Drawing a finger over her hip, he followed the natural crease in her leg, down to her most sensitive of flesh. She shuddered as he neared her wet center. His eyes rolled back, having seen too much as he watched his hand explore. As he found the small thatch of her hair with his fingers, he groaned and again kissed her.
She mumbled something into his lips, but the blood roaring through his tight body kept him oblivious to her words. Ilar traced her mouth with his tongue, hungry for more, even as he drew out his own discovery. Soon his finger mimicked the movements of his tongue, parting her silken lips, testing their moist response as he circled over her opening. She was wet, ready, hot. His thumb circled over her clit, causing a weak sound to escape her.
Ilar grew bolder, rolling so he came above her. His mouth trailed over her dirty skin, not noticing the mud as he brushed kisses along her throat, her jutting collarbone. His legs intertwined with hers and he molded his body against her length. His knees instinctively parted her thighs, pushing her open until she awaited him, widespread. He pressed his throbbing shaft into her hip, rubbing naturally back and forth along her slick folds, preparing to enter.
Ilar let his chest rub over her small breasts, keeping the tips budded with the heat from his skin. His elbow braced his weight as he explored the sweeping curve of her hip. She whimpered softly in what his mind could only take as approval and encouragement.
Lightly, he cupped a breast in his palm, kneading the weight as he held it for his lips. The globe was so soft, delicate. It drove him mad. He licked a nipple, groaning with passion at the feel of it against his tongue. It puckered for him, reaching for more.
Ilar became more insistent. His nostrils flared and he didn’t think to slow. His hips rose as he slipped himself along her wet slit, rubbing his hot erection against her clit, pushing along her opening. All he felt was his passion, his hunger, his desperate need to possess her as his. He coated his hard shaft with her cream in self-torment, preparing to thrust mindlessly into her depths. Surely a woman who made such whimpering noises knew what she asked for.
Rhiannon’s eyes popped open in confusion as she felt a hot, wet stroke along her chest. The same madness was between her thighs. She couldn’t think. It was strange, but felt so good. She wanted more. Wildly, her eyes darted around in her head, wondering what could be wreaking such havoc on her body. With a jolt of surprise, she felt the brush of hair tickling her sides. Looking down her body, she saw a dark head affixed to her naked breast. Desire was instantly replaced by shock, as she jolted to full awareness.
"Ahhh!" Rhiannon cried. She kicked her legs, trying to close her knees, as she fought the large body atop hers. At her movement, the hardness between her thighs pressed in. The pleasure she felt at the intimate contact scared her more than the shock of it.
Ilar felt her buck against him. The action caused her opening to dip onto his swollen arousal, swallowing the smooth head of his shaft into her wondrously tight depths. Just that small taste of her wet passage felt better than he’d imagined it would. He groaned in delight and didn’t immediately clue in that she fought to get him off. But, then, he heard her cry out.
"Help!" Rhiannon hollered, her voice hoarse. She struck him desperately with her fists, hitting his head, his back, anything she could reach. The feeling stirring inside her did strange things to her head. Her body wanted more, even as her mind fought the pleasure.
Rhiannon gasped. Whatever it was that burned and pressed into her opening became bolder. The heat probed her, moving deeper. She screamed, terrified, sure she was to be impaled by the thick weapon, possibly killed. And yet, the feelings it caused felt like sweet, torturous death and an insane part of her cried to let her body die. Fear was easier to accept at the moment and she embraced it, yelling, "Get off me, you ... wyrm! Help! Someone please, help me!"
Ilar pulled back, retreating off of her completely. He was confused, bewildered. His chest heaved with unspent desire, as his shaft throbbed in protest. He’d been so close to slipping fully inside her tight body. Even now the cream from her body dried on him, proof that she’d been ready, willing. Hadn’t she?
No woman had ever denied him entrance. No woman had ever stopped him. In fact, it was usually he who turned the females away. He blinked, trying to work his way from the fog in his brain. Her wide blue eyes stared at him in accusation. Even angry and flushed, she looked beautiful. He wanted her, needed her. But, Ilar had never taken an unwilling woman to his bed. That he’d been about to do that very thing amazed him.
