by Kim Faulks
She wasn’t the only one aroused.
His length pressed against her ass. Through the thick denim, she could feel him pulse. He wanted her…as much as she wanted him.
His finger ran a slippery line along her center, slipping in, only to pull out, and then he repeated the action all over again. The constant movement, the light drag over her nub sent her shuddering. She rolled her hips grinding against his light touch.
She wanted harder. She wanted faster. The need for release was more than the physical. She wanted to belong to someone—even if it was in this moment.
“Fuck…I can’t…”
He released her head, still she stayed where she was with her head hanging down and panted into her chest. He moved against her hip. He gripped her waist, jerking her closer as he bent his knees to kneel on the ground.
His hand skirted her thigh and lifted her foot from the ground, lifting her knee higher and laid it on his shoulder. She was exposed to his gaze, and still she didn’t care.
The rough draw of whiskers on her fevered flesh stilled her. His tongue surged into her body, circling her nub. Sparks shot high, sending embers into the darkness of her mind.
She was lost to the feel of him, against her, inside her, and overcome with the gnawing ache inside her chest. She wanted more.
More than the physical, more than this one moment.
She wanted a tether, an anchor…just as he needed an anchor.
His brazen tongue breached her body, grazing tender flesh with his teeth. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her, rocking her.
The climax descended like drugging waves. She gripped his shoulders with one hand, the other speared through midnight hair, holding him in place. Her hips jerked. Stars shot through her stomach, through her chest, and traveled down her arm to her wrist.
The marks no longer burned, they no longer stung. They felt tattooed, embedded deeper than flesh and bone.
Through the cracked windows faint moonlight shone, illuminated the glistening remnants of what he’d done to her. Her knees shuddered. She clung to him, holding him not with ardent fervor but with something else, something softer, something deeper. “I want you inside me.”
The command came out as a harsh whisper. Hart rose, dropping his hand to the small of her back, and then under the curve of her ass. He lifted her as he stood.
His steps rocked her body against his. Through his shirt, she felt his heat and from his bottomless eyes, she felt his power. White fangs shone under his lips, but it wasn’t in anger, or in fear.
His chest heaved—he lowered his head and nuzzled her neck as he whispered. “I want just one good thing before I go to her. Just one perfect thing…and by the Goddess you are perfect.”
Something hard slid under her ass. Her skin scraped, the surface was cold, still she didn’t care. She dared not break the spell.
Hart drove her body along a table and pushed between her thighs. His hand fumbled between her legs, knuckles brushed the insides of her thigh. The sound of a zipper echoed from the dark.
She gripped his shoulders and stilled, wanting to say something in this moment. The zipper stopped. Harsh breaths filled the room, before he spoke. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No… I…I want…” The marks on her wrist tingled, drawing her focus to the reason she was here.
And in that moment she understood why she saved him from the alley.
Why she followed him into the forest.
Why she couldn’t hurt him.
And why he couldn’t hurt her.
Hart wasn’t working with anyone.
He was a lone wolf on his own and up against a power far greater than he’d ever known. He thought he was broken—he thought he was alone.
That knowing spurned her on.
Ondine shoved her hand between them, finding the smooth length of his cock. She closed her fist around him, and felt a surge of satisfaction as he gasped. “I want this. I want you.”
He moaned, the vibration rippled through his body and into her hand. She slid her hand along his shaft and felt the thick vein pulse under her fingers. She was absorbed by the feel of him.
The thick head pressed against her and then pushed. He was big…stretching her as he slowly entered. Moonlight shone against his face, illuminating the glint in his eyes. She could feel his gaze, searching her face, taking in every flinch, every tremor as he filled her.
A fierce flare of yearning filled her as he pushed in deeper, claiming her inch by brutal inch. He lifted her from the table with one slow thrust, grasping her thighs.
The heat of him spread through her. She gripped his neck and rode the stroke as he picked up rhythm. His rapid, shallow breaths scattered her hair as he leaned in close. She curled her body around him.
Ondine cried into his neck as her body shuddered and tightened. She felt him still, yet his cock pulsed. The low growl of surrender blew hot against her cheek. Heavy pants filled her ears.
Her fingers slipped from their hold. She reached for his hand and dragged the torn flesh of his wound to her lips. She kissed the corners of his brand, at the same place her own marks were.
Stay. Just a while. Until this Blood Moon ends and we’re alone, or together. Either way it felt like heaven—to be with this wolf, to be part of his life, for what little time they had left.
Her thoughts were scattered to the wind, and slow to return. Hart lowered her to her feet, holding tight as her knees buckled and held.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt our Creator.”
“I have to go,” he whispered. “She’s waiting and I have to end this once and for all.” His hand trembled as he brushed the hair around her pointed ear. “I wish…I wish we had more time, Ondine. I wish I was more than what I am, but I can promise you one thing…after tonight you’ll be free. Free of this wretched curse…and free of me.”
