Sought by the Alphas Complete Boxed Set: A Paranormal Romance Serial

by Carina Wilder

* * *

  Rituals 5

  The Day After the Ritual

  After Ygrena had served her breakfast Gwynne stretched and got dressed. The men had left early in the morning to see to their duties.

  “I know it's custom for you to do it,” she said, “but I think I'll dress myself today.” Ygrena nodded understanding and left her alone.

  Gwynne threw on the most contemporary dress that she had, a flowing silk number that felt almost casual after some of her ornate pieces.

  The night had been amazing—beyond amazing, in fact. Gwynne felt a need to absorb what had happened, to take some time for herself and to somehow begin to fathom the reality that was now her life.

  When she'd dressed she headed into the hallway and towards the castle’s courtyard, an open area which she’d been advised to avoid. The flyers, she was told, were everywhere, and though archers were positioned on the structure’s parapet, it was dangerous to be exposed. Still, there hadn't been reports of flyers since the overnight attack, and Gwynne ached for the open air. Since her moment of time travel she hadn't properly seen the sky.

  The guards who flanked the large door into the courtyard nodded to her in reverence, and though more guards and a few men in wolf form patrolled the area she managed to move through without difficulty.

  It was only when she reached the main gate that anyone stopped her.

  “My lady,” said the tall mail-clad man who stood in her way, “it's best that you remain inside.”

  “I need air,” she said. “I'll only be a minute. Please.”

  It was a lie, of course. But the guard, who looked confused as to what to do, succumbed and allowed her through.

  Gwynne gratefully stepped onto a field of grass which led to a thick wood. The Cornish landscape had changed in the centuries since Dundurn had stood intact; in her time the trees were long gone, replaced by wild grasses and sparse foliage.

  Out of a desire for concealment she advanced toward the forest. Regardless of how good the flyers’ eyes were, an aerial attack would be difficult through the thick underbrush and at the very least, she would hear a warning of impending trouble if someone came after her. Or so she told herself in reassurance.

  The woods were beautiful, wild and untamed. Gwynne thought of the wolves, roaming on patrol under the dark canopy of leaves overhead and the thought warmed her from the inside. Her man-wolves, protecting their territory before coming home to mate with her. She found herself wondering what they might be doing today; tonight would be the second ritual, but the day was theirs.

  The thought of a second, a third, a fourth ritual made Gwynne smile as she walked, and her stride seemed to lighten. Parts of her should ache from the previous night’s passion, but instead she simply felt aware, as though nerves that she didn’t know she’d had were now active. They’d been so deep inside her, both of them, so warm. Their hands were tender, their mouths soft. At times she’d forgotten whose mouth was where and in the deliciousness of those moments she hadn’t cared; that two such men, such beasts, were wrapped up in her pleasure was enough.

  No clear path was cut through the woods so Gwynne attempted to walk in a straight line in order to create a clear path back home, turning now and then to note landmarks: a fallen tree. A large stone which didn’t seem to belong. An incline in the landscape.

  After a time she came to a stream, which trickled almost silently before her. She crouched down and cupped a handful of icy water, which she sipped eagerly. Something about this century seemed so clean, so pure. And yet the world was at war and disease raged far afield. She thought of the pollutants yet to be invented, of the diseases the world didn’t yet know. Of cars and planes, and how North America was non-existent, as far as the residents of this land were concerned. How she didn’t exist, and yet she did.

  She sat, watching the trajectory of the cold water as it made its way non-chalantly downstream, cascading over smooth stones. Peaceful. Her knees were pulled up under her chin, her arms wrapped around them in a relaxed, pensive pose.

  For a few minutes she remained still, thinking of the night ahead and the one that had passed.

  And then she heard the snap of a twig behind her.

  Shit, she thought. It could, of course, have been a deer or another animal. But how likely was that, while giant wolves roamed the land? She knew full well that she was wanted by Kapral’s flyers. And she had no weapon.

