by Kresley Cole
Will had already put in a call to the soothsayer. “I’ve contacted her.”
Munro nodded. “In the meantime, the full moon’s in eight days. We can do as we did with Garreth.”
Knowing that no cage or chains could keep him from his mate when the moon was full, Garreth had ordered them to break his legs repeatedly—so he couldn’t reach his spooked female.
“Aye,” Will said easily. “Anything to keep her safe.” Had Chloe just rubbed her forehead? Will stalked off without another word, hurrying toward her. She probably had a headache. Judging by commercials, mortals got splitting headaches all the sodding time.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he stood before her. “Is Rónan pestering you? Do you have a headache?”
“No, not at all.” Her words were slurring. “Feel great.”
His gaze flickered over her face, and his lips curled. “Aye, ’cause you’re drunk.”
She blinked up at him. “I am?”
“You’ve had a dram too much. I should no’ have let you drink this soon after your injury. But you look so healthy, your color so good, I forgot.” He swung her up in his arms, and she laughed. Ach, the sound of it! “My mortal needs sleep. Off to bed, love.”
She gazed up at him like she was half in love with him already. Feeling’s mutual, little mate. How could one woman be so fucking adorable and sexy at the same time?
As he carried her inside, she said, “So about your first name . . .”
“It’s a sore subject,” he answered in a dry tone.
She grinned. “It’s Gaelic for William?”
“Aye. Like Uilleam Uallas.”
“Can I call you Will?”
Will was what his family had called him. Yes, Chloe was his mate, but the name reminded him of his past.
Hell, he’d figure all this out tomorrow. “Mayhap.” He ran up the stairs three at a time, making her laugh again. “If you’re verra good.”
In their room, he laid her on the bed. Any hopes of doing more with her were dashed when he saw her yawning. “You need to rest.” He slipped her heels from her wee feet, then reached for her skirt. She swallowed, turning those big hazel eyes up toward him.
“Just getting you ready for bed.” He couldn’t tell if she was happy about that or not. Once he’d tucked her in, he said, “Need to go shower off.”
This shower was slightly slower than the one he’d raced through the night before. Towel wrapped around his waist, he swiftly hunted for a pair of worn jeans and another T-shirt.
When he returned, her mood had turned more somber.
“What happens to you if I die?”
He sat beside her on the bed, stroking her hair from her forehead. “I’m going to find a way to make you immortal, lass.”
“You want that?”
“It must be so.”
“MacRieve, I . . .” She trailed off, as if she had too many things to tell him at once. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What? You can tell me anything.”
She bit her lip. “Um, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
Clearly not what she’d been about to say, but he didn’t press. They had time.
“I had a lot of fun with you today.” She traced the sheet with her forefinger. “There were a couple of times . . . when I found myself grinning up at you and you were already smiling at me. And it felt like we’d pulled off some kind of coup. Just the two of us.”
“We did. Simply by finding each other. And I’m glad to hear you enjoyed the day, since this has been the best one I’ve ever had.”
She frowned. “You don’t have to say that.”
“You asked me how old I am. I was born roughly nine centuries ago. I’ve lived for more than three hundred thousand days. And you made this one my favorite one of all.”
“Really?”
“Oh, aye. And I vow to you, Chloe, somehow, someway, we’re going to have an eternity more of them.”
Just then, one of the creatures beyond the wall gave a particularly loud screech.
“Talking about the future?” She gazed away. “Mine is a bit in flux.” She seemed to be sobering up. “You said you’d move heaven and earth to get me to the Olympics, but even if you got a talisman, I’d still be in public. Those things would find me.”
When he said nothing, she asked, “Have you ever worked for something—giving everything, sacrificing all you could—only to have it snatched away?”
He’d helped in the search for their king when Lachlain had been captured by vampires. For decades, they’d searched only to fail.
Lachlain had escaped on his own.
“I want verra badly to give you the chance to play,” Will finally said. “But there’s only one way to ensure your safety.”
She read his tight expression. “By giving them my father.”
“It would erase all our problems.”
She shook her head, tawny curls bouncing. “I could never let that happen.”
He exhaled. “What can I do to make you believe that he’s a villain?”
“Nothing. There is nothing you can do. I’ve known you for only twenty-four hours. I’ve known him for twenty-four years. I just need to talk to him.”
“I bet you’re telling yourself this is all a big misunderstanding. It’s no’. People were hurt.” His voice was rough as he recalled being strapped down on Dixon’s operating table, a chest-cracker poised above him. He’d never wanted anything more than to free himself. To deny her what she sought . . .
Chloe’s gaze dropped. Only then did he notice that his hand was pressed over his chest, as if guarding his heart, his claws digging into his skin.
By the look on her face, she comprehended his reaction. So Rónan had told her. Only a matter of time before she found out in the compound.
“I was hurt,” he said brusquely, letting her know he wouldn’t discuss this further.
She sat up, laying her small hand on his forearm. “I am so sorry, MacRieve. I wish that you hadn’t been. But for all my life my dad was the guy who picked me up when I fell, who taught me to be strong. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would’ve cracked at that auction. I can’t forget all he’s done for me. I just can’t. In my position, you wouldn’t be able to either.”