She opened her mouth to say the words she knew were true…Hart thought this Mistress was his fated mate, but he couldn’t be more wrong. The truth stuck in her throat like a dirty rag. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say the words that would set him free. What if she was wrong? What if this was all one perfect, beautiful lie?
What if he was right and she wasn’t meant for him?
What if she wasn’t meant for anyone?
His lips were cold now as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Don’t try to follow me. The Mistress is more dangerous than she looks, believe me…you don’t want to end up in her dungeons, and you don't want to end up in her spell.”
He bent quickly and pulled away. The sound of his zipper was a claw inside her chest. “Get dressed and leave. Keep to the path, don’t stray into the forest. I…” He stuttered and took a step toward the door. “I…I’m not the one you need.”
Boots skimmed the ground. The rattle of nails against glass filled the air, water sloshed…the jar of war water, he was taking it with him.
The creak of a hinge followed. By the silver light Ondine caught his hulking form as he stepped through the door. Her heart twisted.
Still he never looked back as the door swung closed.
And he was lost to the night once more.
Hart
He carried her scent on his skin as he left. His boots were heavy, dragged down by the overwhelming need to turn around…to head back to that cabin and find the Fae once more.
He sensed her in the alley, just as he sensed her in the woods. It was more than her scent, more than her movements behind him—he knew her like a faint echo, like a forgotten friend. He knew her and he felt her…even now as he walked away.
He was doing the right thing by leaving. This place was no place for someone like Ondine. She deserved the sun and the beauty, not this darkness…not his place of hopelessness.
He raised his head and stared across the clearing to the small trail that would lead him back to the pit of hell he once came from. Power breathed across his skin as he left the soft blades of grass for the trees. Twigs snapped
under his boots. He didn’t care if she heard him. He didn’t care if she readied for his return.
He’d been twelve the first time he saw her. Twelve and alone, living off the streets. He’d been the son of a lone wolf, the son of a wanderer. It was the only life he’d ever known, until she came along with her whispers of a better life—if only he knew the price he had to pay.
Hart…my Hart.
Her voice echoed through his head, bringing back memories of dark rooms and broken bones. Darkness consumed him as he trod the familiar path. He clung to the memory of the Fae, dragging her into Hell with him in memory alone.
He could still feel the faint brush of her hair, still hear the catch of her breath. His strides lengthened as though he were running back to her. One lunge and he picked up pace, spearing his way through the thickets and the towering pines.
He sucked in the frigid night air and felt the burn all the way to his lungs. Inside his head, the little Fae marked his shoulders with her nails and cried out against his ear.
He loved that sound. Loved everything about it—the urgency, the desperation, even now he felt her consume him.
Nails clinked against the side of the glass jar as he shoved a low-lying branch aside and rounded a clinging brush. The jar was the only thing he had to protect himself. The only thing he had to fight this bitch—power with power. His hand brushed hard steel and stopped.
He skimmed his hand along the wrought iron posts and stared into the night. By the low light of the moon, he found the boundary, and he was thrown back into that moment where he broke through, desperate for freedom and covered with blood.
The Mistress’s blood. And yet here she was calling him once more.
Her power seeped from the ground, lingering around his boots like the incoming rush of fog. He felt her just as strong today as he did all those years ago. “Why can’t you just stay dead?”
Are you ready to reap what you’ve sown? The Seer’s words echoed.
He lifted his head to the faint black blur in the distance. The hulking black mansion waited, as did what was buried inside.
He forced his feet to move, carving through the thicket as he worked his way along the fence to where the posts were weak. He moved by memory, dropping low and pushing. The metal bars howled as he worked them free, leaving a gap big enough to squeeze his shoulders through.
Hart shoved the jar through the fence and eased it along the ground before cramming his way through. He gripped the ground and felt her power rise up. The energy of the dead seeped into his fingers…gnawing the bones in his arms and licking his skin.
You’ve come…my Hart…you’ve come.
Her circle of power was alive. Stinging like her wrath and her affection. He dragged his legs through and climbed to his feet. The war water sloshed in his grip. He was under no illusion that this alone would save him, but it might make her think twice.
Brackish water filled the jar, black peppercorns bounced round the bottom, the water, laced with garlic, sloshed around the rusted nails he once drove into her body.
He’d nailed her to this place, nailed her to this Hell, desperate to make sure she didn’t claw her way free.
And yet here she was, invading his mind, haunting his every waking minute…bringing him undone. He stumbled through the shadows, delving into the parts of the forest where no light reached.
You want to kill Allendra. I can help you. That’s the way my Hart, come to me and I’ll give you what you want.
His steps slowed. He stared at the rotting mansion in the distance. “And when it’s done?”
You will belong to me.
He waited for the marks at his wrist to ache. Waited for something more than the harrowing terror that welled like an ulcer in his gut.
They may be the enemy of your family, or someone who despises you personally. They may have inflicted great harm on you and yours, or you on them. They may seem wrong for you, or you for them, in every single way. But forbidden or not, wrong or not, they are still your fated mate if you choose to go against your very nature for the sake of love.
“Just like Allendra promised,” he growled and surged ahead, stumbling into the cold loneliness of this place.
