand. “Thank goodness the spell is simple. Clothes gone.”

  Her bare pussy was suddenly scrubbing long, slick slides against his naked abs. It was like a match to a strike-strip. Her whole pelvis went up in flames. She keened.

  He groaned in return and arched, his cock rising up against her buttocks until his erection bumped eagerly against her spine—pretty far up her spine, actually. She moaned. “Is it worth it?”

  “Wh-what?” His lids were clamped shut, his fingers pinching her naked nipples until desire shot like sparklers through her.

  “Is giving in to my needs…giving in to me…worth it?” She grounded both palms on his heavy pecs and levered her weight against him to scrub herself incendiary.

  “If you come for me, yes. Totally.” His eyes opened, his gaze the purest silver fire. “Come for me, sweet Emma.”

  Her pelvis was heavy and hot, her whole body filled with crackling need. “Not without. You.”

  “Oh?” He grinned and dropped one hand to her clit, stroking in time with her swaying hips, pinching her nipple, pushing her to the pinnacle. “Make me.”

  She stopped scrubbing. Abruptly she raised her hips and cocked them at just the right angle to catch the head of his erection. Pushing down spread her labia like warm honey over his glans, taking the head inside her. Locked and loaded.

  He gasped.

  Slowly, enjoying every thick inch, she slid down, sheathing his erection in a long wet slide.

  He clenched his eyes and hissed the whole time. When she ground herself into him at the bottom, his gaze opened on her face, shocked and worshipful, glowing with awe. “Emma, you’re amazing.”

  “I’m amazing?” She was stuffed full, throbbing, his cock huge and hot inside her. He was the amazing one. But she said, “We’re amazing. And don’t you forget it. Okay. You’d better be coming now.” She raised herself on her palms. “Are you coming?”

  “You first.” He rubbed and pinched harder.

  “What was that?” Levering herself on his chest, she thrust down. He hissed again. Raising herself farther, she drove onto him like a pile driver. He groaned.

  She began to ride him, chugging her hips like a steam locomotive. “Are. You. Coming?”

  “You’re…I’m…we’re…” He couldn’t seem to get a full sentence out.

  “Yes. We’re.” She bent in for a kiss—and as her lips touched his, she tightened every muscle in her pelvis and drove herself onto him, to the hilt.

  He arched violently into her, burying himself an inch deeper. She screamed into his mouth. Her body clenched around him, the tight, dark implosion the forerunner of the biggest explosion of her life.

  Her first contractions rumbled in the depths of her being, a deep groaning earthquake about to become an avalanche of an orgasm.

  But he only began to pump frantically into her, over and over, as if trying to rub his entire self into her, filing himself off mote by mote.

  He drove her sailing over the edge.

  Not without him. The instant before she fell, she clenched her eyes shut and groped for the place she’d felt vibrate when he did his magic. Knew she had it when his fingers dug grooves into her hips.

  Remember this forever. “Us. Together.” She slammed her whole being into their shared magical spot.

  It blew like a fuse.

  The hot rising magma of climax erupted, catching her mid-contraction. Gasping, she rode the fountaining pleasure into the sky, channeled it back into that spot, that bright, sensitive place where she shared his magic.

  It exploded like a sun.

  She screamed.

  “Emma.” He roared her name and clutched her to him as he ejaculated, pouring pleasure into her in spurts of cataclysmic heat and wet.

  Her climax blew her apart, a rush of speed and power and roaring sound. His arms tightened in a crushing embrace, yet all his strength barely contained the joy blasting inside her. Magic filled her, filled him, filled them, glittering possibilities jetting forth. Galaxies of possibilities, swirling around them, through them. Easing in the aftermath of pleasure to collapse into a single reality.

  Love.

  She awoke wet and cooling. His arms were loose around her, and he was snoring lightly. Her thighs felt sticky where they lay around his hips. She shifted, trying to relieve them.

  “Mmm?”

