The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2)

by Monica La Porta

  “Out!” he roared, pointing at the hallway.

  She hastily stepped back.

  Her heel tripped on one of his boots, propelling her backward and down to the floor, from where she looked at him, breathing hard. “Valentine—” The tremor in her voice was part fear and part desire.

  His wolf fed on her emotions, amplifying them for Valentine. Mirella’s mouth was red and inviting. Her parted lips promised the softest of kisses. He only had to push himself inside the haven that was his Blessed Bride. She would please him. Her eagerness showed in her arched throat and small breaths as she bit her lower lip. She would ease his ache and ask nothing in return, but it would not be enough for the wolf. It would never be enough for the wolf until Mirella was carrying Valentine’s child.

  Lowering his voice, he said, “Get out.”

  “No,” she whispered, but it sounded like begging.

  Her imploring eyes enthralled him once again. His bride wanted him, and her scent told him she was ready to accommodate him, to make him feel whole. He was drowning in a sea of desire. After days of desperate longing, plunging into her sacred vessel was the only coherent thought left in his brain.

  She raised her hand toward him and brushed his hardness with her fingers. Fireworks exploded behind his eyelids, and he threw his head backward and roared, pressing into her caress, demanding more. Mirella obeyed, the velvet of her lips closing around him for an intimate kiss. The urge to take control and possess her mouth dictated he thrust deeper. His wolf demanded he spread her on the floor and fulfill his mandate. The beast wasn’t interested in foreplay and wanted Valentine to push her down and sink into her flower.

  Mirella’s soft moan started him. Her eyes met his, and he saw how beautiful his bride was. Selfless and sweet, she was pure. Her light was the only anchor he could follow to escape the darkness shrouding him. With all the strength he was able to muster, he reached down for her and helped her up. He then bent to kiss her crown.

  “Go back to your room.” He leaned to rest his forehead against hers.

  Mirella shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

  “Please.” He stepped back and indicated the door with an unsteady hand.

  Only when he was alone did Valentine slide to the cold tiles, his head against the wall, hoping to find reprieve from his hell. For a moment, he had thought he could have intimacy with Mirella, to let her play with his body and still be able to resist his biological urge to fill her with his Vital Essence. What a fool he was.

  Chapter Three

  Mirella heard Valentine’s tortured, “Please,” and walked away from him. The agony of that single word and her husband’s shattered expression were impossible to ignore.

  His rejection hurt her, but Valentine Lobo, Eleventh Master of House Lobo, had asked her to leave. He had not roared or snarled the command but pleaded with her to comply with his request. She didn’t know her impetuous wolf was capable of uttering a wish without demanding.

  She gave Valentine a last look before exiting his studio. His chest rose and fell as he turned toward the window opening into the hanging gardens. Looking for answers, she had barged into the room and found Valentine in a state of disarray. But now, she would rather run to him and hug him, leaning against his back as she circled her arms over his taut abdomen and chest. Only his rigid stance stopped her.

  The last thing she saw before closing the door behind her was her husband silhouetted against the purple sky and illuminated by the silvery-blue rays of the Fifth Moon. Handsome and proud, Valentine looked vulnerable in his loneliness.

  “Would you like to have your bath drawn, Blessed Bride?” Crea asked as soon as Mirella stepped into the hallway.

  Mirella accepted the offer and soaked in the warm water until her fingertips pruned. She then dried before the fireplace, her eyes on Valentine’s painting. She had admired the ocean before knowing he had painted the landscape. Looking at the pronounced direction of the brush strokes that had formed the white crest of the waves, she envisioned his elegant hand moving over the canvas. The intensity of the different shades of blues chased by the white clouds reminded her of his dark moods and sudden changes. She imagined him painting with the same passion he made love.

  She missed his rough touches, his delicate caresses, his all-encompassing kisses that transported her away from Lupine. In less than a month, her husband had become everything to her, and she couldn’t understand why he had kept his paintings a secret or why he was avoiding her. Thinking of the many reasons for his behavior only served to stoke her most profound fear.

  Had Valentine already tired of her?

  The whole day, Mirella had mulled over Ronda’s revelation and wondered why Valentine would confide in that woman, but not in her. Fed by resentment and longing, the wound in her heart had festered until Mirella felt a hole in her chest and decided she would confront Valentine. The heated discussion she had rehearsed in her mind didn’t take place. Instead of the scorching encounter that should’ve followed, her advances were met with a sound rejection.

  Only Valentine’s forlorn state lessened the blow to her self-esteem. But looking at the painting, she couldn’t help but ask herself what else her husband didn’t want to share with her. Her hand softly caressed her flat belly, and she wished she was already pregnant.

  The next morning, a knock on her parlor’s door startled Mirella as she was reading by the window. Crea rose from her chair to let the visitor inside.

  “Good morning.” Valentine remained at the entrance, filling the frame with his imposing figure.

  Mirella didn’t know if she was more surprised that her husband had come to visit her or by the fact that he had knocked before entering.

  “It’s nice to see you,” she said.

  Her heart ached anew at the mere sight of him, leaning against the doorframe.

