Gwen bit her lip to keep from moaning, but her hips betrayed her and tilted up, searching for his finger, wanting more depth.
“Is this what you want?” he murmured, letting his finger sink into her several times before pulling it out.
Her head thrashed on the pillow as she fought the desire for him. What had she become? Because of this man, she couldn’t even control her reactions or her body’s unstoppable needs.
He leaned down and licked her cunt, groaning against her clit as his tongue dug into her deeply. “God, you’re good. I can taste myself on you, Gwen,” he purred, letting his tongue burrow into her further.
She cried out as her body clenched around his invading tongue. It was hot and slick, but she needed more.
His tongue flicked upward, paying homage to her clit before he clamped down on it and sucked the nub of flesh. Gwen jerked beneath him, her body needing completion. “Want more?” he asked, raising his head and letting his finger push into her again.
She didn’t say anything, and just breathed heavily with her head turned away. “You have to say it,” he growled at her. “Tell me you want my cock, Gwen.”
Tears fell down her cheeks, burning across her skin. “I want your cock, Eben.”
It came out as nothing more than a whisper, but it was enough. Carefully, he lifted her hips and positioned his penis at her entrance, pushing forward so slowly she mewled with it. When he was halfway in, he surged forward until he was fully seated, stopping for a minute and just breathing in her scent.
“So tight,” he marveled, pulling out and sliding back smoothly. “God your pussy is tight.”
He held himself up with one arm, and let the other caress her breasts, using his fingers to pluck at her nipples, to make them peak and beg for his attention. She cried out, arching closer to his hand. Still thrusting, he leaned down and took one into his mouth, sucking hard in time with his thrusts, flicking his tongue over the bud.
So gently he moved, every motion of his hips was smooth and slow. It drove Gwen crazy. She needed to come. The need was there, like before, just as strong, just waiting. But he kept denying her, keeping his penetration shallow and lazy the closer she got.
Although her orgasm built slowly, she was held at the top for a long time. She breathed heavily with her eyes squeezed shut as he sucked on her nipples and played with her clit. When she was ready to scream, needing to come so bad she was going mad, he finally dug his cock in all the way, sharply and violently, sending her over the edge on a piercing shriek.
She came down with no memory of him coming, but she could tell he had. She was wet with it, could feel it flooding her core. He was still leaning over her, propped up by his elbow with his hand caressing her breast.
He leaned down and kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue and in his mouth. When he pulled back, his eyes flashed at her, full of foreboding. “If you ever run from me again, Connor won’t be there to protect you. You’ll have to take me, in the change, and I’ll fuck you until you can’t move. Do you understand me?”
She nodded.
Chapter Thirteen
She was lethargic and morose when she woke at midday. She didn’t get up. Her body was too heavy, like it sensed the tension in the house and prepared for it accordingly by making movement hard. She hadn’t even stepped out of the bedroom, but she could feel the strain in the air, like a noxious perfume that clung to everything in a one-mile radius. She stayed in bed as long as she could, and went downstairs for dinner.
She knew she looked terrible as she walked into the kitchen, and it was reinforced by the double take Connor did when he saw her.
“Are you all right?” He came around the counter, wiping his hands on a towel and helped her to a stool.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Where’s Eben?” She needed to know that. To know he was close.
Connor nodded his head toward the study. “In there, doing some research on his latest commission. Do you want me to get him?”
“No.”
He stood away from her, studying her form. She was pale and wan, her hair limp, and she looked like she was about to fall over. He wasn’t one to worry incessantly, but her appearance was enough to cause concern, that and the difference in her scent. Just to double-check, he inhaled deeply when he stood next to her—it was there, a subtle change, but a change all the same.
“Why don’t I get you some coffee, and then we’ll look at your wounds, hmm?” He filled a mug, added plenty of sugar and handed it to her. Gwen took it and held it with two hands while he went off for his medical bag. She set her mug aside when he returned and held out both her hands.
After cleaning and bandaging the lacerations, he went back to preparing dinner. He kept it simple and prepared a salmon, all the while looking over his shoulder at Gwen to make sure she was still sitting up.
Dinner was uncomfortable. No one spoke, which was bad enough, but Eben seemed set on being as overbearing and demanding as he could possibly be, staring at her woodenly throughout the meal, and frowning as she picked at her food. Gwen became so uncomfortable she kept her eyes pasted to the tablecloth.
“She’s not to leave the house until I’ve taken care of Theron,” he said, turning to Connor. “She can’t be trusted not to run, and she’s too vulnerable outside.”
“Eben, stop it,” Connor said, his eyes gleaming in warning. “She’s suffered enough. There’s no point in torturing her.”
“She’s mine,” Eben bit out, turning his head toward her. “Apparently that’s all the reason he needs to take her.”
Gwen choked and coughed as a pea lodged in her throat, the memory of Matthew’s taunting ringing through her ears. Christian pounded her on the back until she held her hand out, begging him to stop.
“That’s not why he took me,” she gasped, reaching for her water and drinking it down.
