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

by Carina Wilder

  Gwynne laughed, at last able to see a small amount of humour in her predicament. Clearly Lachlan had told Rauth about what he’d seen. At least she knew that he was all right.

  “Not sure about flying, yet,” she said. “I do seem to have wings. But that doesn’t mean I can use them, any more than a newborn baby bird could.”

  “You could, in a tight situation. For instance, if I pushed you off a cliff.” Rauth’s face was the usual confusing mix of messages. Amusement and seriousness.

  “Are you threatening me?” asked Gwynne, bracing, no longer so amused.

  “Not in the least.” Rauth smiled. “I know better than to mess with a drake. You could cook me in about three minutes flat, if you chose to do so.”

  “So you’ve encountered my…kind…before?”

  “I have, yes. Once. And so has Lachlan.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. You knew what I was going to become, after all. You knew that drakes existed.”

  “No, I didn’t entirely know that you would become one. I’d hoped, yes. And I hope even more for our children, our offspring, that they too can be powerful. The combination of you and me, Gwynne. Think of it. And Lachlan, of course.” The last was added with a sort of indifferent flick of the hand, as though Lachlan were simply a necessary part of the equation.

  Gwynne put her hands to her belly in a sort of protective gesture.

  “Rauth…who am I? What do you mean about our children?”

  The words came out in spite of a fear of the answers. Gwynne knew that the alpha wouldn’t lie to her; he never did, no matter how blunt the response; no matter how potentially painful.

  Rauth’s eyes locked on hers. “You are the daughter of a nobleman, Gwynne. And of a woman you came to know in your time as Yvonne Drake.”

  “So…my father is from your time?”

  “Yes.”

  Gwynne stood and paced slowly over an old rug that lay on the floor, thinking of the implications of what Rauth was saying. The man she’d always known as her father, who had died recently, was simply someone her pregnant mother had married sometime around the year 1990. He was not of her blood. And yet she’d loved him as much as anyone could love a parent.

  “My real father…birth father, I mean…where is he?” she asked, hesitant to hear another answer.

  “He resides in a castle of his own, some distance from Dundurn. It’s the place where Lachlan went to retrieve the Lady Gwendolyn so that she and I could marry as we’d planned.”

  “He went to the nobleman to take her from him—my father. Of course.”

  “Yes.”

  “And someone killed her.”

  “Yes. Now sit, Gwynne. I will tell you what I can. I suppose we’ve kept too much from you.”

  She obeyed with some difficulty. Her mind was a reeling spiral of images, memories and theories. It was all too much to take in.

  “Your father,” began Rauth, “was initially pleased to see his daughter—your predecessor, the Lady Gwendolyn—betrothed to me. Naturally, he didn’t know about Lachlan; to him, Lachlan was simply a messenger. A servant gone to bring his daughter to the lord she was to wed.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Lachlan and Lady Gwendolyn developed feelings for one another. This became evident. But, much as it may have irked your father, that wasn’t the issue. The lord Drake discovered that we—both of us—intended to perform the ritual. To change his daughter. To render her powerful.”

  “But wasn’t he a drake himself?” asked Gwynne, noting the nobleman’s name. Drake. Her mother had always claimed it as a maiden name.

  “He was a drake, yes. He is. But you see, he has never wanted competition. He saw our pairing as an alliance of sorts; two powerful families brought together. But when Lachlan came into the picture and the lord realized that Dundurn may become a center of power; that his daughter might become stronger than he was—your father lost his mind.”

  “Are you saying that it was my father who had Lady Gwendolyn murdered?”

  “I’m saying that it’s possible. According to Lachlan, she died in the scuffle that arose when he tried to remove her from the castle. But we’ll probably never know for certain. She was stabbed from behind, Gwynne. She died quickly. She simply wasn’t strong enough to endure the injury.”

  Goosebumps rose along the surface of her skin. It seemed that she’d been blessed with a far more pleasant life than the Lady Gwendolyn’s.