  With a sudden tension in his stance, he gazed at her for a long moment. “Dragon’s departure has been delayed.” Before she could ask why, he added, “Problems with his ship’s engine. My engineers are already working on it.”

  “Good.” Mirella couldn’t read her husband’s mood and didn’t know what to say to him with Crea present.

  “He’ll be on his way to Solaria in no time.” Relaxing against the door, he folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head, giving her a lazy smile.

  After the confrontation of the night before, he looked the very image of a gentleman. He wore his aviator jacket and dark trousers tucked into his black riding boots. A dark gray ascot tie showed from within the lapels of a white shirt, framing the base of his throat with a pearl stickpin. His head was freshly shaven, and without the long mane of dark-blond hair, his hazel eyes shone bright, stealing her breath.

  Valentine mesmerized her with only a glance.

  A pang of longing struck Mirella. Her body stirred as images of his hands on her skin made her inwardly gasp. His eyes darkened briefly and his gaze focused on her lips that she parted in anticipation.

  “I have business in Adris and I’ll be heading out soon,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I won’t be back ‘til night.” He patted the doorjamb, then pushed himself away.

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Her voice matched his, but was tinged with disappointment.

  “Would you like to accompany me?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

  She couldn’t see anything else but those hazel pools. “Yes, I would like that.”

  Half an hour later, she was riding astride Valentine’s airbike, nestled between his legs, rejoicing at his nearness even though his embrace lacked the sensual quality she had come to expect from his touch. The fresh scent of aftershave and sandalwood surrounded her, and she snuggled closer to him, hoping his strong arms would tighten around her.

  “Mirella—” he said, then paused.

  They had just left the manor and were heading toward the property gate several kilometers ahead.

  “Yes?” She craned her head to look at him, but he shook his hea
d.

  “Never mind.”

  Even if they were physically touching, a wall divided them. Mirella couldn’t stand the misery any longer.

  She readjusted her legs and turned around on the large seat so that she was facing him. “I miss you.”

  “Mirella…” Valentine groaned, then closed his eyes for a moment before exhaling. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” She stared at him, challenging him. “You don’t want to hear that I think of you all day?”

  “Not now.”

  “I want you.”

  Valentine swore under his breath.

  “Tell me you don’t want me.” The words left her mouth in a rush.

  Unblinking, he stared at her. “I don’t want you.”

  Tears threatened to spill, but Mirella gulped down the knot in her throat. “Land the airbike.”

  “We are late.”

  “Land the airbike,” she repeated, keeping her eyes on his.

  He murmured something she didn’t understand, but then veered and circled a moor, looking for a firm spot to stop his Desert Fire.

  Before he could say or do anything, Mirella threw her arms around his neck and rose to her knees to kiss him. She sought his lips as she pressed her chest against his, needing to touch all of him, if even for a moment. His mouth remained closed for the longest time, but then when she thought she had made a fool out of herself, Valentine’s arms wrapped around her back. He took the lead, his tongue demanding entrance she immediately granted.

  There was nothing soft or sweet in the way he kissed her. His hands roamed all over her back, then moved to the front where his fingers deftly made quick work of her riding coat’s mother of pearl toggles. Her corset’s fastenings were dealt with next. Then it was her silk chemise’s turn. His movements had become frantic, and by the time he reached her lace brassiere he was devouring her mouth.

  The sound of torn fabric reached Mirella’s addled senses, fueling her hunger for him. She swam in a sea of pleasure while trying to unbuckle his belt. His mouth left hers to follow the contour of her throat. He suckled, nipped, kissed her skin, all the way to the swell of her breasts spilling out of the constraints of the corset and brassier. His fingers played with her nipples, pinching and caressing them to stiff peaks.

  Unashamed of her reaction, Mirella moaned deep in her throat, pressing against his trousers as she redoubled her efforts to free him to her touch.

  His growls, accompanied by rougher caresses, inflamed her senses even more. She would surely expire if he didn’t press her down onto him, filling her completely. Her free hand moved down to her light blue gown, raising the hem over her thighs, eager to bare herself to him.

  Her gown reached her garters, and his movements ceased. He bumped his forehead against her breasts, his breaths fast and his heart beating faster still, matching Mirella’s turmoil. She raised the heavy fabric over her skin centimeter by centimeter, exposing herself to his gaze.

  With a low roar, he looked down at her naked mound and murmured, “You’re still obeying my orders.”

  “Always.” She took his hand and pressed it down against her heated skin.

  “Kitten—” It was a plea. “I can’t.”

  “Tell me you want me.” She guided his fingers to her opening flower.

  “I can’t,” he repeated, but raised his face to hers for a kiss.

  Finally, she unhooked his belt and plunged her hand inside his trousers. His low intake of breath followed by a hoarse growl was the biggest reward to Mirella. He latched his mouth to the indentation between her neck and shoulder, his tongue lavishing the spot before his canines sprang to pierce her skin. At the same time, his finger entered her. The assault on her senses was overwhelming and coupled with the forced abstinence of the last days made her spiral into an explosive release. She rode the pleasure waves in a haze, calling him, whimpering how much she had missed him.

