by Faye Avalon
Her heart almost popped out of her chest, and a delicious warmth spread right through her. My love.
“I’m certain. I want you, Tor. I want everything you are. That’s all that matters to me.” She loved him, she thought. Loved him so much she didn’t want to spend one more moment without him. He’d told her she brought him to his knees. That she humbled him. Well, he’d done the same for her, and she knew without a doubt that she would never be the same again.
She brought him closer, touched her lips to his and kissed him tenderly. Soon the kiss morphed into something else entirely. Tor kissed her like he would never let her go, which was absolutely okay with her.
When he drew back, he captured her gaze. “A long time ago I shut myself off from emotion. After what happened to my parents, what happened to me, it seemed safer not to allow myself to feel again. You changed that, my Connie. You changed me.”
The loveliest shimmer blew through her, lighting every part of her soul.
“I love you, milaya. More than I have ever loved before, or ever will again.”
Joy shot through her. He shared her love.
Before she could respond, before she could tell him what was in her heart, he drew her so close it stole her breath.
“I want you to be mine,” he said firmly, touching her cheek. “I want you to be my mate. My love. But you must take some time to think about this.”
She smiled. “Tor, I’ve taken enough time. My brain positively aches from thinking about everything. Now it’s time to listen to my heart, to go with my feelings, my true feelings. All I know is that I love you. Nothing else matters.”
She touched her lips to his again, deepened the kiss when she sensed he would pull away and begin questioning her again. “So how does this marking thing work?” she asked between kisses. “Do you just … bite me? And then do I bite you?”
She grinned, and it had the desired effect. “I’m the wolf,” he said with a grin that oozed feral intent. “You can bite me as much as you would like, but I’m the one who gets to go first. I need to be highly aroused.”
“No problem.” She unhooked his trousers and slid down the zipper. Taking him in her hand, she stroked sensually up and down his thick shaft. “See?”
He allowed her to continue the long, slow strokes until they were both battling for breath. “You need to be highly aroused, too.”
He stood, lifted her into his arms and lay down with her on a padded workout mat. He made quick work of removing her clothes, and when she was naked nudged open her legs and lowered his head. His tongue flicked along her already wet slit with expert ease, and she was soon panting.
Rising up, he shucked off his jeans, and then lowered over her. He entered her, moving slowly at first, his eyes on hers, and he thrust faster, deeper. Her release came hard, shooting her high up into the stratosphere. Moments later, Tor enjoyed his own release.
Still inside her, he stroked her hair away from where it clung to her cheeks and her forehead. His mouth touched her flesh, and she closed her eyes, anticipating. Then his teeth grazed lightly, before digging in hard. Everything inside her exploded, her neck firing with heat which shot to her breasts before thundering to her core. Colors flashed sharper, sounds seemed to explode around her, and the very air in the room seemed to reverberate with something she’d never heard before.
His teeth sank deep. He held there. And Connie felt sensation continue to explode through her. It seemed she was aware of everything, from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes and everything in between and around.
But mostly she was aware of her core, that point where Tor enlarged inside her. He grew bigger, wider, and then he started to move again. Connie grew wet, hot and ready for him. She took him easily, her intimate muscles clenching around him and milking him dry.
She wanted him so ridiculously badly. It was as if every hormone she had screamed for that possession of her he was so ready to demand. She welcomed it now. Ached for it. She was his. She knew that unreservedly. Just as he was hers. Like him, she felt that deep sense of ownership, of possession. He was her mate just as she was his.
“Tor…”
He continued to pump, his breathing heavy and urgent. Nothing else seemed to matter right then. All she wanted was currently taking her to heaven and back. All she wanted was Tor. Everything else would fall into place; she had every faith in that. In them.
He began to pull out of her at the same time he released his bite hold. A faint shadow of her blood rimmed around his mouth, which was for some reason strangely erotic. Her core muscles clenched, tightening around him as he withdrew.
“Vixen,” he said softly, but there was a hint of a smile as the blood around his mouth simply faded. “I am the luckiest of men to have you, my Connie.”
“And I’m the luckiest woman. Tor?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you so much. I’ll spend every day proving it.”
He looked down at her, his eyes soft as he wrapped her tightly in his arms. “And that is my true gift, milaya. You are my true gift.”
“And you’re mine.” She stole her arms around his neck. “Promise me that you’ll always share what you are with me. Everything. Don’t hold anything back. I need to be there for you, to support you.”
“I promise.”
It was amazing what happiness could be found when a person faced their fears, when they learned that not everything unknown was to be feared. Had Tor not come after her, had he not had the drive to find her, to know without doubt that she was his mate, she would never have felt this love, this amazing sense of belonging, and of desire.
She would likely have spent her life searching for a man who lived up to Tor, knowing deep inside that no man ever could. For nobody could live up to the man holding her tight against him, softly growling in his sleep, the contented sound of a man who had found and now possessed his true mate.
