by Brenna Lyons
He sank a long finger into her, baring his fangs in a wide smile. Traia gasped, pushing her hips up as far as the scarves allowed.
“That’s right,” he crooned. “Invite me in.”
Traia shook her head in a negative response. The old magick claimed you should never invite an enemy in, vampire or not.
Was that where I went wrong? When she’d first seen Galen standing on her stoop, she’d been fooled by his fine clothing and grooming. The foul were reported to always show signs of what they were. Why didn’t Galen?
She’d been charmed by his height, his red-brown hair and golden eyes, and by his persistence and attention to her pleasure. Overall, she’d been lulled into a false security by his ability to pass through her shields.
“No. I won’t invite you in.” It was one line she wouldn’t cross.
The hair on his chest and arms bristled in warning, and his eyes narrowed. Slowly, deliberately, Galen started pumping his finger in and out of her.
“You do invite me,” he reminded her, no doubt referring to her traitor body’s ready state. “And still you challenge me.” He added a second finger, wringing a gasp from her.
His earlier words echoed in her mind. “If I was no challenge, you’d lose interest?”
Galen added a third finger, teasing her with the length and girth they both knew she wanted. “You’re inviting me in then?”
Traia cursed silently at the position he’d maneuvered her into. If she didn’t invite him in, she was a challenge the wolf lived for, the hunt he thrived on. If she did, she was surrendering to him.
She shook her head. “Nevermore,” she forced out.
“Then you will always be a challenge,” he concluded.
Her heart stuttered at that. Always? Whether he killed her or screwed her, she’d thought the challenge was for the night.
Werewolves were nomads. They constantly moved on to further kills, new hunting grounds...fresh meat to sate the palate.
Except with a mate. The nomad beast established a range around a mate’s home, enchanting her with his own brand of magick, protecting her, moving if she moved. Planting his were sons and human daughters.
Is that what this is? Is that the spell he’s woven over me?
But how could he?
Humans had only the magick they purchased from witches to fight with. Those spells could have been set by the inexperienced. Those who bought them might have skimped on the price. Maybe they couldn’t afford spells at all.
None of that was true of Traia.
Galen’s fingers moved more insistently, reminding her of the challenge he’d set.
“I do not intend to bear your puppies,” she ground out from between teeth clenched in pleasure instead of fury.
A crooked smile pulled up one side of his mouth. “They will be babies, Traia.” He twisted inside her, seeking out the deep pleasure spot he’d found countless times their first night together. “And you will beg me to plant each one.”
The denial stuck in her throat. He had her at the edges of climax. If he’d just touch her clit, she would shatter. And he knows it.
Confirming that, he passed his thumb close enough to fire her nerves with radiant heat. “Shall it be my thumb that finishes you off?” he offered.
Traia forced herself into a shake of her head. Her legs tensed and trembled with need. Her breathing went harsh. It was sweet agony. With her legs and arms tied down, she couldn’t finish herself. Galen could keep her at the edges all night.
“My mouth?” he suggested.
She whimpered. Her turncoat hips cycled up and down in a parody of a nod.
Galen was ruthless. His sucking mouth was bruising in its intensity, just the added stimulus she needed to climax hard.
His fingers retreated, and his tongue thrust inside her spasming body. Traia grasped at the scarves, her cries echoing off the stone walls.
He growled, the vibrations sending her into a stronger climax. His fangs scratched at the tender folds of her sex, mixing sweet pleasure with pain.
Traia wondered vaguely if he’d drawn blood. As if in answer, Galen withdrew and started sucking at her body, greedily drinking down her mixed flavors much like she’d done with him. At the thought, aftershocks wracked her, and Galen groaned.
He didn’t hesitate. In the next moment, Galen was feasting on her, inside and out. Climaxes overlapped, soaking her already muddled mind in rapture.
Words exploded from her throat. Traia didn’t care what they were. Most likely, she was begging for his talented cock. She might even be begging to carry young weres, for all she knew.