“Are you going to tell us how you know of him?” Connor asked, setting his fork down. “I’m assuming you don’t object to his dying after this last episode. Matthew was Theron’s uncle. There’s no doubt about the connection this time.”
She finished her water and set the glass aside. She bowed her head and played with the napkin on her lap, not sure how to start. “I did first hear that name at the pub. You guys were discussing him at the table.”
“But that’s not why you asked about him,” Eben said sharply.
She shook her head. “No. I heard his name from Thomas, the night he shot Christian. He spoke of Theron.”
Eben leaned back in his chair lazily, but she wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the menace in his cool gaze. “Really?” he murmured.
Connor watched him for a second before turning back to Gwen. “And you still didn’t tell us? Why?”
“Theron didn’t tell that man to hurt me,” she said lamely. “He just wanted him to take me somewhere. I knew you were going to kill him when I told you, so I didn’t.”
“Bloody little fool,” Eben spat. “He almost killed you.”
“But then Matthew talked about him too,” she continued, wrapping the napkin around her fingers tight enough to make the tips purple. “And he admitted Theron wanted me dead.”
Connor nodded. “So now you tell us,” he murmured. “Child, he’s like that. He’s the type of man who takes advantage of anything he can. He wants you dead for no other reason than to hurt Eben. It’s not fair to you, but that’s how Theron operates.”
She lifted her head. “You’ve got it wrong. He wants me for a different reason, at least according to Matthew Granville he does.”
“What could he possibly want you for?” Christian asked, frowning. “He doesn’t even know you.”
“Actually he does. He’s the—”
“—Were you saw the night your father died,” Connor finished for her, realization dawning.
Gwen nodded. “Yes. At first I wondered if it was true, but if it wasn’t, how would he even know what I saw?”
Silence reigned for a few minutes.
“He’s been gone for a few years,” Christian said finally, propping his chin on his hand. “And no one seems to know exactly where he was. The only answer I ever got was in the States somewhere.”
“When did he return to the area?” Eben asked.
“I don’t know.” Christian shrugged. “Maybe two months ago.”
After another minute of silence, Connor said, “So you can call him out before the full moon.” He looked at Eben, and nodded slowly. “He killed a woman as prey. You have a witness to testify to that. That’s all you need.”
Christian whistled. “That’s heavy stuff, though. You better be pretty sure about everything before you announce it to the pack. There’re going to be some who object to the charge.”
“You can have Gwen speak,” Connor argued, tapping his finger on the table for emphasis. “Any member of the pack will be able to scent a lie.”
Eben’s eyes went from Christian to Connor, finally settling on Gwen. “Christian, call Jacques and tell him. I want this fucker out of commission within a week.”
Christian pushed his chair back and nodded. “Right.” He headed to the den to use the phone.
Eben left the table, calling over his shoulder, “She’s to stay in the house until this is finished.”
“Where are you going?” Connor frowned at his back.
Eben yanked the door open. “For a run.”
Late that night, Gwen fell asleep to the sound of howls echoing through the woods. She had nightmares.
The next morning she felt even worse. It was bad enough she sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, ready in case she needed to throw up. Nothing came of it except an hour of true misery, and Eben’s large form, frowning as he stood in the doorway.
“Go away,” she whispered.
“You’re ill?” He leaned down and pressed his hand to her cheek. “You don’t feel warm.”
“Just go away,” she said again, rolling her eyes up at him. “The last thing I need right now is for my lover to witness my utter humiliation as I throw up in the toilet. Please, Eben.”
He leaned in closer and inhaled sharply. She thought about pushing his head away, but it would require too much effort, so she ignored him, even when he jerked back, his eyes suddenly wide as he stared down at her.
“I’m going to get Connor.”
She groaned but let him leave, happy just to be by herself in the cool bathroom. It was surprising how much of a comfort the cooler temperature was. She’d never been in a position to actually suffer through nausea. Usually, she just vomited up whatever was in her stomach immediately. But, this time, she had time to think through it and analyze what made the nausea worse, and what made it better. All in all, she preferred the instant vomiting—the absence of suffering was extremely appealing.
Connor came rushing into the room, his silky striped pajamas perfect on his sleep-tousled form. Even his beard seemed slightly mussed, Gwen thought as she stared up at him.
All businesslike, he dampened a washcloth with cold water and held it to her forehead. “God, that feels good,” she moaned, leaning into the coolness of it.
“We’ll do this for a minute, then I’m taking you downstairs and we’ll see if we can’t get some tea and saltines into you. That may help.”
She didn’t argue with him, too happy with the washcloth to bother.
As it turned out, the tea and crackers did help, and an hour later, she was feeling fine. With renewed energy, she went back to the bedroom to change and prepare for her morning.
Eben was still in bed, lying on top of the covers with his body stretched out and taking up three quarters of the bed. Gwen admired him for a minute before going to the dresser and pulling out her clothes for the day.
“You’re feeling better?”
She made a noncommittal noise.