  “Sorry to wake you. I’m just going to find a towel.”

  “’Kay.” He responded by tightening his arms around her.

  She laughed to herself. Soon enough his arms relaxed. A moment later, he gave a gentle snore, and his arms fell away.

  Released, she sat up. She paused to look down at him. His large, muscled torso, his fighter’s neck, his perfect face were even more beautiful reposed in sleep. Innocent. Boyish. The dark crescents of unfairly long lashes rested against his honed cheeks.

  He must’ve felt her staring at him because his eyes slit open, drowsy, heavy-lidded.

  Staring into his warm, blue-green eyes, her blood felt just as warm, just as life-giving. The emotions coursing through her veins… It could only be love.

  A smile lifted his lips. “That was amazing, by the way. I think you found my G-spot.”

  “Our G-spot,” she said tartly. “It’s where we’re joined…” Or rather, where she was joined to him. Giving up that bond, even temporarily, seemed the most unnatural thing on the planet. She wondered what was wrong with the Witches’ Council that they saw it as the worst sort of atrocity.

  “You’re right, the Council’s warped.”

  Surprise burst inside her. “Did you just read my mind?”

  “It’s on your face, but I was thinking it, too. This…us…it feels absolutely right.” He sighed and tugged her down onto the bed, folding her into the crook of his arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t.”

  Stupid Council taboo. No, stupid Ryder. If not for him, she and Gabriel might stand a chance. Well, and if not for her berserker. But Ryder had to go and make it personal and…and why?

  It was such an astonishing question, she blurted it out loud. “Why?”

  For once his brilliant intellect didn’t follow. “Why, what?”

  “Why does the Enforcer—whose name doesn’t rhyme with Shyder Rootingstar—hate you so much?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Why does Ryder hate me?

  For good reason.

  Gabriel sighed and sat up. Emma sat up beside him, their skin lightly touching.

  Not for much longer, if he told her.

  He’d been young and couldn’t have changed things, but that didn’t stop regret from nagging him every day. The story did not paint a pretty picture of him.

  As he stared into Emma’s earnest, adoring emerald eyes, his breathing hitched, chest going cold. He wished with all his heart he could avoid telling her. Tried desperately to think of, not a lie exactly, but something less damning.

  He never wanted to be less than a hero in her eyes.

  Why now, after that amazing time together? Not simply sex, but lovemaking.

  And that answered that, didn’t it? She had the right to know the kind of man she was tied to. Once she found out… Fear washed over him. Mates were tied for life, yes. But if he used the partial key, she’d be free. “Gabriel,
would you want me to mate with you again?” Hellflakes, of course he would.

  But would she want to? When she thought him a hero, sure. But once she found out the truth?

  He might lose her forever.

  She had the right to hear the story, but damn, this wasn’t going to be easy, knowing he’d probably earn her hatred.

  What the crunchy fuck do you think hero means, idiot?

  Her mated-emerald eyes blinked at him, the warmth there finally defeating him. For her, he’d be the man she needed him to be.

  “It happened when we were children. Ryd…I mean Shyder is a couple years younger than me, maybe six months younger than Sophia. But his expectations were always grand beyond his years.” Excuses? Gabriel swallowed a lump in his throat. Trying to exonerate himself before he started. Still trying to deserve her.

  Her hand landed on his, lightly, like a butterfly’s kiss. His gaze flicked to hers and stuck, awed all over again. She was so wonderful, so beautiful. His heart overflowed with love for her, then broke, spilling the words. “Frankly, I was a bit of an ass as a kid.”

  “You? But you’re so kind now.”

  “Maybe it’s to make up for being such a little shit then. I was gifted, you know? Exceptionally gifted, height, strength, intelligence, magic. I used to love my abilities, revel in them.” He laughed, but the darkness of it echoed in the answering frown on her face.

  “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what’s good about yourself.”

