by Mina Carter
He closed the door behind them and threw the heavy bar across with a flick of his wrist, a negligent show of strength that stole Maria’s breath away. But not nearly as much as the look in his eyes did when he backed her up across the room, shedding his jacket and shirt. He backed her up to the throne until her heels hit the dais, and she carried on, stepping backwards in the dark.
“In fact, I’m going to like having you. Period,” he added in a dark whisper, following her.
She stopped in front of the throne, no place left to go. Marak towered over her. His pale eyes were windows to his soul, now almost black with need and hunger, the expression on his face almost cruel.
“You want this, don’t you?” he asked, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he looked down at her. “Because once I touch you I’m not going to be able to stop.”
Maria nodded, a shiver going through her. “You gonna get on it with or just yap all night?” she asked, a challenging look in her eyes. He growled, dragging her to him and kissing her hard. She didn’t argue, fitting against him, her hands smoothing feverishly over his skin, revelling in the feel of hot satin skin over hard muscles.
Clothing fell away, stripped by impatient hands. Hers or his, she wasn’t sure which. Then he urged her backwards, sitting her down as he knelt between her parted thighs. She moaned, biting her lip as his erection slid against the cleft of her sex, already damp with desire. He rolled his hips and the friction made her cry out, pleasure rolling through her.
He smiled in the darkness. “Oh you like that, do you?” Marak rocked his hips again and sent stars shooting into the blackness behind Maria’s eyelids. She pressed her eyes shut, nodding silently. His lips caressed her neck, the tiniest nip of his fangs setting her hips jerking in response. “You smell so good… I want to taste you.”
Maria caught her breath as he moved, parting her thighs wider with his hands. He lifted and hooked her knees over the arms of the chair, opening her body completely to him, exposing her to his avid perusal.
“Knew this thing would come in useful one day,” he murmured, shifting to trail hot kisses from one of her knees down her inner thigh. Anticipation coursed through Maria as he moved closer to where she wanted, needed him.
“Perfect,” he breathed, blowing a cool breath across the sensitive flesh of her sex, moist with her excitement. She bit her lip as he parted her folds with his thumbs, and then the warmth of his tongue slid along her, seeking the sensitive nub of her clit.
Maria’s back arched, a soft cry on her lips as his warm mouth closed over her. He nibbled, suckled and flicked her with the very tip of his tongue until she thought she was going out of her mind with need. Her body clenched, tension low in her belly and building between her thighs as she held him, hands running through the short spikes of his dark hair.
Though she wasn’t innocent—the naturally healthy curiosity of a teenager had seen to that—she’d never felt this way with any man before. But she couldn’t really call the boys she’d been out with before “men,” not compared to Marak.
His large hands stroked the insides of her thighs as he worked her body with his lips and tongue, unbearably gentle touches that tumbled Maria over the edge without warning. Her body stiffened, hips jerking against him as the tension within her shattered into a thousand pieces. Pleasure rolled through her in a hard wave, taking her breath and her senses away for long moments.
“Oh wow,” she said. She opened her eyes as it subsided slowly, only to find him leaning over her. “You’re good. More!”
“You want more? Then more you get,” he promised in a low growl. His big frame trembled from holding back. In a deft movement he shifted his hips and slid deep within her, seating himself to the hilt in one movement.
Their groan was simultaneous, masculine and feminine mixing perfectly as he froze, letting her adjust to his size.
“Don’t move,” he ordered harshly, his hands hard on her hips as beads of sweat gathered on his upper lip.
Maria had no intention of moving at the moment, her breath catching hard at the invasion of his body into hers, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him.
Her eyes fluttered half-closed as she waited, fighting through the slight discomfort until it felt good, the burning easing, leaving just the sensation of being filled completely. More than she ever had been before. She arched her back, obeying an instinctive urging to move, rocking her hips against him, the friction of their bodies feeling good. So very good.