Her wolf, she thought already drifting into sleep herself. Her very own wolf.
Her precious, precious gift.
The End
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Other Books by Faye Avalon:
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
CAELAN’S CAPTIVE
Limani Warriors, 1
Faye Avalon
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Lahna had no idea how long she’d drifted and she no longer cared. All she knew was that soon she would die.
But, dear Goddess of the Night, please let her die in freedom.
How many nights had she sailed? How many days? Enough that she’d given up hope of sighting land, and with it a place she would be safe and free.
She tried to raise her head, to see above the edge of the simple wooden craft she had stolen from the harbor, but the sun beat down with such ferocity it sent nausea barreling through her. Her throat was raw with thirst. Her flesh clammy and flaking from exposure.
As the wind picked up and tossed her against the side of the small boat, she again attempted to haul herself from the slatted wooden deck of the Kalisima. She prayed that whoever had been in charge of this boat would escape punishment, because she’d had no option but to take the vessel to make her escape.
She managed to lift her head a little more, and through the blur of her gritty eyes she saw a hazy outline on the horizon. Was her mind playing tricks? Allowing her to envision land where there was none? Or had she been turning in circles and fate was dragging her back to face her doom. Hefting herself upward another inch, she felt a gut-churning pressure bearing down on her head … and the sky went black.
****
Caelan wanted rid of the fawning group around him. He ha
d no time for politics, even less time for day-to-day trivialities. He knew it went with the territory, as it had for his father before him, and while he accepted and respected the responsibilities that came with his role as ruling Prince of Limani, he could not profess to like them. Right then, he was keen to wrap up the minutiae of the morning and get back to formulating plans to rally the leaders of the neighboring islands to once more fight for independence from Zomotian rule. This, Caelan considered, was the real business of his office. He had sensed the disquiet among his people, and knew that time was fast approaching when he would have to act.
Secretly, he was reluctant for more bloodshed. His armies had already fought too many battles. But there was no other way.
He scrubbed a hand over his head, as if to scour away the beginnings of an ache that pulsed there. Dullard meetings with his court, made up mostly of the island’s elders who wished to maintain the status quo, always took a toll on his nerves. Truth be known, he would prefer the ravages of battle to the numbing idiocies of court matters.
Caelan could not stomach the trivial bickering and point seeking.
With a wave of his hand, his court disappeared to go about the business of the day.
“My lord, if I may speak with you privately.” Kassaro, his closest friend and most trusted advisor, bowed respectfully as he strode through the meandering group making their way to the exit.
“Make it quick,” Caelan growled, fast losing his patience. “And close the door.”
Alone with Kassaro, Caelan relaxed for the first time that morning. He sank back into the chair that was his emblem of office. “The gods preserve me, Kass. This life will steal my soul.”
Kassaro sat on the wooden plinth beside his friend, who for the past six months had been his Lord Prince. Caelan was the island’s most revered warrior and only son of Limani’s once great leader who, in his final moments, had succumbed to an evil which forced him to sign over the Principality of Limani, his strategically placed island nation, to the vast kingdom of Zomotia.
In the short months since he had returned from his battles to find his father dead and his birthright now in the hands of the greedy ruler of Zomotia, Caelan had vowed to free his people, and those of the smaller neighboring islands, from the tyrant king’s rule. But only when the time was right and the stars auspicious. Which required patience. A trait with which Caelan had not been endowed.
Kassaro, aware of his friend’s dilemma, shifted beside him. “We need to move fast, my lord. The men are aching to go into battle. In the absence of which, they need an outlet.”
“We are not yet ready,” was Caelan’s curt reply. “If the men need an outlet they can visit the Doe Park.”
Kassaro cleared his throat, a wry smile softening his hard mouth. “That’s one of the problems, my lord. The Park is diminishing rapidly. Many of the women there were tempted by the promise of riches and coerced into joining the king’s harem. The men are thus unable to relieve their frustrations for battle in the arms of a warm and willing female. The simple fact is we need more women, or we must stop this waiting and go into battle.”
Caelan turned to glare at Kassaro. Wooing women away from Limani was just another of the king’s ploys to keep the island on its back foot. Without the availability of adequate sexual relief for Caelan’s men, the king no doubt believed he would eventually be able to coerce Caelan’s own warriors into his vast army where women were readily available.
Caelan had never before had cause to question the loyalty, or friendship, of his warriors, but then his homeland had never before been under such threat.
Considering, he stroked his jaw.
“My lord, it’s becoming serious.”
Caelan slapped his palms on the slatted arms of his chair and stood. He had little time for this and much less inclination. What was wrong with his men? Why couldn’t they slake their sexual hunger in the same way Limani’s men had done for centuries? The Doe Park, high on the northern hill of Limani, housed whores and willing serving wenches. Now, if there were too few women, his warriors would have to learn to share those who were available.