  “It is best,” said Rauth, “to forget your father, I think. To move forward. Your mother was with child when Lachlan sent her to your time, and the man who raised you took her in and loved her, and loved you. That is the life you should recall.”

  “With child. She was pregnant with me.”

  “She was.”

  This was the first time that Gwynne had sat with Rauth and had a deep, sincere conversation. She was discovering that he had a good deal of Lachlan’s kindness and sympathy, in spite of an unrelenting reluctance to show it. This, at least, was a pleasant surprise among so many unpleasant ones.

  “Do you think my—our—young would be drakes?” she asked. The word “young” startled Gwynne as it came out of her mouth. She was speaking as though she were an animal of some sort. As though she’d accepted what she’d become.

  “I hope so,” said Rauth. “Or a cross-breed between our two déor species. If I’d wanted simple wolves I could have mated with Bree, you know.”

  “Always the romantic, Rauth.” Gwynne found herself hurt by his words after the moments of close bonding that they’d enjoyed. Now he had turned on a dime, only to behave as though she were interchangeable with another female shifter.

  “It’s the truth, Gwynne.” His face was hard as rock as he said the words, but something close to remorse seemed to hit immediately afterwards. “I’m…sorry. No, it’s not. The truth is complex.”

  “Well, try me.” Gwynne pulled her leg up onto the couch, pointing a bare knee at Rauth from under the blanket.

  The man’s eyes went first to her bare skin and then uncharacteristically to the floor. Eye contact and sincerity were a difficult combination for the alpha, who saw revelations about his innermost emotions as a sign of weakness. “I…feel…deeply for you,” he began. “It isn’t normal for me to admit such a thing, let alone to feel it. In fact none of this, this relationship of ours, is anything close to normal.”

  “I wouldn’t think that sharing a woman from another era with your cousin would be normal, no,” she said.

  Rauth laid his fingertips on her bare skin, stroking her knee gently. More tenderness.

  “It is highly unusual, our relationship, of course,” he replied. “But you see, I have never felt weakness of any sort. I don’t fear death. I don’t fear love. At least, not until recently.”

  “Are you saying that you love me?”

  With that, Rauth stood and paced the length of the room as Gwynne had done, the gracefulness of his wolf’s movements in his human steps despite his enormous frame.

  “No. I suppose I am saying that I fear loving you. What it might do; how it might weaken me.”

  “Rauth, you would survive if I disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow. Even if you loved me madly. Love doesn’t kill people. You would be fine.”

  “Would I?” he asked, approaching her again so that he stood over her. “When I heard what had happened, that you had disappeared without a trace, I felt that a part of me had gone with you. I feared that I would never see you again. Oh, I didn’t tell Lachlan, of course. I never would. But I am telling you now that it pained me in a way that I’ve never felt in my life, Gwynne.”

  “Well, you did see me again. I’m right here,” said Gwynne. Her words, she knew, might seem aloof and even flippant. But inside, a heat filled her. Rauth had become like an internal organ to her; a piece of her own flesh necessary for life itself.

  But in spite of the depth of her feelings she remained confused, and on some level even angry. She didn’t care to let him
off easily, any more than she had Lachlan. “Look, Rauth,” she said, searching for the same honesty that he’d displayed. “I feel horrified for what I did to Lachlan. This new form of mine, it’s terrifying to me. And I haven’t figured it out yet. But you have to know how betrayed I feel, by you and by him.”

  “For not telling you about your father, or about your physical potential, you mean,” he said. “Yes, Lachlan informed me. And I am sorry, I suppose. In war sometimes we must make sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices! I sacrificed my entire body to you and you behave as though it was acceptable.”

  “Yes, you sacrificed yourself, as you agreed to do. You agreed to give us your body. Again and again.”

  Gwynne laughed, cynicism driving her thoughts. He was right, after all. In her mind the donation of her form had been a sexual one, a pleasurable one; not one wherein she would become a non-human creature. But he was right: she had agreed to it, body and soul.