Marak growled and hauled her closer, covering her mouth in a kiss that neared desperation. He started to move, slowly at first, each long slide creating delicious friction between them.
But slow just wasn’t doing it for Maria. She needed more, needed that hard male body pounding into hers. Needed this more than her next breath.
“Marak, please!” she begged, wrapping her legs around and pushing harder against his hips. “I need…more.”
Marak’s nostrils flared as he moved, resting one hand above her head. Bracing himself, he smiled in the darkness.
“Always with the ‘more’s’… Demanding aren’t you?” he breathed, hauling her hips to him as his pace changed.
He drove into her, hard powerful thrusts that touched the very neck of her womb and forced the air from her lungs. Need, arousal, hunger spiralled through her as he pounded against her hips, each movement stroking nerve endings that cried out in pleasure.
She moaned as she buried her face into his neck, pressing hot kisses against the strong column, tasting the sheen of sweat on his skin as she brushed her tongue over the powerful pulse that beat there.
“Oh god Maria…yes!” he begged raggedly, a tortured sound as he thrust again, impaling her on his rigid cock.
She smiled, swirled her tongue over his skin again, confident in her feminine hold over him. Then she bit, her fangs sliding through his skin gently, delicately. He groaned, pumping harder as his blood rushed into her mouth, the rich taste sending fire through her body, shivering over every inch of her skin.
Then it was all too much. Her body clenched around his, strong muscles gripping him hard as she came apart. Pleasure exploded in her, spreading outwards and filling her completely. She threw her head back, crying out, a cry that was lost in his mouth as he caught her lips in a hard kiss. His hips pounded once…twice before he stiffened, his body pulsing inside hers as his own climax hit him. Unbelievable pleasure, white hot as he spilled his seed deep inside her.
Slowly Maria opened her eyes, smiling as she found him looking down at her, his expression stunned and making no attempt to hide it. Then he smiled, dark amusement coiling in the warm silver depths. “Oh…you’re good,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss her, repeating her own words back at her. “More!” he demanded, laving his rough tongue over her nipple.
She whimpered, arching her back to offer the soft globe to his lips. “Oh yes, definitely more…”
The End
Vixen
Chapter One
Gorillas did not look good in dresses.
Vixen looked down at herself and suppressed a grimace. She never wore makeup and her blonde hair was always caught in a plait at her nape. Not today, oh no…today she had been primed and preened to within an inch of her long life, and then shoehorned into a silk sheath dress. With heels, it proved the fates were bitches of the highest caliber. Granted, she was more Amazonian in build, but next to the other bridesmaids she felt like a lumbering ape.
The dress was pink. Of course it was. It had to be pink, Vixen’s least favorite color. It even had a large bow right on her ass. They might as well have slapped a ‘wide load’ sticker on her backside, she grumbled to herself, craning her head as she twisted and turned, trying to pull it into a better position.
Wide load stickers were out. They’d clash with the color scheme. The wedding coordinator—an army drill sergeant masquerading as a slender vampire of a certain age and an impeccable pedigree—would have kittens. No, pink and white it was. And only pink and white.
Baby pink, she’d been corrected earlier. She’d taken that at face value. Pink was pink. Why did it need so many different names?
She suppressed a sigh. She’d never been scared of anything. When Maria, the king’s fiancée, had asked her to be one of her bridesmaids, Vixen had been happy to accept. After all, she was Vixen, big, scary Kyn warrior. The only female warrior. Ever.
Like the other warriors, she spent her days hunting and killing rogue vampires, the most ferocious creatures to walk the night. And she was damn good at it. Just last week her patrol had topped the leader board for the most kills for the third week in a row.
What was being a bridesmaid compared to that? A dress, some flowers and following the bride up the aisle to make sure she didn’t break a nail. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
Wrong, dead wrong. If her knees knocked any harder, they’d have to keep checking the door. Moments to go and she shook with nerves. She looked ridiculous. She’d thought she was clever, avoiding those dress fittings. Boring as they’d been, the reason behind them was now crystal clear.