Rhiannon scurried back on the mattress, folding her naked body into a protective ball. Her body was hot, too hot, nearly dizzy. Her thighs throbbed and ached, remembering the strange fullness of him next to them, wanting it back so badly that her stomach twitched.
"What did you do to me!" she demanded, hoarse, scared. Her gaze journeyed over his naked form. He didn’t even try to hide himself from her. He was a large man to be sure, if the haloing of light from the fireplace gave any indication. His body was shadowed, but she could make out the vague protrusion of his shaft pointing in her general direction, as if it called forward the attack. Though it was a weapon, she’d been a fool to think it a blade he wore beneath his linen.
Closing her eyes to him, Rhiannon pulled her body tighter. It churned uncontrollably, alive with heated sensations. Her stomach lurched.
"I kept you alive," Ilar said, enraged by her rejection of him. The human words came back to him with greater and greater ease until his stunting effect on them was almost gone. His mind cleared by small degrees. He realized that, as he touched her, she hadn’t been touching him back. She’d been lying unconscious, only moaning lightly. His anger turned in on himself. His words not as strong as before, he said, "I was warming you."
"I don’t need you to warm me," she denied, shaken. As she sensed the danger to be somewhat past, she relaxed her death grip on her body. An eye opened to look at him. Seeing he was still unclad, it quickly closed. "The fire will do just fine."
At that he grunted. Rhiannon blinked to hear him move and looked fully at him. Crossing over to a trunk, he pulled it open and grabbed a tunic. His naked butt flexed without an ounce of fat. A slight dimple was carved into the side of the firm cheek. His flesh was bronzed all over, kissed by sunlight. The man was wickedly alluring to her senses. When he leaned over, her body jerked in sudden enjoyment at the sight. She wanted to touch him, draw him against her body. Her slit throbbed to have him back, touching and probing with his heat.
Rhiannon saw two soft globes dipping beneath his larger weapon. Her mouth went dry. She wasn’t a fool. She knew men were shaped differently, had heard talk of it. But, never had she thought she’d be so intrigued to see it. Shamed, she looked away, knowing she shouldn’t be staring.
Rhiannon, becoming all too aware of her vulnerable state, pulled a thick wool coverlet over her body to hide it from view. She was just glad this powerful man had called off his attack. She was positive he’d been about to kill her with what he was about. Her lower body trembled. She was still able to feel the stretching violation. Oddly, she still wasn’t as repulsed by it as she should’ve been--even with her sanity returning.
"Where are my clothes?" she inquired weakly, breathless, near faint.
Ilar draped a red tunic around his body with a practiced swing of the arms. Within seconds, he had a circular brooch secured at the shoulder. The clothing didn’t help. It hid his backside, but she could still see his strong side, his muscular arms. Nodding his head to the floor, he drew her attention to the muddied, wet gown.
"I’ll find you something," he said. Eyeing her dirty frame, he frowned and wrinkled his nose in what looked like disgust. "I’ll also find you a bath."
Rhiannon nodded, too grateful for his hospitality to berate him further. Biting her lips, she asked, "Where are we?"
"You are in the realm of all things magical, human." Ilar scowled as he realized she really hadn’t known. Silently, he cursed, By all that was Sacred! This is a wicked mes
s!
Her confusion would make his job a great deal harder. Ilar had a feeling the quicker he could solve this mystery, the better it would be for his kind. He had every intention of finding whoever brought her through the portals and forcing them to take the wench back.
"Magic?" Rhiannon gasped weakly, before laughing. "No, it isn’t possible."
His sinister brow rose on his manly face.
He’s way too handsome for his own good, Rhiannon thought cautiously. Unbidden, the feel of his mouth came back to her breast and her skin jumped at the memory. His eyes narrowed, as if he knew her thoughts. Rhiannon swallowed, mortified to be thinking them. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want a man, any man. She wanted freedom, freedom to run about her father’s keep.
"Say I believe you," she said, trying to bring their thoughts back to the problem at hand. "Why did you bring me here? What is it you want?"
"I didn’t bring you," he answered darkly. He put his hands on his hips, drawing her eyes to the slight bulge that still stood beneath the material of his tunic. "Nor did I invite you. Your kind isn’t welcomed here, mor-tal."