  “Maybe. I did try to use my abilities to help others. I remember I was maybe ten and heard a little girl crying for her kitten, stuck up in a tree. Easy rescue, and I got a kiss. A boy playing ball when he was supposed to be grounded—he broke a neighbor’s window, and I fixed it with a little surreptitious magic then made the kid promise to mow the neighbor’s lawn for the summer. A friend harassed by a bully…frankly, being a poltergeist in the bully’s house was kinda fun.” He shook his head. “I suppose I was good for the rewards.”

  “Children don’t have the moral compass adults do.” She caressed his hand. “You did good, that’s what counts. Lots of kids that age are bullies.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, Shyder…he rubbed me the wrong way from the start.”

  “What, you don’t like fussy, self-entitled, and contemptuous?” She laughed. “If you were a little shit, I’d guess he was really stinky.”

  “Bratty, certainly. Plus a shit-ton of snobbery chipping his shoulder. Not entirely his fault—he was spoiled rotten by his parents. When I met him, his driving ambition was to be on the Witches’ Council. No wait. That’s not right.” He frowned, casting back, trying to remember through layer upon layer of history between him and Ryder, to when they’d first met. “Sophia had ambitions to the Council. Shyder, he…he simply expected a seat would be awarded to him. Elevation without working for it.”

  “But I thought the Council was hereditary.”

  “The Upper House is, sort of. ‘Hereditary’ is somewhat misleading. To be a member of the Upper House, you have to be royal—that is, a multi-element mage. Power across multiple elements is what’s usually hereditary.”

  “So Shyder’s parents were multi-element?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. His great-grandfather was, and did good work in the Council, but I don’t know about his grandfather, and his parents couldn’t be bothered, too busy throwing parties and name-dropping. I guess one reason Shyder rubbed me the wrong way was because he couldn’t shut up about his vaunted Rootingstar ancestors. To hear him talk about it, Rootingstars founded the Council, oh maybe with a bit of help from Jean-Dion d’Avignon. But when Shyder was tested, he was a decent air witch but nothing more.”

  “Then how could he expect to be Upper House?”

  “I don’t know. Family name? Somehow, he’d simply set one foot on the escalator to success and be swept up. But it didn’t go that way.”

  “He blamed you?”

  She was always so smart. He loved that about her, even when it meant he couldn’t hide his worst faults.

  “Yeah. And I deserved his blame, though I didn’t see it at the time.” A lead weight on his chest made breathing difficult. He sighed to try to relieve the pressure, but got the feeling the real treatment was going to be complete confession. “By eighth grade, I was busy sweeping up all the awards and trophies in 4-W—”

  “4-W?”

  “Like 4-H but for witches. Anyway, I remember my last year of middle school, both Shyder and I entered the 4-W Magic Fair. He did the usual erupting volcano spell—showy but not very hard and as original as sand. But me, I was—competitive.” He laughed, again dark. “Such a mild term for rabid ambition.”

  “You?”

  “Me. You might not know it now, but I used to fight—a lot.”

  “Magically?”

  “Magically, physically, mentally, you name it. That’s why I went with battle mage as a major in school—I was good at it. A natural, plus training in one area informs the others, reinforces the others. The art of war is the same whether you’re on a battlefield or in a school science fair.”

  “Magic fair as battlefield? Huh.” Her tone was carefully neutral, as if she was seeing him in a cold new light.

  A shaft of fear skewered him. He couldn’t read her expression. Had she finally seen him for what he really was?

  All the battles I’ve been in, yet honesty in this moment is taking more bravery than all of them combined. But for her, he’d do it.

  “I take it you didn’t do a volcano.”

  “No. Something just as showy but more original—I created a magically powered robot. See, magic and tech go together like pumpkin pie and ketchup. Like a toothbrush and hemorrhoid cream.”

  “Ew. I get it.”