  Gwynne stood, reaching for a nearby tree trunk, and attempted to get her bearings. A familiar stump drew her eye and she considered making a run back towards the castle. But she’d be too noisy.

  More twigs snapped. Her ears couldn’t discern where the sound came from, but it seemed to emanate from between her and Dundurn.

  Shit again.

  She pressed herself against the tree, attempting to still her breathing and even her heart, convinced that it could be heard from a mile away. Why the hell was she so stupid? She could have had someone come with her. That guard; anyone. And now she’d die alone, in the woods. No more nights of amazing sex. No more Lachlan.

  No more Rauth.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

  The voice was deep, booming through the undergrowth.

  “Walking,” Gwynne answered, relieved when she saw the alpha standing naked before her. He’d apparently arrived in his dire wolf form. “Sorry, Rauth. I know I wasn’t supposed…”

  “Supposed? Do you have any idea what sort of risk you’re taking?”

  The man walked up to her, all tenderness from the previous night forgotten, and grabbed her right wrist.

  “I know, it was stupid. I just needed some air. I’ve been cooped up…”

  “Next time you need some air, have Ygrena fan you,” he interrupted, pulling her behind him as he turned to march back to Dundurn. “You could have been killed out here.”

  “I’m so glad you care so much about me, sweetheart,” said Gwynne, unable to keep from being sarcastic.

  Rauth stopped and turned to glare at her again, his eyes narrowing.

  “You are mistaken. I don’t care about you. I care about my clan, my people, my wolves. You are a necessary evil. You are a woman that I fuck.”

  Gwynne slapped him then with her left hand, hard across the face, and Rauth grabbed her left wrist as well, now holding both tightly in his hands. For a moment Gwynne struggled, attempting to pull her hands apart and failing.

  “Fuck you,” she said. “You seemed to care about me last night when you were deep inside me. When I was pleasuring you so much.”

  “I care about your body for the vessel that it is,” he growled, releasing her left hand in order to paw at her breasts. He pulled at the silk strap of her dress, tearing it away so that the fabric fell and exposed most of the white roundness of her chest. As he always did, Rauth stared at her, eyes fixed on her curves.

  “So this is just skin to you, is it?” asked Gwynne, arching her back in defiance to thrust her breasts in his face. She knew how much he loved them, whether he felt anything at all for her.

  “It is,” he said, his voice calming. With his finger her traced the upper curve of her breast, pulling the fabric downwards until her nipple felt the cool breeze run across its surface, hardening in spite of her anger. Her body was betraying her.

  Rauth knelt before her then, cupping her breast in both hands, and sucked her nipple. He’d let her go entirely by then and Gwynne put both hands in his wild hair, pulling at it as her ravaged her.

  “The other one,” she commanded. “Suck it.”

  Rauth obeyed, sliding a thumb over one nipple as he tended to the other.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Use this vessel of yours, my lord. Pleasure the woman you don’t care about.”

  Rauth’s hands grasped for the hem of her dress and he yanked it upwards until he’d exposed her white thighs. Now she was coated in only a wide belt of silk, the dress in tatters around her chest, its lower half raised to expose her wet pussy.

  The alpha’
s head disappeared under the folds of the skirt and Gwynne felt a slick tongue between her legs as rough hands thrust her thighs apart.

  She reached backwards, grabbing the nearest tree and leaning so that her knees were bent as Rauth ate her, lips pursed around hers, tongue stroking as his and Lachlan’s had done the previous night.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she said, her voice mischievous. “Eat the pussy of the woman who fills you with indifference. Make her come for you.”

  Roughly, Rauth thrust three fingers into her slit, reminding her that the previous night had indeed made her tender, and she squeezed him as he licked, moaning in his own recollection of her tightness. She wasn’t like the women he was used to; this one seemed to shape her body around his fingers, around his tongue, his cock. She was built for pleasuring men. For pleasuring him.