"My kind?" she gasped, confused. Eyeing him cautiously, she wasn’t sure she wanted her next questions answered. "Why do you keep speaking as if we’re different? What are you? Where have you taken me? What is this place?"
Ilar smiled, coming up with an idea. Maybe if she looked at him with complete fear, he’d be able to tamp back his sexual craving for her, though the bloodlust would only serve to stir the hunter in him. It couldn’t hurt to try, though the way his body pulsated with need, he doubted anything would tame the sizzling lust. Ilar could well control the hunter. It was the man he was having a hard time reining in.
With that in mind, he stalked toward her. A deadly expression settled on his lips. He crawled on all fours onto the bed. When he was close to her, nearly coming above her slender body, he looked deeply into her eyes.
"I’m Lord Ilar, Commander of the Lycans," he said with a dark rumble that left her feeling faint and extremely fragile. "And you, my dear mor-tal, have just entered into the den of the man-beast."
Ilar didn’t care for the term man-beast, but it was one her kind would recognize.
Rhiannon barely heard his words before his gaze filled with a liquid gold, slivering until the color completely overtook his eyes. His face elongated slightly, growing with fine dark hair. His mouth parted to show dangerously long, sharp teeth. Ilar didn’t shift himself completely, but only enough so she got his point. It didn’t take long for him to receive the scream he expected.
Rhiannon yelled at the top of her lungs, violently pulling back from him. This creature is what had touched her so intimately? Those teeth had been latched to her breast? With a gasp, she fell off the side of the bed, landing on her tailbone in a bruising smack against the stone. Her scream turned into a groan of pain, but she didn’t stop as she crawled backwards, dragging the wool coverlet with her. Only stopping as her retreat was blocked by the stone of the wall, she froze, huddled as far from him as she could get.
"You cannot exist," she said in denial, clutching the wool to her chest. But the truth was right there before her. It all added up--the nietens at the stream, the magical opening in the wall, the frightening voice in her tower bedchamber before she blacked out--how could she have forgotten that until now? Then, seeing his eyes, still shining with golden threat, she shivered. It was as he said. She was somehow in a world of magic. "This place cannot be real. It isn’t ... possible. I must be mad. I’ve gone insane."
"Do you need me to demonstrate how real I can be?" he charged, standing from the bed to tower over her from the side. He lifted his hand to his shoulder and part of him hoped she’d say yes. She didn’t. Instead, she shook her head in furious denial.
"No, I believe you," she said, terrified.
"Good." He dropped his hand and let his face shift back to man, only keeping his eyes the same golden hue. "Believe this, mortal. I’m your master so long as you’re here. If you even dare to disobey me, I will punish you. You won’t leave this tower without my permission. Mark me, I’ll find who brought you here and I’ll discover why."
"I’m not afraid of you," she blustered, refusing to be such a coward. She rediscovered her backbone at his arrogant tone. What had happened to her that she’d turned into such a weakling? Sitting taller, she didn’t get up from the floor. "I’m not afraid of your punishments, nieten!"
At that Ilar chuckled, very aroused by her outburst. Letting his eyes darken back to a devilish brown, he said enigmatically, "You should be, mortal."
"What are you going to do? Beat me?" she spat venomously. "I have no fear of death or pain! Say what you will, but I won’t cower before you!"
"Who said anything about my punishment being one of pain?" He stepped toward her, knowing the moment his meaning sunk in.
Rhiannon’s eyes widened. Her mouth gaped and she recoiled. "You would dare to ravish me? But, it won’t work. You are a ... a beast! We cannot possibly--oh."
His low chuckle stopped her words. The look in his eyes said that their coupling most definitely could work. To her shame, she remembered that it had in fact been working. He pursed his lips together, clucking in disapproval of her words. In a tone so wickedly soft, he said, "When I take you it won’t be rape, mortal. I’ll touch you in ways that will easily bend you to my resolve. You’ll crawl around on your knees for me. You’ll long for me, beg for me. You’ll beg to have this beast inside you. You’ll publicly be branded as my lover."