Her dress didn’t fit.
The pink silk was stretched tight across her bust, so tight she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t take a deep breath, in case the delicate lacings across her back— already stretched to the limit—ripped. The dressmaker was no help. Annoyed at having to work without a dress fitting, she’d ordered Vixen not to breathe. Vixen didn’t know if that was to not breathe deeply, or not breathe at all. Not breathing was the best option. The neckline was so low a deep breath would spill her breasts out over the top.
She cursed under her breath as she looked around the small antechamber. Just off the main hall of the court where the ceremony was to take place, it followed the rest of the building in its style. Heavy wood paneling covered half the walls, whilst ornamental plaster carvings covered over the rest. The symbols of ancient Kyn families surrounded them as the bride prepared to walk up the aisle. Like a lot of vampire buildings, there wasn’t even a damn window she could wriggle out.
As soon as the idea of escape occurred, she dismissed it. She couldn’t run out on the wedding of the king. It just wasn’t done. She didn’t give a damn about protocol, but if she didn’t show, Marak would track her down and bust her ass for it.
Despite the fact he’d been caught up in court protocol recently with the wedding preparations, Marak was her patrol leader and one of the meanest warriors out there in the fight against the rogue. Someone she didn’t want to piss off.
She straightened her back. She was a Kyn warrior, and warriors did not run from anything. She didn’t run from anything. Even if her knees shook under her skirt.
“Now… you look amazing.”
As if Vixen’s thoughts had conjured her up, Maria appeared at her elbow like a genie out of a bottle. A genie in a full wedding gown with veil and tiara to boot.
“Me?”
Vixen resisted the urge to tug on the dress again as she turned to face the bride. Yanking it up until it felt more secure reduced the risk of her breasts falling out, but meant the spilt up her thigh would rise indecently high. Pulling it down to solve that gave her the fall-out problem again. Catch 22.
“I don’t. I look ridiculous.” She gave into temptation and went through the whole pull up, pull down routine again. “Like a damn gorilla in a dress.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t look like a gorilla at all. You look stunning.” Maria’s dark gaze seemed to make a quick assessment of Vixen’s dress. Slim-fitting, it molded to every curve she had. A fact she was uncomfortably aware of.
She wore tight clothing on patrol, but that was work gear. Somehow, skin-tight leather pants with a skinny-fit tee didn’t seem quite as bad as her cleavage, or the entire length of her leg on display.
“You can see my underwear,” Vixen muttered, tugging at the dress again, nearer to a panic attack than she’d ever been in her life.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s perfectly decent. You’re just used to hiding yourself away down in the compound…leave it, you’ll crease the silk.” Maria swatted at Vixen’s hands, her impatience obvious.
Perhaps she could still make a break for it, Vixen wondered, as the bride moved off to speak to one of the other bridesmaids. Already, Maria had adopted the role of hostess, a skill she’d need as Marak’s queen. Hope filled her—surely Maria would understand…
She was a warrior, not used to being pulled about and tarted up as she had been this morning, by a series of beauticians and hairdressers. All to put her on display like some kind of performing seal. No, it still wouldn’t work, she realized, as she picked at the ribbons on the handle of her bouquet. Whatever Maria said, regardless of whether or not she agreed with Vixen’s reasons, she wasn’t the big problem.
There was still Marak to consider. It had been Maria who had asked Vixen to be her bridesmaid, but he had also mentioned how happy he was to have at least one warrior amongst his bride-to-be’s attendants…
* * *
“I know it’s just from the Ravensford estate and she’ll be escorted by the Ravensford knights all the way…but you know what knights are like. I’ll be far happier knowing there’s at least one of my guys in there too,” He’d said to her in the gym last week. She’d grimaced as she lifted the barbell, and hid the sense of pride that had filled her as he called her one of ‘his guys.’
She had no feminist principles about it. The only female warrior in existence, she’d spent most of her life trying to prove herself in a man’s world. She’d done it, making the grade as a member of Marak’s patrol. Having him call her ‘one of his’ was the icing on the cake.