  His tongue flicked at her in quick strokes, sending her into short bursts of sensation as she neared climax.

  “You’re going to make me explode, my lord,” she moaned. “You’re going to make me think you like me. That you like eating me out.”

  His lips squeezed her as his tongue set its focus on her hard bud, moving in tiny circles. Now his fingers left their warm home and rubbed her juices on her hard nipples as she sank lower, knees bending further, her eyes closed with the pleasure of the moment.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said as Rauth moaned softly.

  Gwynne thrust her hips forward into his face as she came, his lips sucking on her flesh, then tongue entering her to feel her convulsions gently take it in.

  He gave her a final lick before standing.

  “Never leave the castle alone again,” he said. Then he turned, his cock rock-hard, to walk back to Dundurn.

  * * *

  Rituals 6

  She was relieved to go largely unnoticed in the large chamber, not for feelings of self-consciousness, but because something in her had begun to feel strange. Not quite ill, but affected, as though somehow the ritual had changed her. Her body felt lighter, which she construed as a sort of foggy-headedness, and she wondered if perhaps she was simply hungry.

  Lachlan stood to greet Gwynne when she arrived at the long dining table, a smile on his face which seemed even warmer than those he’d shared with her in past. He looked relieved, as though a weight had been lifted. Happy, even. Gwynne wondered if he was experiencing the same sort of lightness that she felt.

  “My lady,” he said, kissing her hand, his lips dwelling longer than they needed to but reminding Gwynne of how exquisite they’d felt between her legs and on her nipples.

  “Hello, Lachlan. How are you this evening?” Her tone was one of forced formality, when what she really wanted was to throw her arms around him and kiss him full on the mouth.

  “Do you need to ask?” His smile remained in place as he pushed her chair in. “I’m recovering from last night’s ceremony and yet aching for another.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I didn’t need to ask. I feel the same,” said Gwynne, smiling in turn. She could still recall the sensation of the men easing into her, forcing her to take them inside her body. No, not forcing—imploring. She was the willing victim, and would be over and over again. She would beg them to thrust into her if she must.

  “I’m glad, my cwen,” said Lachlan. “More than anything I wished for your ecstasy and fulfillment. It will always be my greatest joy to fill you with every physical pleasure.”

  “I believe you,” said Gwynne. “But I like to think you enjoyed yourself as well.”

  “Dear God.” Lachlan laughed then. She loved his laugh. “Had I enjoyed myself any more I might have done you in.”

  “I look forward to being done in again and again by you, Lachlan.”

  Rauth turned to her when she’d sat down, a stern look on his face.

  “My lady Gwynne,” he said as the men around him chatted loudly about the day’s events. “Have you rested since our meeting in the woods?”

  “Yes, I have. Thank you.”

  “No,” he replied. “Thank you.” With that, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as though to indicate that he still had her juices coating his lips. Gwynne smiled again. This man was so strange, so incomprehensible and she was beginning to want to understand him as much as she wanted to know about her own past.

  Something about him was growing on her; she supposed that it was the fact that he was so much like her in many ways. Stubborn, independent, even difficult. But in him was a passion that he was almost afraid to access, which came out during sex. Rauth was willing to surrender his body to her but not his mind.

  Gwynne resolved to work on that.

  * * *

  During her time at Dundurn she’d allowed one aspect of her life to be lain aside; she hadn’t inquired about her long-lost mother or her family’s history. Somehow it seemed that matters such as the ritual were more important.

  “Lachlan,” she asked when the conversation between the pack had started up.

  “Yes, my lady?” he said, turning to her.

  “You met my mother. You knew her. And you know that I’ve been looking for her.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Lachlan’s eyes left hers and he looked away before saying, “I don’t. I’m sorry. I would go to the ends of the earth to find her for you if I had any idea at all.”

  Gwynne felt her heart sink, as much for Lachlan’s disappointment as for her own. He genuinely wanted to help, she knew. He was a good man.