She must have offered something Galen wanted to hear. The cock thrusting deep into her attested that she’d said something right.
Right?
Oh yes, this felt right. Nothing—not even her first night with Galen—compared with how right this felt.
The guilt she’d expect to accompany such a shocking thought didn’t emerge. Who could feel guilt while experiencing such pleasure?
Memories of the delightful pleasure-pain he’d gifted her with had Traia biting her lower lip, trying to recreate it. Galen went still, half-sheathed in her, urging her mouth open for a searing kiss. Then he was sucking at her lower lip, her chin...her throat.
Just when she would have tensed, he laid a gentle kiss at her pulse point. It was a completely disconcerting thing for a marauding werewolf to do.
He started thrusting again, hard and fast, staking a claim she was at a loss to fully comprehend. And she didn’t care. Goddess, but she wanted this!
“Bind yourself to me.” Galen didn’t order her. It was a request, nearly a plea.
Traia stared up at him, waiting for some instruction in how to accomplish such a thing.
“Surrender to me.”
His cock working her as it was, Traia couldn’t imagine anything she’d want more than that. Visions of Galen binding her in countless positions made her dizzy.
That simply, climax loomed over her. “Yes!” No man had made her come like Galen did.
He pushed to the hilt in her and halted, stretching Traia to the limits of endurance and beyond. A litany of pleas for more left her lips.
Galen extended one wicked-looking claw and slashed the lupine birthmark that lay off-center on his broad chest. Traia watched the blood bead up, shoving away memories of her attempts to pierce the mark the morning she’d woken with him and realized what manner of creature he was.
“Surrender to me.”
She knew what Galen wanted. Her mouth watered at the chance to taste him again, loathsome as she would have found the thought an hour ago.
“Traia.”
She extended her tongue, swiping off the beads of powerful lifeblood.
Galen’s cock bucked against the walls of her sheath, and he moaned. “Don’t tease,” he admonished.
Traia raised her head, suckling hard at the cut, heat radiating through her body until she felt faint in it. Galen roared, his cock erupting with wave after wave of cum.
He moved, nestling his mouth to the base of her throat. Traia sobbed, tensing in preparation for the expecting tearing.
It didn’t come. Galen laid a line of gentle kisses from her throat to her collarbone. He nipped with his fangs just enough to fire her nerves and draw blood. He sucked, leaving a love bite that encompassed the marks left by his teeth.
In the aftermath, they lay together, Galen drawing scent from her hair, his cock softening within her.
“You haven’t surrendered to me,” he whispered. “Not fully. You won’t just invite me inside again.” The thought didn’t seem to bother him.
Traia darkened in impotent fury at the truth that it was just another challenge to him. “Nevermore,” she vowed.
His eyes glittered, and his renewed cock eased out of her. Galen took his time, raking a gaze up and down her body that heated her blood and made her heart race. “We shall see.”
* * * *
Traia opened her eyes to the gray of predawn, staring at G
alen in the semidarkness of her home. Her entire body ached pleasantly from the excesses of the night before.
She had no memory of Galen untying her arms. On some level, she was glad she didn’t remember; Traia hoped he’d unbound them after she’d slid into sleep. The memories of him unbinding her legs were embarrassing enough. She hadn’t kicked at him or pushed him away with them. Instead, she’d wrapped them tight around Galen while she’d begged for more of his cock.
Why Galen had chosen to leave her unrestrained was a mystery. He’d said it often enough: Traia hadn’t surrendered herself to him. She had no intention of being his mate, despite the quality of the sex.
That in mind, she started to rise. Something indefinable stopped her.
Traia worked at it, at a loss. True, Galen was as physically stunning as he’d always been. True, he played at her body as a master musician would his instrument.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll bind myself to a murdering mutt.
She slid from the mattress, careful not to wake him, and padded across the stone floor to her worktable.