"You mean your whore." The fire had dried his hair straight and she had the strangest urge to touch the flowing locks, wrapping them around her wrists as a way to control him. "I’ll never submit to you in such a way, nieten!"
"Don’t raise challenges you don’t wish met," he warned. "Unlike you, mortal, we lycans thrive on challenge."
"Quit calling me mortal, beast! My name is Lady Rhiannon of Weilshire! You will treat me according to my station!"
"You have no power here," he dismissed her claim easily. "Nor does your human ranking matter. You’d do well to remember that in the future."
Rhiannon sighed, grumbling under her breath. He was right, of course. She didn’t have any power in this strange place and she was far too weak from her ordeal to come up with a proper plan of action. She had to think. She had to be smart. Yelling at the man-beast wasn’t very smart.
Ilar saw her head drop slightly. The battle was over for now and he wanted nothing more than to get far away from her tempting presence. Already his body sought a release he couldn’t claim. He might threaten, but he couldn’t mate with her without careful consideration of the consequences. Once the news of her presence got out, he’d have a lot of explaining to do. He only hoped he could come up with the right answers.
Ilar leaned over to grab a pair of his boots. Without a backward glance, he left her cowering alone in the bedchamber. Cursing bitterly, he slammed the door and locked it resolutely behind him.
Chapter Three
"What is this infernal racket!" King Larus yelled, glaring past the giant circular pit of flames that lighted the council hall. His eyes bore into Lord Ilar. He sat atop a long stone table, rubbing wearily at his temples. Slowly, he lowered his arm to lie along his crossed legs.
Ilar’s mouth pulled up at the side. He knew that the elected King sometimes chose to hide out in the council hall when he had a lot on his mind. The hall was dead silent. They were the only two in the room. What Larus was referring to was the restlessness searing through their brains. The mind link was now overflowing with discontent. Through the growling, he’d heard the King’s faint call to him.
"You haven’t smelled her?" Ilar inquired, wryly, answering in the more comfortable fit of their shared language. His body still churned with the aftereffects of his encounter with the delectably soft--ugh--with the infuriating mortal.
"Smelled...?" Larus began, only to scowl. He gave a dark look, furrowing his brows, as he roared, "Is that what th
is is about? A female?"
Ilar nodded, unable to help his grin. His mind turned to the mud-covered maiden in his bedchamber. Even now when he was away from her, he felt her lingering temptation. He had half a mind to join in the other’s howling. He held firm, staying quiet.
"Where is she now?" Larus grumbled. "Naked, out on the exercise field, doing a dance of seduction?"
"No, she’s locked safely away in my bedchamber," Ilar answered.
"You don’t say?" the King smiled roguishly. "You’ve claimed her then? Did my call bring you away from her? Pray tell, if that is the case, I will gladly send you to finish your task."
"No," Ilar answered, frowning. He remembered all too well the feel of her soft body and the sweet taste of her breast, the slick, hot feel of her ... oh, this was bad. He forced a deep breath. He also recalled her fear of him. Larus saw the Commander’s look and chuckled. "Methought it better than anywhere else. At least there she’s locked away from causing mischief."
A particularly loud howling sounded, making them both flinch. This was getting to be too much. The mind link was normally reserved for communicating in lycan form, not laying thought to sexual frustration and obsession.
"Ah, curse it all!" Larus snarled. His lean body leapt up from the table and he landed gracefully on his feet. His draping green tunic and cloak ruffled slightly as he moved. The gold embroidery around the edges weighed down the ends. "They break the mind link with this unrest. I won’t stand to have our communication disrupted. What if there was an emergency? All our lives would be put in danger. I called to you nigh fifteen minutes afore you answered."
Ilar turned to follow Larus as he moved to go through the side door. They came to a long empty stone passageway that would take them toward the weapons chamber. Torches burned in sconces along the wall, casting eerie shadows. The King was right, of course. Ilar had thought of the same thing.
Larus’ lighter features lifted slightly with a small grin. Clapping his friend on the back, he stated, "It has been awhile since you had a lover, Ilar. Do us all a kindness and bind her to you. I would consider it a royal favor if you put an end to this noise."
Cupids Enchantment Page 4
