by Aline Hunter
After loading up cargo for travel and mounting the pandemonium nightmares—ancient horses used by some for travel in the Otherworld—she’d settled into her saddle, and the silence had become deafening. Hours had passed, and he wanted to hear something—anything—from his Chosen. Even if it was nothing more than a mindless raging for his being a blood drinker and a leech.
Sensing his distress, Ian communicated with him telepathically, although Ian’s voice was weak and strained. “All is well?”
“More of the same,” Bridon thought back, knowing it was wrong to continue conversing with his friend but needing the sound of something to ease the eerie and unnatural quiet. It was taxing for a telepath to communicate across large distances, draining both physically and mentally.
“She’s still in shock.”
“I know.”
He could hear the exhaustion in his friend’s voice. “Be patient. When she learns the truth, she’ll come to you willingly.”
Feeling tired himself, he responded, “I hope you’re right, old friend.”
Ian’s voice was weaker, barely audible. “I must rest, but if you have need of me, I will hear.”
“Rest well,” he thought back and cursed the lethargy that came from using his blood-inherited telepathy.
He returned his attention to Willow and watched as she lifted her right hand to the collar at her throat and inflicted intentional harm on herself. She held on until the pain was too much, let go, and lifted her blistered fingers for inspection before allowing them to fall. He knew she would repeat the process the moment the skin started to heal. Just as she had done time and time again.
“Why do you harm yourself, Willow?”
A shrug was the only answer he received.
Frustrated, he stopped his mount, tossed his leg aside, and slid from the saddle. He grabbed the reins and walked to Willow’s horse. Taking her mount by the bit, he guided them to an expanse of trees. When the nightmares were tethered, he pulled Willow from her seat.
The moment her feet hit the ground, she came to life. “Why do I harm myself?” She wrapped her hands around his arms and met his gaze. “Because I can’t do this instead.”
She stomped on his toe, brought her leg back as he staggered, and slammed her knee into his balls. He groaned as he fought to remain standing, cupping himself when she released him and started running into the trees.
Fates, it hurt. Even without her natural strength, a shot to the crotch was never a good thing. He took a deep breath, lowered his arms, and took off after her. When he had her in sight, he closed his eyes and teleported, ensuring he reappeared directly in front of her. She screamed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him to prevent her from doing any more damage.
“I warned you not to strike me,” he grated, squeezing her as tightly as he could without injuring her.
“Or what? You’ll throw a collar on me, put me in a cage, and force me to do things against my will?” She laughed bitterly. “Never mind, you’ve already done that.”
Instead of engaging in the argument she obviously wanted, he remained silent as he teleported them back to the horses. She sagged the moment they arrived, disoriented, but didn’t lose consciousness. He knew her disorientation wouldn’t last long and hurried to tend her injuries before she had the opportunity to lash out again.
“Let me go.” Her words were slightly slurred.
“Nay, if you insist on harming yourself, I must insist on healing you.”
“Why don’t you worry about healing yourself? Your nuts must be on fire right about now.”
Thank the gods, that wasn’t the case. “I recover from injuries quickly.”
“That’s too bad.”
He walked to a tree and lowered her to the ground, keeping an eye on any sudden motions. She stared at him, but didn’t attempt to repeat her earlier escape. He motioned for her to sit, and she did, staring straight ahead, as if he weren’t present.
Returning to the silent treatment he resented.
He knelt beside her and took one of her injured hands in his, flipping it over until her palm was facing up. Her skin looked horrible, raised and red. Though it would serve her right after what she’d done, he didn’t have it in him to allow her to suffer. Her anger was justified. He’d violated her in ways that made him unworthy as a male by collaring her, caging her, forcing her to submit to him when she was so torn about their future. He slowly brought the injured fingers toward his mouth, slid her blistered index finger past his lips, and sucked gently.
“W-What are you doing?” she stammered, trying to yank her hand free.
He didn’t answer, continuing to use the healing agent in his saliva to close the wounds and soothe the pain she was undoubtedly experiencing.
“Stop,” she demanded, yanking harder.
He stopped only when his tongue brushed against smooth, healed skin. After he removed her finger from his mouth, he grasped the next one for equal treatment.
“I said stop!”
“No.” He licked the raised red tissue, and she gasped. “And each time you harm yourself like this, I will only ensure you are healed again. Don’t like it? Make sure it doesn’t happen.”
He lifted his head and froze at the sight of the bright amber flecks swirling in the center of her irises. He knew Lycae eye color shifted with emotion, but it was completely different than the way vampire eye pigment changed. Instead of a continuous shift of the entire iris, bringing one color into another, the colors in her eyes threaded together, creating a light and dark contrast.
“What are you staring at?” she snapped, glared at him for several seconds, then lowered her gaze. Something he knew she never would have done unless she felt threatened or subdued by a superior.
He released her hand to cup her chin, forcing her to lift her face so he could stare into her beautiful eyes that both shone and darkened. “I’m staring at your eyes, love. They are quite beautiful.”