He was right back where he started, right back where he belonged.
Tears blurred the earth to the mansion. The faint trickle was the only warmth he felt. He was cold to the bone…frozen to the heart.
This pain wouldn’t be for nothing. Ondine surfaced in his mind. He’d set her free, he’d set the others free. The derelict mansion reared in front of him. He stepped on top of tangled vines and tore through thick cobwebs. It’d been five years since he’d stumbled from this place bloodied, frightened, and in awe. He was free. He was alive.
Five years of freedom hadn’t touched the surface. He deserved forever.
The front door opened as he stepped onto the landing. Rotting floorboards cracked and creaked under his boots. The door widened, yawning like a mouth ready to consume. “I’m here you fucking bitch. Do your worst.”
He stepped through and into the night. The frigid air was stifling, stealing the warmth of his breath. His chest ached with the cold. A shudder raced, quaking out from the very center of him.
He stared into nothing, and yet he knew exactly where to go.
He left the foyer behind, making his way into the bitch’s grand ballroom. In his head, he could still hear the music and still feel the tether around his neck. He was leashed like a dog, paraded in front of the other members of her coven like a prize. He was hers and hers alone. Hers to fuck. Hers to hurt. Hers to own.
And that was all he’d been all his life…he’d been owned.
The black glass chandelier lay shattered in the middle of the stateroom. Shards of glass crunched under his boots as he made his way through the expanse and into the endless hallway.
He knew where she waited. It was her favorite place…her favorite place for him. He passed the dining room with its grand piano and its endless display of candles and potions. This house was more than bricks and mortar. It was an axis mundi to the world in between, a portal for not the living but the dead.
And it was only fitting that she’d remain trapped here for all eternity. In this snare she built with her own words and her own mind. He passed the library filled with books and curses and headed for the kitchen. The place stank of the stale and rotting. It was diseased from the inside out.
At the end of the kitchen, he found the door. He gripped the handle and yanked. The door refused to give. Did he want this, was he truly prepared to succumb to her ways once more?
He clenched his fist around the metal and pulled. Resistance gave way with a pop. The door flew open. A bird took flight, tearing through the dark opening and shooting toward him.
Hart raised his hands to protect his face and stumbled. The jar slipped from his hands. He cried out as the sound of shattering glass echoed from below. Something foul came from that pit, something that’d been toxic for well over one hundred years, and still she lingered, still she refused to move on.
He reached for the railing and felt nothing but air. The place could be collapsed. It could be in ruin, still he lowered his body and took one tentative step at a time. The wooden stairs trembled under his weight. One stair gave way. His foot shot through the crack. Panic slammed his heart against his chest. There was nowhere but down. He pitched forward, arms windmilled, and then he tumbled like a stone in an earthquake.
A deafening crash followed, filling the dank air with a choking cloud of dust. Pieces fell around him as he hit the bottom and came to rest on the cellar floor.
He sucked in a breath, dragging the stench of this place into his body. His arm ached, something in his side pulled taut, pain followed, seizing his breath, stealing his thoughts. He doubled over and gripped his side.
Something was wrong, something deeper than a cut of flesh or a bruised knee.
His breath caught, agony was a spear through the most tender part of him.
<
br /> You’re hurt. Come to me, Hart. Come to me and let me take care of you.
He closed his eyes to the pain and the misery, still he couldn’t close his mind to her voice.
Why fight me? You’ll only lose. Let me ease your pain, let me take care of you.
He shoved his hand against the ground and pushed himself upright. He turned his head, and even though it was dark, he could see the opening down to the place he called home for over ten long years.
Something ballooned inside him as he leaned over. He gripped his side, crying out as he climbed to his feet. The shriek rebounded to slap him in the face. He grasped what he could, finding the icy stone walls, and dug his fingers into the cracks and heaved.
His knees buckled, the darkness blurred. His head pounded with the hooves of a thousand horses. He swallowed the acid that shot through his throat and steadied on one foot.
He could hold on for a little longer…the memory of lilac hair tickled his face and Ondine’s voice filled him. I…I want…I want this. I want you.
He closed his eyes, taking shallow breaths. His thighs burned, muscles trembled. He bore down, dragging his foot underneath him and straightened. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the whimper of pain and took a step, and then another.
He gripped his stomach with one hand and raised the other palm out to the darkness, waiting to touch the solid door that would lead him to the cells. Yet, he found nothing.
He edged closer, waiting for his fingers to buckle under the wood and stepped through the doorway. The door had been open, but still there on that fateful night. He skimmed the stony wall as he crept through the doorway. He traveled by memory and feel alone.
One step and he reached out and skimmed the bars with his fingers. He gripped the steel, flakes of rust came away in his hand.
You’re almost there, come to me my love. Come to me.
He shook the poison from his head. “I’m not your fucking love, you bitch.”
Something white shimmered in the darkness up ahead. He blinked and still the pale blur remained. Each step was torment, seizing what had been ruptured in his middle with a thorny grip.