  “So are you saying that our time together is over?” she asked. This was a hell of a way to get dumped. “That we won’t be sharing a bed anymore?”

  Rauth knelt before her in a highly unusual moment of supplication.

  “Of course not,” he said, putting his hands on both knees. “I couldn’t end it, let alone wish to. You know that. Though you and I are similar, my cwen. Unwilling to be weak, unwilling to show it. But you know that I am weak for you. For this.”

  He slid his right hand between her thighs, upwards until his fingertips softly caressed the naked, soft flesh between her legs. Then his eyes closed as he took the sensation in.

  “Dear God, always so wet for me,” he moaned. “Always ready to take me inside you, regardless of your rage.”

  Gwynne slammed her legs shut on his hand. “Don’t take it as too great a compliment,” she said. “I’m still upset, and I’m not much into grunge sex. If my body is aroused, it’s because it’s being disloyal to my mind.”

  Rauth laughed and extracted his hand.

  “You are strong,” he said. “Even your lovely white thighs.”

  “I am,” she replied. “And getting stronger. I can feel it.”

  Gwynne stood, feeling taller before him than she had in past. “And I need you to give me some time to adapt to all of this. I need to feel like myself again. Human. Even if I’m not..”

  “All right, if that’s your wish,” he replied, standing up. “You are, after all, my cwen, and future mother to my young.”

  He moved towards her and put his hands on her waist, over the loose blanket.

  “I’m not so fond of this as I am of the silk that you so often wear,” he said, a finger sliding up to the place where the wool cloth fell away from her neck. He pulled it gently, as though peeling a piece of fruit, and Gwynne allowed him to do so, her anger fading under his gentle touch.

  “But I do feel love for the woman who lies beneath,” Rauth said.

  * * *

  Trial By Fire 7

  Gwynne’s eyes remained fixed on Rauth’s face as he pulled away the blanket and let it drop to the ground. He stepped back, hand under his chin as though taking in a work of art in a gallery. Feeling appraised, Gwynne wanted to laugh again but instead displayed herself proudly, her voluptuous body, she knew, ripe for the taking. Her changes were a source of deep concern, but somehow they had made her more confident in her human skin. She had learned very quickly to appreciate the curves which had disappeared with her transformation; the scent of her own flesh, and how it altered around the two men.

  Rauth, she knew, found her beautiful; exquisite. She had never imagined that he could love her. But lust was never a matter of doubt.

  “Take off your clothes,” she said as she stood facing him. “Show me your body. I want to see you.”

  Rauth tore off his shirt. He was wearing one of Lachlan’s new ones which looked like it could have been purchased in a department store in 2014, in an effort to blend into twenty-first century society. It suited him nicely with its tailored fit which seemed to hug his muscles. He was larger than his cousin for all their similarities, his broad shoulders creating a more massive frame.

  His arms were taut as he undid his pants, and Gwynne enjoyed the sight of biceps hardening as he made the effort to spar with the button. A new mechanism for Rauth, she told herself. Buttons were a relatively modern invention. What fun it was to watch him struggle with the things.

  Finally he allowed the pants to drop to the floor. Gwynne almost expected boxers underneath but the man was so accustomed to going without underwear that, as always, he was fully on display as soon as the first layer disappeared.

  He pulled his shoes off and stepped away from the clothing which pooled around his feet, his eyes never leaving Gwynne’s own. She sensed his desire from several feet away; could smell it on his skin and even imagined that she could taste it in the air around them.

  And then there was the question of his hard cock which, as always, pleaded with her to come and play.

  “You’re difficult to resist, you know,” she said. But she walked by him into the small kitchen without another word. Rauth watched as she went, her full, round backside causing mental torment as it disappeared into the next room.

  Finally he followed her. Surely she wasn’t ignoring him. Surely…

  Gwynne sat on the edge of the heavy oak table which dominated the small space, one foot perched on its edge to reveal her slick wetness to him. There was no need for words; no need to gesture. He would know what she wanted.