Her gaze flickered nervously across his face and then down again. “They’re just eyes.” To his surprise, she lifted her injured hand. “Can we get on with this?”
He was certain she did it to distract him and to sever the eye contact altogether, but he gave her what she wanted. He took the next finger into his mouth, healing the appendage with soothing sucking motions and tender laps of his tongue. Then he moved on to the next. By the time he was finished, he could smell the beginnings of arousal from her. He wanted to bury his face in her pussy and nurse at the vein located in her thigh at the same time. Her scent was unbelievable, lush and feminine. He swallowed loudly, attempting to collect himself.
“No more of that, agreed?”
When she didn’t speak, he released her hand and lifted his head. She was staring at him. The look in her eyes told him she was fighting an inner struggle as well. The brown in her irises was limited to the outer rim, the inside an exquisitely vivid foiled gold.
“I don’t like it when you look at me like that.” Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath and released it.
“Like what?”
“Like some tart you want to have your way with.”
“A tart?” Her choice of words amused him.
“Don’t be daft.”
“Daft.” He grinned. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.”
“Really?” She seemed to think about it before she shrugged. “It’s a shame. The word suits you.”
“I can think of other things that suit me better.” The blood that went to his cock caused it to pulse. He could think of a hell of a lot of things that suited him better, but there was one thing—one person—that was more important than the rest. He lowered his head, granting her time to move away if she wanted.
“Such as?” Her question came out as a raspy whisper.
“This.”
He was unfailingly gentle as their mouths met, winding his fingers into her hair and pulling her nearer. When her lips parted, he gently stroked his tongue inside the
cavern of her mouth and waited patiently until he felt the first tentative caress of her tongue before he delved deeper.
Her hands came up, grasping his forearms lightly. Each twirl and lap of her tongue was soft, mirroring the motions of her hands as she brushed her fingers against his skin.
Pulling away was the hardest thing he had ever done. He held her face in his large palms, gazing down into eyes full of desire and want. “We have to make the cavern before sunrise,” he murmured, lowering his face and brushing his lips against hers one final time. “We can continue this there, if you’ll let me. There is nothing that would please me more.”
Willow gazed into Bridon’s silver-tinted eyes—into the very soul of the man—and knew he meant what he said. She’d had plenty of time to mull over her options as they traveled, trying to put her thoughts into some semblance of order. Some things had already been decided, future consequences made unavoidable by her capture. However, there were other things that only she had the power to allow or prevent.
Including how she chose to be with Bridon.
She lowered her gaze as she weighed the gravity of the situation. She had lashed out at him, hurt him, and still he cared for her as a Lycae mate would, seeing to her injuries. Despite all the things he had done, there was also good in him. Yes, he had treated her as a prisoner, but would he have if the circumstances were different? What if she were Aislynn and times were different? How had he been with his Fated the first time around?
She was certain it was nothing like this.
Shaking aside the thought, she focused on the here and now. None of her people had to know of what transpired between them. It could remain a secret. She could set boundaries and ensure it only went so far. If somehow her kind discovered her weakness for the vampire king, it wasn’t as if she’d be around to suffer the mortification of being shunned and reviled.
Sweet Fates, she didn’t want to die a complete innocent. Not when her Fated male, gifted by the gods no less, was waiting eagerly before her. She recalled how it was with him hours before when he was naked and pressed against her skin. The image made her entire body erupt in tingles as her pulse quickened.
“I have…” She licked her lips, worried her voice would fail her. “There have to be conditions.”
“What kind of conditions,” he murmured softly, swiping a thumb across her jaw.
After clearing her throat, she swallowed slowly. “You have to promise not to speak the words to the Fates that bind us to each other.”
He chuckled. “The words are only one half of the process, little love. When we merge our bodies, it will cement the deal regardless.”
“That’s the second condition.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “No matter what happens, I want you to promise that we won’t make love.”
“Willow.” He shook his head, readying to speak, when she stopped him with a finger across his soft lips.
“Those are my conditions. You can have part of me or none of me at all.”
Sweet Heaven. Hearing herself speak those words to her Chosen caused her entire body to grow hot.
A brief hesitation, then he nodded. “I agree to your conditions, but with one stipulation.” His playful smile gave life to butterflies in her stomach, causing her sex to clench. “I am only bound to my word until you tell me otherwise. After that, anything goes.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” she said quietly, huskily, and bowed her head. “If that’s what you’re hoping for, you might as well save yourself the time and the effort.”
He didn’t argue. Wrapping his hands around her arms, he helped her stand. He guided her back to the mounts grazing on foliage, lifted her, and waited until she was settled before he climbed into his own saddle.
When he was situated he turned around, grinned knowingly, and warned, “It’s going to happen, love. But don’t worry. I’ll be more than willing to give you what you need. All you have to do is open that beautiful little mouth and ask.”