  “The combination had never been done before. I wish…I wish I’d kept up that line of investigation then.” He sighed and closed his eyes. A trickle threaded down his cheek. He hadn’t even known until then his eyes were wet.

  She brushed a finger across his skin, catching the tear, drying his cheek. Comforting him. “You won?”

  Well. Maybe she’d seen him for what he really was, but she wasn’t running screaming. Yet. “By a landslide. That was my first mistake. By unfortunate happenstance our displays were right next to each other, but I didn’t once notice. The judges—hell, even Shyder’s parents—passed his to admire mine, and I didn’t do a thing to discourage them. Even the Shootingst—I mean Rootingstar matriarch was impressed by my robot.”

  “Grandmother?”

  “Or great, or great-great. She was old even by witch standards, but she packed a wallop when she whacked Shyder upside the head and hissed at him why couldn’t he do as well as the Light boy? Even then, I could see how that cut him. And that was my second mistake. I was two years older and I should have said something to make it better for him, easier, but I was busy preening with my own success. By the time I did think to say something, it was too late. He’d left the fair. Then…” He sighed yet again. Damn that elephant on his chest. Wouldn’t budge.

  Emma prompted, “Then…?”

  “I tried to find him, but it was the end of the school year. The next year I was in high school. I didn’t see Shyder again until my junior year.” He shook his head. “By that time, his feelings for me were all too plain.”

  “He envied you?”

  “He hated me. Everything I was in—wrestling, debate, football even—he had to be in too. At first I was actually glad, thinking he was getting his own back by competing. By winning. I like competition, you see? But it wasn’t competition he was interested in. Not him, trying to win. But him, making me lose. Subverting me, tripping me up. Or if that didn’t work, destroying what I’d won.”

  “Oh Gabriel.” She smoothed a thumb over his cheek. Damn thing was wet again.

  “He started small. Little things went wrong for me, and I laughed it off. Until one game my football helmet came off just as the whole opposing team piled on me—and a cleated foot kicked at my head. I whipped up a
quick shield spell. Saved my life, or at least avoided major brain damage. But I’d done it without prep and it tapped me out, so the next play when my teammate slipped on the turf and we tangled legs, both of us broke bones. Nothing happened after that so I shrugged it off. Until, a few months later, in potions class, the fairy spit was replaced with hydrochloric acid. I lost half my face on that one. The worst was senior year, when my battle mage class was finally doing simulation exercises—you don’t get real field training until university but I was in the AP class—”

  “AP battle magic?”

  “Yeah. We had a paint-ball-like setup to score. Well, the magical marking fluid was spiked with curses. Not simple bur hexes, but nasty things like anthrax and bubonic plague.”

  She sucked in a breath. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes.” Anger shot through him at the memory. “The ironic thing is, Shyder might have been aiming for me, but I was too damned good. I didn’t get marked once, but everyone else in my class got horrifyingly sick. One kid nearly died. Only the teacher’s preparation, having a doctor on hand that day, kept it from anything worse, or becoming an epidemic.”

  “But Gabriel, that wasn’t your fault, that was Shyder’s doing.”

  “But it was because of me. Because of my hubris. Shyder, in his hate, undermining me, sabotaging me, but hurting others. Then…then came the plane crash.”

  Anger died, crushed by the weight of his grief. He couldn’t look at her. His head bowed, eyes leaking. He dashed a hand across his face and finished it. “When I was twenty, there was an international witches’ conference in Paris. My parents and Shyder’s were picked as delegates. Shyder wasn’t quite eighteen and went along. They traveled by plane, always dangerous, but they were all good-luck-charmed to the armpits. Midflight, Shyder was eating a bag of peanuts, fumbled one and lost it, and did a simple find-and-retrieve spell. Problem is, magic and technology don’t mix, and the more complicated the tech the worse that gets. He says he forgot.”

  Her fingers slid into his fist, a fist he hadn’t even realized he’d made. Damn, she was brave. It gave him what he needed to say it out loud.