She agreed with his point about knights, all the warriors did. They trained hard to keep up their speed and reactions, constantly learning and practicing new forms. It was necessary, a matter of survival. Rogue vampires were fast as hell, and thanks to the madness in their veins, stronger than their Kyn counterparts. A slow warrior was a dead warrior. It wasn’t the same with knights, not that Vixen had seen. Once you were a knight, sword across the shoulders and all that jazz, you were always a knight. No one took that away from you, even when you got too old and slow to raise a sword.
“I was going to stick Feral in a dress just for the hell of it. But he’d only sulk.” Marak’s expression had been on the verge of pleading when Vixen hadn’t answered right away, revealing how nervous he was. Marak had never been chatty—he was more the silent, brooding type. Until he’d met Maria. Vixen liked the change. It suited him.
“So come on, what do you say, Vixen? Put me out of my misery here…I promise Feral will love you forever.”
* * *
Vixen’s mood took a nosedive as she returned to the present. “Feral would still have looked better in this.”
She was careful to keep her muttering under her breath. Kyn hearing was acute. The last thing she needed was everyone to find out she felt a complete and utter idiot.
“What was that?” Maria appeared at Vixen’s side again, but her attention was diverted as the door opened and a tall figure appeared.
In a heartbeat, Vixen was all attention, her body tensed and readied for an attack. She knew how much some people would like to make sure this wedding didn’t go through, and for Marak not to marry. As she recognized the man who stepped into the room, she relaxed marginally, a silent look passing between warrior and knight.
“Are you ready, sweetheart? They’re all waiting for you out there… Marak’s like a cat on a hot tin roof.” Garen Ravensford crossed the room to his daughter, and Vixen could see the pride sparkling in his eyes as he took in her appearance. “You look wonderful, honey. Beautiful. Just like your mother did. She would have been so proud of you.”
Vixen turned away with a lump in her throat, uncomfortable at trespassing on a tender moment between father and daughter. Despite having fallen in love with a human, Garen had stood by her and the two half Kyn daughters she’d borne him. It was an old scandal—one of the most eligible lords in the court h
ad chosen to marry a human for love. It had nearly cost Garen his title. A match between a Kyn and a human? Unheard of.
If she had been converted, then it would have been a different matter. Occasionally though, no one knew why, some humans couldn’t be converted. The scientists thought it might have to do with a strain of paranormal DNA in their genetic makeup, something not quite human in their family tree, that stopped the conversion. Regardless of the pressure on him, Garen stood by his mortal wife until she died, and Vixen admired him for that.
Her own father had been a different matter. He’d taken one look at the warrior’s marks across the face and body of his newborn daughter and had walked out, leaving Vixen and her mother to fend for themselves.
“Yes, I’m ready… is everyone else? Do ya’ll have your bouquets?” Maria asked, twisting and turning to check as Garen lifted her veil to draw it down over her face. Vixen lifted her bouquet and waggled it in with the rest, adding her voice to the chorus of confirmations from the assembled bridesmaids.
The panic left Maria’s face as her father drew her hand onto his arm and led her toward the door. The bridesmaids fell into the order they’d had drilled into them by the wedding coordinator and followed her. Vixen brought up the rear, her hand closing around the handle of her bouquet and the stiletto hidden there. Just in case. Bridesmaid for the day, protector for life.
The moment of truth was upon her. Vixen took a deep breath before stepping through the door. All eyes in the hall swung toward them. Vixen bit the inside of her lip, wishing she was somewhere—anywhere—other than here. In fact, if a rogue burst into the hall right now, she’d kiss it, before kicking its ass.
Feral should’ve worn the dress. She fixed her gaze on Maria’s slender figure, concentrated on putting one step in front of the other, and ignored the crowded room around her as she followed her friend, and soon queen-to-be, up the aisle.
*
“Oh god. She’s here.”