The spell lay in readiness, only awaiting the final incantation. It had taken her thirteen days to prepare it. The other four she’d cast had only added to its potency. Though she’d believed the lesser magick would repel Galen and hurt him, in some cases, she’d prepared this last to kill him.
She’d planned to touch the bowl and speak the words when she’d bolted from him the night before. His restraining arms had prevented her from doing it then. And his blood on her tongue had caused some change she didn’t fully comprehend.
Again, that alien pain sliced in the vicinity of her heart at the thought of doing him harm. Traia swallowed down a growl of frustration. Whatever this magick was, it would die with him. All magick did. A witch would never suffer being bound without seeking retribution.
Resolved, Traia settled her left hand on the edge of the bowl and picked up the dagger in her right. The words tripped off her tongue in a rush.
She looked up at Galen, steeling herself for his anguished cries, his inhuman howls. There was nothing. No response to the magick she’d unleashed at him. He sighed in his sleep, rubbing his whiskered cheek on the pillow as if intent on leaving his scent behind.
I must have misspoken the words. It was the only possible answer.
Traia opened the ancient text to the spell and then placed her hand back on the bowl. She forced herself to slow, to annunciate each phoneme of the incantation.
The silence in the wake of her efforts was mind numbing. The answer brought her rage to a full boil. He’d stolen her magick; somehow, Galen had done the impossible. He’d rendered her powerless. He’s made me human.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and she sprung at him. Her left hand had clenched as well, and her movement sent the bowl crashing to the floor. She ignored the discordant sound and added a bellow of fury.
The sound woke him, and Galen turned her way, his eyes widening as they had the last time she’d come at him with a blade. This time, he didn’t swing to intercept or deflect the weapon.
Instead, he rolled to his back and spread his arms. It was an irreverent challenge, she guessed, based on his mocking smile.
* * * *
Though he knew her limitations, Galen’s heart pounded in fear at the sight of Traia hurtling toward him with a blade in hand. Her arm arced down toward his lupine mark, just to the left of his heart. Of the two, it was the one guaranteed to kill him.
And it stopped a whisper from his skin. Galen sighed in relief, then swallowed down a laugh. Traia would certainly mistake it for a taunt if it escaped him.
She growled, trying to force the dagger down with two shaking hands. Galen watched her with mounting pride. Every buck dreamed of having a woman this strong beside him.
The blade tip pricked his chest, and Galen shivered in delight. Traia was the strongest woman he’d ever known. Even now, the terror that she was more powerful than the mating magick persisted, giving him a healthy fear of the woman he loved.
Then the blade was gone, pitched across the room to clatter in the cold hearth. Traia dropped to the floor, burying her face in her hands. Sobs wracked her body.
The sound ripped at him. Traia was his mate. Galen rolled off the mattress and landed in a crouch behind her. He hesitated and then wrapped his arms around her. She fought him, and Galen found himself praying to the Goddess that she wouldn’t bite him again.
It wasn’t that he feared injury. Her bites and scratches of the previous night had already healed to broken pink lines and would be gone entirely in another few hours.
Rather, Galen didn’t want Traia to launch them both into another mating frenzy. Nothing would be resolved that way. She would simply emerge more confused and upset at the end of their romp.
The only way to solve this was to forge on. “Why are you crying?” he asked. He had his suspicions, of course, but it was best not to make assumptions.
“Why? Why!” she screeched. Traia turned on him, trying to lay punches that Galen blocked.
“Tell me why, Traia.”
She growled at him. “You’ve stolen my magick, and you dare ask—”
“No!” he denied.
Traia made another attempt to strike him. When she failed, she glared at him.
“Your magick isn’t gone,” he soothed her. “And the changes are the work of the Goddess, not me.”
“I’ve tried,” she snapped. “I cannot—”
“You cannot harm me,” Galen corrected. “You can cast no spell or craft no amulet or ward that will keep me away or harm me.”