  “My God, woman,” he said. “I forgot for a moment that I was hungry, in need of sustenance. But food has nothing on you—what a meal you are.”

  “So make a meal of me,” she said. “You know what I like, Rauth. You always have.” Perhaps it was her déor that was causing Gwynne to exhibit a sort of aggressiveness; whatever the case, she enjoyed issuing orders to the alpha; it reminded her of the day in the woods when they’d had something like a fight, which had resulted in copious amounts of pleasure between her legs.

  Rauth stood before her, his hard cock teasing her flesh as it delicately brushed against the inside of her thigh. He took it in his hand, sliding his length deliberately up and down her soft flesh as Gwynne closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  Fingers teased her left nipple, pinching gently and pulling at its tip as the swollen cock head stroked her opening, flicking up towards her clit in quick, repeated motions which made her squirm.

  “Oh yes,” she moaned, opening her eyes to watch him. Rauth’s own eyes were fixed on her pussy, his delight as evident as always as he admired her.

  He let his cock go and slid his index and middle fingers along her opening, gathering wetness before rubbing her clit in an expertly delicate massage.

  “Is this what you like, my lady? But of course it is…you never need answer. I know how you love to be stroked. I know how you ache for my tongue, or for my cousin’s, you dirty thing. How you like to have each hole filled. You might even enjoy having more of us about, wouldn’t you? Imagine two Rauths, two Lachlans. One for each nipple…” With that he kissed one and then the other of her erect dark pink buds; “One for your beautiful pussy…” He knelt down and kissed her slit, his tongue darting into her opening as his arms wrapped themselves around her thighs, pulling her into his face.

  “And one,” he added, “for your mouth.” Gwynne thought of it. She enjoyed having the two men in her mouth as much as buried inside her pussy; Rauth was right about that. But she didn’t want more men. Her two were perfection and as arousing as any combination could ever be.

  “No,” she said, reaching for his shoulders and sliding gentle fingers along their roped firmness. “You two are more than enough for me. If you multiplied I’d die from the orgasmic shock.”

  With her words Rauth wrapped his lips around her pink bud and she felt his tongue punish the trapped flesh, flicking quickly along its nerve endings as her body squirmed with pleasure.

  He pulled a hand away from her thigh, allowing her shap
ely calf to rest on his shoulder, and eased two fingers into her opening, moaning as he did so. She loved his reactions to her wetness; he was unabashedly excited by her own excitement, by her desire for him. He always had been, since the first time they’d met. Her body responded to him like a magnet, its various erogenous zones gravitating towards him; nipples erect, drawing his eyes. Pussy slick with wetness, drawing his mouth and cock.

  But, she knew, it was for his cousin as well. As much as each man thrilled her independently, the two of them together created a sort of exponential arousal within her. Even now, as she clenched her channel around Rauth’s long, thick fingers, she thought of the two cocks that nestled so well inside her and felt herself ache for them. For the man who was tending to her needs and for the one who was still far away.

  “I want you to come for me, my cwen,” gasped Rauth between licks. “I want to feel it around my fingers, to feel you tighten so that you’re ready for my swollen cock.”

  “Oh dear God, I love how you talk to a lady,” said Gwynne, her head back as she revelled in his touch.

  Rauth turned his head sideways, forcing her thighs further apart, and nibbled at her, his tongue sliding along her lips, teasing the area around her clit as he did so. This only served to make her want to beg him to return his focus to her bud, but she loved that he savoured her. There was no question, ever, of Rauth’s enjoyment of her taste. He would eat her for hours on end, she knew, if she asked for it.

  Something in Gwynne had worried that with her body’s change would come a diminished desire from the men. But if anything, Rauth seemed even more eager to take her in, as though they’d become even closer. She felt calm at last, relaxed and yet on the edge of a precipice. What that tongue was doing to her…

  He tapped her clit with its tip, gently as a feather at first, and yet she felt it acutely. His fingers thrust deeper into her, reminding her of what was to come. And then he tapped her again, this time with an upward flick.

  A shudder.

  Another flick. And another.