“I mean it,” he murmured. “You stay in the house.”
She paused in the act of pulling her jeans on. “I understand.”
He turned over onto his back and watched as she finished dressing. Gwen blushed through it, but she didn’t rush away and hide, figuring that he’d seen everything there was to see already. Except any vomiting, thank God.
“I know I said this last night, but thank you for coming to find me,” she whispered softly, as she tugged a shirt over her head. She kept her back turned to him as she said it, not wanting to see his face tighten with anger at the reminder.
“Why’d you leave?”
She thought for a minute to organize her reasons before she answered. “I don’t ever want to be the cause of another person’s death.” She pulled the shirt down over her stomach.
“Even if he threatens your life?” Eben questioned, propping himself up on an elbow.
“I tried to end my life,” she pointed out, looking at him over her shoulder. “That’s not a very good argument.”
“Then why now?” he asked, his tone becoming rough. “Why tell us about him now?”
“He killed that woman.”
He swore and fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. “I don’t understand you.”
“Then we’re even,” she replied, walking over and sitting beside him on the bed. “Because I don’t understand you either.”
After the first day of being cooped up, Gwen was ready to rip her hair out. She was surprised at how accustomed she’d become to going around the property as she pleased, taking walks along the trails, visiting the barns, even helping shovel snow. She’d become accustomed to the physical activity, and now her body craved it.
She’d spent the first half of the day in the study, drawing. When she actually stood back and looked at the finished product, she realized the Were was Eben and not her monster of nightmares. She shook her head over it, but put the picture aside for later.
By midday, after going through her normal routine of activities, she needed something different, and she went in search of Connor.
He was in the kitchen, baking pie shells and looking like one of those serious baking people the cooking magazines always talked and raved about.
“Can I at least shovel off the porch?” she asked.
“No.” He pulled a perfectly browned shell from the oven and set it aside, examining it as critically as if it was one of his paintings.
She leaned on the counter and sighed. “I need something to do. Like right now, or I’m going to go insane.”
“You’ve done that already,” he quipped. “Choose something a little more original.”
She pursed her lips in thought and pictured the drawing of Eben. “Has Eben ever posed for you nude?”
He dropped the pie pan he was holding and stared at her like she was wearing a cellophane bra. “Nude? Eben?” He propped his hand on his hip and shook his head, marveling at her. “Do you realize how much stronger you’ve become since you’ve been here? You never would have asked me a question like that a few weeks ago.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” she said, slouching slightly. “So, has he?”
He bent down and picked up the pie pan, setting it in the sink as he turned on the tap. “Eben doesn’t do nude.”
She thought about that for a minute before attempting to put the idea away. But it was difficult—she couldn’t quite get the image of him out of her head.
Jacques stopped by later in the afternoon. Connor ushered him into the house and led him to the kitchen.
“Gwen,” he said, pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to Jacques, “would you please call Eben and tell him Jacques is here? The number’s beside the phone in the den.”
Her eyes flew to Jacques for a second and then she nodded. When she rang Eben from the den, she said simply, “Jacques is here.”
He sighed on the other end. “I’ll be over.”
When she returned to the kitchen, Christian had joined the other two men, and sat beside Jacques at the counter. She leaned against the doorway and zoned out as they discussed the problems that would arise from the charge.
/> Jacques stayed through the evening and went over strategy and the wording of the official challenge with the men. Gwen tried to listen, but after a minute, her eyes started drooping. The next thing she knew, she was being carried up the steps.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against Eben’s chest, wiggling closer. “I didn’t mean to stop your meeting.”
“We were done, and you’re tired,” he said.
He carried her to their bedroom and laid her on the bed, shaking his head when she tried to shed her clothes herself.
“Let me.” He pushed her hands aside.
“Okay,” she whispered, and let sleep take her.
She woke up early again, her stomach as unhappy as the day before. She sat on the floor of the bathroom for a half hour with a wet washcloth on her forehead. When she felt marginally better, she headed for the kitchen, where she served herself tea and crackers.
Christian came down an hour later. Gwen was so shocked she double-checked the clock just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken about the time.
He slumped onto a stool and leaned against the counter, bleary-eyed and ragged, with dark shadows under his eyes and his face covered in yellow-blond whiskers.
“Why are you up?” She searched his face for any sign of life, but there was little there. Christian was definitely one of those people who shouldn’t be up before noon, much less eight in the morning.
His lids cracked open, revealing bloodshot eyes. Without prompting, she got him a cup of coffee, leaving it black. His tired flesh briefly lifted in a weak smile of thanks before he grasped the mug and held onto it for dear life.
He seemed to go into a trance for twenty minutes before he actually lifted the cup to his lips. After that, he began to wake, although from the looks of it, it was a long and painful process.
“Better?” she asked, refilling his mug.
“Mmm.” He sipped and winced from the hot liquid. “I feel like shit.”
“You kind of look it, too.” She studied him with a worried frown. “Do you want me to get you anything? Maybe an aspirin or something?”
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