And on top of everything, she was loyal. Just to the wrong man. “Nay, I would no’. But I fear for you, lass. One day you will learn what he’s done; one day it will grieve you.”
“If only I could see him.”
“As I said, no one in the Lore can find him.”
“Maybe if you helped me past the wall, he would make contact with me.”
Will cupped her nape. “You vowed seven days with me, Chloe. Could you leave me behind so easily? Even after today?”
“I’m not going to lie to you—I feel some kind of connection to you that’s different from any I’ve ever felt with another. It’s . . . staggering to me.” She squeezed her temples, clearly bewildered. “For weeks, I’ve been so confused and lonely. And something about you feels right.” Turning watering eyes up to him, she clutched his free hand and squeezed it hard. “You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense right now.”
“You’re the only thing that makes sense to me.” You’re going to bring me peace. Finally, after so long of feeling nothing but guilt and self-hatred.
“This is really intense.” Her gaze darted. “I just feel like I should watch myself.” She looked utterly spooked.
As Munro had said, this was moving fast even by matehood standards. She must be overwhelmed. “We’ll figure this out in the morning. I’m going to help you however you need me to. All will be well. For now, lie with me.”
If any part of his body below his waist touched any part of hers, he’d lose control. So he lay beside her on the outside of the cover. But then she looked hungrily at his arms, like she wanted to be within them. He chucked off his shirt and reached for her. Cradling her head to him, he reclined back.
She laid he
r palm over the center of his chest, then stiffened and drew it away. Oh, aye, she knew what had happened to him. Did she think he was still injured? Or that he wouldn’t want her to touch him there? He bloody craved her touch there—
She leaned her head down to his chest. He felt her fluttery breaths; he didn’t breathe at all.
She pressed a single soft kiss over his heart, having no idea he’d just given it to her.
TWENTY-ONE
Chloe was adrift in that stage between wakefulness and sleep when a scent tickled her nose.
What is that smell? Masculine, crisp, intoxicating. Her heart began beating faster, her skin heating.
She turned toward the source and found her head resting on a man’s bare chest. Her man. She lazily smiled.
He was asleep beside her in the dimmed room. Pale sunlight tried to steal in through a crack in the heavy curtains. Morning?
Though she was tucked beneath the covers, he lay atop them—no doubt to keep control for her. Because he was generous and protective.
And athletic, sexy, fun, smart, sexy, cocky, and sexy. Realization struck her. She could look for lifetimes and never find anyone who fit her so well.
She watched him sleeping. His firm lips were parted, stubble shadowing his rugged jaw and stubborn chin. Her gaze swept lower to his muscle-packed chest and the indentations of his stomach muscles.
That line of hair descending from his navel to his low-slung jeans.
On the outside, he was physical perfection. But inside . . . he’d been hurt and still bore the mental scars. Last night, he’d unconsciously covered his heart when thinking about his torture, confirming what Rónan had told her.
MacRieve had realized that she knew. He’d accepted that. And after she’d kissed his chest, he’d clasped her in his arms so tightly she’d feared he would break her.
Then, as if he’d been waiting for ages to sleep, he’d seemed to pass out. She’d missed the opportunity to tell him of her fears, to ask for his help in discovering what she was.
Today, she decided. She’d talk to him today. Because she did want this thing between them.
For now, she reveled in his scent and heat. Yes, she’d realized she could get used to him. Waking up with him like this made her wonder again if she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Fated to this man.
He’d told her that he’d lived for more than three hundred thousand days. Yet yesterday had been his favorite of all of them?
She decided that today would be his new personal best.
No more cowardice. She would boldly explore this thing between them. When she nuzzled him, her lips skimming one of his flat nipples, he woke.
“Chloe?” He inhaled, muscles tensing. “You needin’ me, lass?” he asked in that rumbling brogue.
“Mm-hmm.”
She watched his penis begin to stiffen, caught within his straining jeans. With a groan, he adjusted himself, and his length distended once more, jutting into view.
Her fingers curled as the urge to seize him arose. The more she stared, the more she wanted to kiss it. She licked her lips for it. “Yesterday, I thought about something.” Her hips had begun rocking against her will. Literally.
“What’s that?”
Her fingers walked down his torso to the bulge between his legs, caressing him there. “About kissing you.”
His hoarse voice broke lower as he said, “Were you then?”
“Kissing you”—she rubbed her thumb across the head—“here.”
His hands flew to his pants, snatching them down his body so he could kick them off with a growl. “Well then, if you must. . . .”
His body was laid out like a bounty before her. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. That glorious shaft continued to harden.
“I’ve never done it before,” she said absently as she moved between his legs.
He spread them, beckoning her, that big rod pulsing up and down. “I’m honored you’re starting—and ending—with me. But do it so I can see that little body of yours.”
She gave him a businesslike nod, as if he’d just told her to drop and give him twenty. Yet once she’d gotten her shirt off, she hesitated at her bra.