He himself had done so countless times. He and Kassaro, or one or another of his fellow warriors, had often shared a woman, despite that the women available to serve the sexual needs of the royal household were once far more plentiful than those available to the common man.
Caelan ran a hand through his hair. Gods. It had been so long since he last slipped between a woman’s warm thighs, shared or otherwise, that he marveled he could still remember how to use his cock. He’d consoled himself with the fact that conservation of his sexual energies was a good thing, channeling them into something more meaningful with which to help his people. It was more useful to seek freedom and independence for his land than to crawl between a woman’s legs. He had a duty, a responsibility to his people, to the island, to his ancestors. This land belonged to every Limanish citizen, not to some greedy and debauched king who took a life as easily as other men took a woman.
He sighed heavily. These last few nights he’d been restless, unsettled. Perhaps it was time to end his self-imposed celibacy and give his sexual appetite full rein. Maybe that would put an end to his restive spirit. A man’s masculinity needed an outlet, just as Kassaro had warned. In the absence of a sword, a man could take refuge in the warm folds of a woman.
His warriors grew impatient. They wanted to act, to rally the outlying islands in battle against the king. But Caelan knew the time was not yet right.
“Call an assembly of the council,” Caelan decided, stripping his black cape from his shoulders, and lamenting the need for yet another meeting. “We will debate this lack of female availability for the warriors.”
“Many members of the council are equally mournful of the situation,” Kassaro warned. “It was women from the higher orders who were taken in marriage by the king’s courtiers. The men need heirs, sons who will bear their name and continue the bloodlines.”
“Then we’ll send boats out to the islands. Get more women.”
Kassaro hesitated, obviously aware that Caelan’s meager patience hung by a thread. “The islands find themselves in the same position we are, my master. But if it pleases you…” He bowed low. “I will make arrangements to—”
“For the sake of all that is holy, Kassaro. Will you cease with the genuflections? You make my head spin with all your bowing and scraping.” He drew in a long, heavy breath. “And one more Master or My Lord and I swear I’ll take a sword to your tongue.”
Kassaro gave a respectful nod and wisely remained silent, but his lips twitched.
The two men stared at each other for long moments, until the tension was broken when they both huffed out a laugh.
“It seems the blink of an eye since we were off drinking and wench-ing with not a care in the world, does it not?” Caelan let loose another heavy sigh. He seemed to indulge in them all too frequently of late. “What happened to those days, my friend?”
“Alas, Caelan, we grew to become men.” Kassaro hesitated, as if unsure and uncomfortable about addressing his leader by his given name, as he had done for many years until Caelan had become ruler of the Principality following his father’s demise. “Now, loftier matters fill our heads.”
Caelan gave him a sideways glance. “It doesn’t stop your visits to the Park, I notice. You obviously manage to find an outlet amongst the pitifully waning offerings.”
“A man has his needs, and thank the gods I have the benefits of the royal tent available to me.” Kassaro returned Caelan’s grin, but then grew serious. “Perhaps you would care to visit with me tonight. Tavi asks of you often and enquires when you will next join us in her bed.”
Caelan shook his head, clearing his mind of the raven-haired beauty whose delights he had sampled on many an occasion during his reign as heir apparent. “My mind now fills with those loftier matters.”
“It is not your mind I intend for you to fill.”
Kassaro’s comment had
the desired effect and Caelan threw his head back and laughed, causing the black hair that fell loose across his shoulders to arrow down his back.
He went to the nearby table and poured two cups of ale. “Perhaps you are right and I need a woman.” He offered Kassaro one of the cups. “Then, if the Gods permit, I shall think clearer, my vision will be sharper.”
The two men touched cups in salute. “Shall we meet at sunset?” Kassaro asked. “At the crossroads?”
Caelan swallowed a taste of the potent brew, then shook his head. “Not tonight. I am to resume my meeting with the elders. They no doubt wish to give me further grief about the wisdom of joining the islands against the king.”
“Old fools. Do they not expect a return to the old ways? Our men forced into battles simply to assuage the desires of a greedy monarch? While our women are forced to feed their children on the barest of rations because the best harvest has been shipped to the mainland?”
“The elders might argue that the alternative would require that our men be forced into battle to assuage my own greedy desires.”
With a vengeful huff, Kassaro strode to the table and placed down his cup. “Your desire is to unite the islands again, to stand together against tyranny and oppression, as our forefathers did, and stand up for what worked for hundreds of years, before your…”
As Kassaro trailed off and visibly paled, Caelan walked to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Say it, my friend, it is nothing I have not grieved upon these past months.”
“Your father was a sick man,” Kassaro appeased. “The fever took hold of him before he could stop what trickery had been started. If there is any blame to be marked, it should be on the shoulders of the elders who did nothing to stop it.”
“They had little power. Ultimately, it was my father’s hand that gave Zomotia rule over the islands. My only goal now is to make right that wrong.”