  “Kitten,” he whispered after brushing her lips in a soft kiss. “Are you okay?”

  She hummed her yes, moving lazily against him, her hand still wrapped around him, gently stroking his hardness.

  “I like it when you purr like that.” With one last kiss on her forehead, Valentine gently pried her hand open.

  “Let me.” She looked up at him. “I want to please you.”

  Smiling, Valentine shook his head. “I’m fine.” He hugged her tight, then set to button her up again.

  Her brassiere hung on either side of her shoulders, torn beyond repair. He tugged the fabric free from the corset, then pocketed the mangled lace in his jacket. “You’ll need another one.”

  Mirella didn’t care if he destroyed her entire closet one item of clothing at a time if that meant being intimate again. She was sated, but her body still craved him, needing the fulfillment only their physical union would bring.

  “Not as fun as undressing you,” he said when the last toggle on her outercoat was secured in its leather loop. “Be a good kitten now.” Grabbing her by her waist, he effortlessly lifted her over the wide airbike seat and repositioned her so that she sat with her back to his chest.

  His state of arousal was evident, and she was tempted to wiggle against him, but as if he could read her thoughts his soft hiss stopped her.

  “Don’t even think about it.” His breath tickled behind her ear, giving her goosebumps and renewing her desire.

  Her plan had backfired, but at least she knew he wasn’t indifferent to her.

  After several minutes of silence, they cleared the property’s gate. Mirella was still aching for want of him and decided she needed a diversion. Besides, she couldn’t keep her questions inside any longer, and she didn’t know when the next time they were alone would be.

  “Valentine?”

  “Yes, kitten?” He revved the airbike engines, which left a long trail of white smoke behind as they flew faster over the Great Plains. The Desert Fire’s black wings followed the currents in a waving motion. Their filigree design caught Coral’s orange rays and projected a lace silhouette of light and darkness on the tan ground several meters below.

  Studying the clockwork mechanism showing under the inset glass window on the seat, Mirella gathered her courage and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you painted the Terran ocean and all the other landscapes?”

  Behind her, Valentine stiffened, and she feared he would remove the arm circling her waist. “That’s the reason you came to my studio in the middle of the night?”

  The fact he didn’t ask her how she knew irked her, but she breathed in and out to center her mind. “Why would you hide the truth about the paintings from me?”

  She felt him shrug behind her, before saying, “Very few know of my hobby.”

  “Your favorite knows all about it—” The angry words left her mouth before she could think better of it. She hated the petulance in her voice.

  “That’s what truly incensed my territorial kitten.” The rumble of his laugh reverberated from his chest. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell Ronda.”

  “How does she know then?” Mirella refrained from referring to the courtesan with every vile appellation that came to her mind, because she didn’t want to humiliate herself by giving the woman importance.

  “The head courtesan is a busybody and must have slipped into my art studio while I was away.” His hand pressed over her waist. “For that and for upsetting you, she will be dealt with.”

  “Thank you,” Mirella whispered, moved by his words. She felt silly for having fallen into Ronda’s trap without questioning the woman’s motives.

  Chapter Four

  Rushing wind lashed at Valentine’s face, and he steered the airbike so that the wings cut through the currents. Under Valentine’s hand, Mirella’s small body was still rigid, and it pained him not to be able to relax her.

  “For the record, you are the only woman who has free access to any part of the manor,” he said after a silence that had stretched longer than necessary.

  His revelation h
ad the desired effect because she stirred in his arms and turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” he answered.

  Mirella’s eyes filled with moisture, but a smile spread on her swollen mouth he had so thoroughly kissed. “Thank you,” she said again in that low whisper she used when she was overwhelmed with emotions.

  “Regarding last night—” He owed Mirella an apology for humiliating her, but there was nothing he could say that would make the situation right, so he stuck to the known facts. “I was drunk.”

  “Does it happen often?” she asked, still looking at him, studying his response.

  “Not at all. I can’t remember another instance.” In fact, his aversion for drinking without moderation was well known among his staff. Nobody at Lobo Mansion was to be caught drunk. The few times it happened, the transgressing servant or guard had been fired.

  “Why did you drink that much then?”

  He leaned to kiss the point of her nose. “I had much on my mind.”

  “Are you still thinking about the duel?” She lowered her eyes then.

  “In part.” He nudged his face on her shoulder, forcing her to look ahead again.

  She relaxed against him. “Has your investigator found anything yet?”

  “Not much.” He sighed. “Besides the traces of poison found in the cup your lady’s maid served you, all the leads have proven irrelevant to the case.”

  “Do you know who attacked me at the Vestal House?”

  “Most assuredly the same organization behind Dallian’s accident and your poisoning. That girl didn’t have any reason to kill you. She was just a small pawn in a larger scheme.”

  “Why do you have enemies?”

  “Not everyone on Lupine is comfortable with the idea of an immortal in a position of power.”

  “But you don’t seem interested in Lupine politics.”

  “No, but I’ve been dictating its economy for quite some time.”