“Show me those bonny breasts, Chloe.”
His home turf. She might’ve been shy in front of this man, but baring herself to him felt so . . . right. So she did, following with her panties.
As his gaze raked over her, he spoke to her in Gaelic, words she knew were praise. Remembering himself, he added in English, “Ach, this will no’ last long for me.”
“How do I go about it?”
“What do you feel like doing?”
Gaze locked on his mouthwatering erection, she murmured, “Lick it like a candy cane.”
“Gods have mercy,” he hissed as more moisture beaded the head. He took his shaft in hand, holding it for her like an offering. “Come have a taste.”
This felt natural to her, like she was supposed to be here, with him, about to do . . . that. So she leaned down and gave the head a long lick. As she gazed up to gauge his reaction—utter bliss—she tasted the delectable bite of his seed. An almost electrical sense of pleasure flooded through her. She moaned, “I think I’m going to love this.” One thought repeated itself: Need more.
Another lap made his shaft pulse again, giving up more moisture, providing another hit of sensation. If hints of seed were making her feel like this, she couldn’t imagine what his orgasm would do to her. She eagerly licked each new bead, like she was racing a melting ice cream cone.
A growl rumbled from his chest. “I need . . . I need your eyes on mine.”
For him to keep control. Gaze locked on his, she descended once more, circling the crown with her tongue. As she loved him with her tongue and lips, she recognized that something was clicking into place inside her, like some kind of womanly intuition was emerging. She kissed down the side of his length so he’d move his hand and let her drive.
“There, my lass,” he rasped, “that’s it.”
This intuition guided her, until she seemed to know exactly how to kiss him. She knew he needed her to take him deeper into the heat of her mouth. She knew he craved her hand tight around the base of his shaft, pumping him at the same time. She knew his balls would be aching for her to fondle them in her rolling fingers.
Her ears twitched at his every groan or growl, at the way the timbre of his voice changed as he neared his peak.
According to her new intuition, she needed to take him to the edge. And then maybe to let him linger there. . . .
Two nights ago, Will had mused, “I think I’m bluidy in love.”
As Chloe took his cock between those plump reddened lips, he thought, I know I am.
She moaned and the scent of her arousal deepened. The sweetest, most alluring scent. She was enjoying this.
Lucky man, Will! He was hard as stone and randy as a lad, excited like one.
He could tell Chloe was unpracticed with this—she’d hesitate before trying something new. Yet she was figuring it out handily.
He relaxed back, stroking her hair as she explored him with her soft lips and seeking tongue. But then his beast began to stir with more aggression. It clawed inside him, and again, Will clawed back.
This was Chloe, giving her first blow job. If he didn’t get control, he could ruin this forever. She was so young, so eagerly doing this. Don’t ruin it. He released her, clamping the headboard. If he had to white-knuckle his way through it, he would.
When she moaned and pulled on his length, he arched his back. This is mine to enjoy, beast. He was harder than he’d ever been without it rising, sweating with pleasure.
Yet an underlying uneasiness arose. He was worried about his beast, but also about how utterly perfect this felt. He’d woken to her nuzzling him after he’d slept with nary a nightmare. Will MacRieve simply didn’t get mornings like this. “Head case” took on a totally different meaning.
When she began using her hand to pump him as she suc
ked him deep, he knew it was only a matter of time. “You’re sucking it so good, lass. Can you feel my seed rising up my cock?”
She squeezed her hand around the swollen ring, making him buck to be free of that semen.
Just when he was about to come, was opening his mouth to tell her, she eased off, leaving him hanging at the edge. His claws dug deeper into the wood. The intensity was mind-numbing. Biting back a curse, he reminded himself that she was exploring him. Let her play.
When her hot little tongue tucked against his sensitive ballocks, he gave a shout. “Chloe!”
She set in with her hand and mouth once more—until he was shuddering with the need to ejaculate—only to ease off again.
“Finish me!” he grated between breaths.
She licked the slit of his cock, then pursed her lips to blow on it.
“Ah! Merciless woman!”
She worked him steadily until the pressure was unbearable, until he’d reached the point of no return.
Have to warn her. “You’ve got me in a bad way! I’m goin’ tae come a river.”
She drew back, gazing up under those long lashes. “Okay.” She played with his laden ballocks, grazing her nails behind them.
He tried to speak. Couldn’t. Tried again: “Okay? How do you want it, then? Have care, or it’ll come right upon your tongue.”
She lovingly rubbed his shaft against her cheek . . . such a sweet gesture amidst all her hot and dirty sucking—his mind was blown as thoroughly as his dick.
“I want it now.” She returned to her kiss, taking him even deeper, pumping him faster.
He drew his knees up beside her, thrusting hard to her lips. His claws dug into the headboard as his eyes rolled back in his head.
TWENTY-TWO
MacRieve’s head thrashed, sweat slicking all his tightened muscles. His legs quaked around her ears as that bulge of seed in his shaft climbed all the way to the top.
She’d rendered him this way. This was her doing. Pride and arousal warred inside her, along with a tenderness for this man that shocked her in its strength. He’s mine.