She refrained from snipping back at him. Guiding her nightmare on the path he chose, she forced herself to relax in the saddle. If her body was already betraying her so easily, her voice would certainly do the same. Her skin quivered as the cool night air brushed against her bare arms. She used the discomfort to her advantage, refusing to reach for the jacket in the nearby saddlebag. Inflicting pain with the aid of the collar around her throat wasn’t done to cause harm as Bridon believed. It was to distract her traitorous body from thoughts of the vampire she couldn’t stop staring at.
She almost reached for the collar as her desire increased. Then she remembered the outcome of such a thing and focused on the cold bite of the wind as it filtered through her clothing. It stung her face and hands, making her fingers grow numb. Soon, she told herself, striving for patience. When they arrived at their destination, Bridon would ease this insufferable ache in her body, and she would welcome his advances.
It wasn’t as if she had a choice in the matter.
She gazed up at the growing moon, resentful of the glowing time bomb.
The final days of the lunar cycle were difficult on a Lycae—especially those unmated. Males of her race simply bedded down with widows or village whores, easing their baser needs without fear of reprimand or recrimination. But females, especially those born to important families, were not allowed such accommodations.
From the moment she came into puberty, she was provided with a cell in the basement of Norvallen Hall to prevent the powerful rays of the full moon from touching any inch of her skin. The heat of the moon was just that for Wolven kind—a mating heat. The lust was undeniable, growing stronger and more volatile until the full moon crested. After that, no Lycae could control the need. It was instinctual, primal, and all consuming.
Willow peered through her lashes at Bridon’s broad back. She was facing such a time with the male she desired beyond all reason. With each hour that passed, the craving inside her continued to grow.
She gazed down at her hand and focused on the blue-hued light shining against her skin.
It wouldn’t matter that Bridon was the enemy or that she had been instructed by her father to never allow such a union to pass. Following orders of her alpha was one thing, but nothing overcame the allure of the needing.
Lifting her face, she stared at the white orb lighting the sky above, and her stomach sank.
Nothing.
Chapter Seven
Trace Locke entered Matilda’s Juke Joint in a foul mood. The night before had been a wringer, creating complications for his family that none of them had ever seen coming. He ordered a drink, went to the back of the establishment, and took a seat at an empty table.
At any moment his brothers would join him. They had a lot to discuss. Their brother, Eric, was in the shit up to his neck after finding his Chosen—Runa Charon, a fucking sidhe fae who was half human. The Fates had done something none of them would have ever believed possible by pairing their races together. He felt his anger return as he considered a future without Eric, a certainty if his brother mated a mortal woman. Draigen mated for life, which meant when she died, Eric would follow soon after.
“Maybe that’s what the Fates want,” he grumbled absently, rubbing his neck. “To see us all disappear one by one.”
Someone placed the drink he ordered in front of him, but he was so swept up in trying to find a solution to Eric’s problem that he didn’t bother looking up. There had to be some way to keep Eric away from Runa Charon. Even if it was ordained and impossible to deny, there had to be some way to make his brother see that mating the female was the wrong thing to do.
“Trace Locke?” a deep voice inquired, forcing him to stop contemplating the future.
“That depends,” he answered, snagging his drink. “Who’s asking?”
The large male pulled a chair from the table, flipped it around, and took a seat. “Dominic Ward.”
He lifted the mug to his lips. “And that name should ring a bell because?”
“Willow Miloradovic.”
The beverage didn’t make it to his mouth. Trace looked over the rim of the glass. The visitor wasn’t a visitor at all. He was a Lycae, the enemy of Bridon Walkyr. Trace kept his face blank, a skill honed over the years. Bridon, an old friend of his for centuries, had told Trace of his plan to retrieve his Fated. If all had gone according to plan, Bridon would have already accomplished his goal. Bridon had warned Trace that Lycae might come sniffing around.
There was no way in hell he was going to betray his friend’s trust.
Shrugging, he replied, “What about her?”
“Don’t play coy.” Dominic growled and shifted closer.
Trace’s own temper slipped, and the dragon inside his skin began rising to the surface. Tonight was not a night he wanted to be fucked with. His brother could be dead in the span of one mortal lifetime, too fucking soon if you were an immortal. And the cockbite mongrel in front of him apparently wanted information Trace wouldn’t give the hairy fucker even if the goddesses he worked for demanded it.
“If you’re looking for answers of some kind, I don’t have any to give you.”
“I’m not looking for answers.” Trace glanced at Dominic, and the Lycae whispered, “I’m here to share information.”
“Is that a fact?”
Dominic’s irises changed colors, becoming a light-hued gold. “You’re close to Bridon Walkyr.”
Nodding, he placed his drink on the table and attempted to keep the serpent inside him under control. “That’s the rumor.”
“Then you’d better listen to me if you don’t want to see him dead.”
So much for keeping the beast contained.
The dragon came to life, brushing under the surface of Trace’s skin. He knew his eyes had taken on their own eerie glow, a bright green that would be impossible to ignore.
“I wouldn’t recommend threatening those close to me, Lycae.”
“I’m not threatening anyone.” Dominic didn’t move away, but the anger in his tone was gone. “I’m here because I need you to get a warning to the vampire king.”