Her brow furrowed, and Traia worked at words that didn’t come readily to her tongue.
“Try it,” he invited.
Her face darkened to crimson, and she averted her eyes. It was a sure sign that she’d attempted to harm him with magick before attacking him with the dagger.
“Try to light the fire, Traia. Use your magick to draw something to you. But not your dagger,” he hastened to add. “If you intend to harm me with it, your magick may fail.” He wasn’t certain it was true, but it couldn’t hurt to discourage her.
Traia swallowed hard. She extended a trembling hand toward the hearth. With a gesture and a series of whispered words, it roared to life. She pressed her hands to her chest, paused, then nodded.
“And...the dagger?” she gasped out.
Galen tipped her chin up. “We are mated, Traia. By the Goddess’s decree, you cannot harm me. Nor can I harm you.”
* * * *
Traia worked at that, her head spinning. They couldn’t harm each other? Her heart sank with the realization that it wasn’t so.
“What is it?” There was something tender and completely at odds with what she knew Galen to be in that question.
“Your presence here harms me,” she blurted out. Another part of her screamed that his leaving would harm her as much or more.
“How?”
“How?” Her voice went shrill again. How blind was he?
“How?” he repeated patiently. Galen dipped his head and inhaled her scent. His cock rose between them in response.
“Stop that!” Sex did not erase the very real problems they faced.
He offered a wicked smile. “How do I harm you by being here?”
Traia rolled her eyes. “A werewolf in the village I personally protect?” she hinted. “Stock going missing? My wards and shields failing, because it is you testing them?”
He chuckled. Then he laughed...great whooping laughs.
She slapped him, wincing that she was still able to do it. Traia had fully expected her hand to rebound, but perhaps—with his werewolf healing—a slap wasn’t seen as more than an annoyance.
Galen seemed unfazed by her reaction. “I have a farm, Traia. I raise my own meals.”
Traia considered his clothing and appearance. If he was careful to hide his birthmark... If he was careful in his dealings, it would be possible to hide his curse from neighbor
ing farmers. Her mouth went dry at the implications. “You’re not a nomad,” she guessed. She’d heard wild tales of tame weres, but she hadn’t believed them.
He shook his head. “My farm is one village over. I could construct a shop like this one on the outskirts of my lands. It wouldn’t be a far move for you.” His fingers tunneled in her feminine curls, as if his decree was enough to solve their difficulties.
She smacked at his hand. “You’re taking an awful lot for granted. Aren’t you?”
Galen leaned toward her, his cock bobbing in excitement, most likely at her challenge of his decision. “The choice is yours, Traia. Here, where a werewolf is ruining your reputation, or at my farm, where I’m not.” One brow went up to punctuate the choice.
“Are you going to make every interaction a loaded choice?” she countered, already resigned that he’d prevailed again.
“It seems to be working so far,” he taunted.
Traia crossed her arms under her breasts. She knew full well that her next move would incite him, but that held a power and magick all its own. By challenging him, she would get what she wanted, when she wanted. “Nevermore.”
About the Author
Brenna Lyons wears many hats, sometimes all on the same day: president of EPIC, author of more than 75 published works, columnist, special needs teacher, wife, mother... In addition, she’s a member in good standing of ERWA, TELL, MWW, RWU, WPM, IWOFA, and Broad Universe.
In her first six years published in novel-length, Brenna has finaled for seven EPPIES (in six separate categories), three PEARLS (taking Honorable Mention second to NY Times Bestseller Angela Knight), two CAPAS, a Dream Realm Award, and has taken Spintetingler’s Book of the Year for 2007.
Brenna has been termed “one of the most deviant erotic minds in the publishing world...not for the weak.” (Rachelle for Fallen Angels Reviews) She writes milieu-heavy dark fiction—mainly science fiction, fantasy and horror (in 20 established worlds plus stand-alones), poetry, articles, and essays. She teaches classes in everything from POV studies to advanced editing, networking to marketing.