  “It’s all right. I suppose it was too much to hope that I’d find her here. She must be long gone by now.”

  “I don’t know, my lady. It’s possible that one day we’ll find her, when things between clans have calmed.”

  “I hope so, Lachlan. My father would have liked it.”

  “Yes, your father, the man who died recently.”

  “Yes,” said Gwynne. Lachlan’s tone of voice was odd when he spoke the words.

  Did he know something about her father? He always seemed to be hiding secrets, and yet Gwynne had faith in him as she’d seldom had in another person.

  She opened her mouth to speak just as Rauth stood to address the room.

  “As you all know,” he said, “The flyers sent a plague victim to attack one of our men. I don’t need to tell you how grave this is, not for us as much as for the humans. The flyers show no care for them, no regard for their lives or well-being. This comes as no surprise, but we need to be vigilant in fighting them off. To keep our patrols throughout the woods. And not,” With this he turned to Gwynne. “Not to head out of the castle unaccompanied.”

  Gwynne wanted to glare at him but knew that he was in the right; she’d endangered herself and him. But this was the first she’d heard anything about plague victims. Why hadn’t she been told?

  “Are you talking about the bubonic plague?” she asked. “Like the one that killed half the population of England?”

  “Yes,” said Rauth. “That very disease.”

  “So you were exposed to a plague victim…” Gwynne stopped herself mid-sentence, blood rising to her face. She pressed her palms to the table and rose, turning to walk quickly towards the hallway outside. Had she remained, she was convinced that she would explode.

  Footsteps followed close behind her, and as she reached the door to the large chamber a hand grasped her arm.

  “Gwynne,” said a voice. It was soft, gentle even. Uncharacteristic of the alpha.

  She turned to look at Rauth. “What have you done to me?” she asked, her voice strained. “I’ve been feeling strange all afternoon. Like something’s not right. For God’s sake, the plague was eradicated centuries before I was born and now you’ve exposed me to it?”

  “We—shifters—are impervious to the plague, Gwynne.”

  “But I’m not, Rauth. I’m human. Who’s to say that you can’t carry it? Transmit it to me? You know nothing about contagion. It’s 1348, for God’s sake. If I don’t know anything else about history
, I know that your era wasn’t great for stopping the spread of deadly illness. In fact, you were damn good at spreading it.”

  For once, the shifter had nothing to say. Gwynne turned and left the room.

  * * *

  Rituals 7

  In her own room she shut the door and began to pace frantically. What could she do? She was perspiring now, and shaking, though she didn’t know if it was rage or sickness that was causing it. How did the plague manifest itself? How quickly did symptoms show up? Where was the damned internet when she needed it? God, this fucking medieval era was so primitive.

  I need to get back to my own time, she thought. But I can’t, not now. I can’t bring this disease to those people. I may as well just take an axe and start murdering the world’s population.

  A knock at the door interrupted her string of unpleasant thoughts.

  “Go away,” she growled. “Haven’t you done enough by now?”

  The door creaked open and Gwynne looked over to see Lachlan enter the room.

  “So no one around here gets the concept of privacy, I see,” Gwynne said, glaring at him. He was as guilty as Rauth; both should have told her what had happened before the ritual.

  “I’m sorry that you’re worried, my cwen. That you feel as though we put you in danger last night.”

  “Yeah, that’s sort of how it feels to know that the two men you slept with had just been around the corpse of a plague victim. You’re pretty clever for a werewolf.” It was the first time she’d used the term, and she immediately regretted it. Somehow it seemed derogatory.

  “You have every right to be angry,” he said. “But know that we would never willingly put you in danger.”

  Gwynne paced the length of her bed, unable to settle her nerves. “But you did, Lachlan,” she said, her pulse racing. “You did, and I feel ill now. Do you have any idea how frightening this is?”

  “You say that you feel ill, my lady,” he said, approaching. He put his strong hands on her shoulders as he often did to calm her, and finally she stopped moving and stood still. “Tell me.”