The Mating Ritual: Werewolves of Montana Book 9

by Bonnie Vanak

  Wincing as he pressed inside her, she forced herself to relax. His cock slid partly inside, warm velvet skin stretching her. Gideon withdrew, and stroked his penis between her soaked folds in a teasing manner.

  He positioned his shaft at her opening and pushed. Alia held her breath, every muscle tightening.

  “Relax, my sweet,” he murmured. “It will hurt less if you trust me and relax.”

  The feeling of fullness increased as he inched himself inside her body, the rounded head of his penis gaining entry. Reaching between their bodies, he played with her sensitive flesh, making her slicker than ever. Alia squirmed, not to escape his attentions, but impatient to complete the joining.

  He thrust harder, past the barrier, and she gave a yelp of pain as the pressure increased. Such a feeling of fullness amid the brief sting. Gideon drove himself into her until the hair from his thatch mingled with hers.

  She reached up to caress his cheek. “Husband,” she whispered.

  Tenderness filled his gaze. “Wife.”

  Then he withdrew and began to pump inside her, slowly at first and then she felt a gathering force as he increased the thrusts. Each plunge and withdrawal increased, as if he was determined to drive himself into her very soul. Gideon gripped her bottom, lifting her to meet his pounding thrusts.

  Friction built anew. Her breasts swung as he drove into her, sweat slicking their bodies. With a hoarse shout, Gideon flung back his head, tendons showing in his throat, his penis pumping thick, hot spurts inside her.

  He collapsed atop her, panting, as she stroked his perspiring back. The marital act was complete and she was his wife now.

  There was no returning.

  Her gaze flicked over to the dagger he had placed on the nightstand. Within reach. She could kill him now, while he lay sated with pleasure, his shaft still deep inside her. Now was the moment to take his life and free her people.

  The thought caused such heartache, a single tear dripped down her cheek. Gideon raised his head, his hair damp with sweat. Concern filled his expression as he wiped her tear away.

  “Are you all right, my sweet?”

  She gave a jerky nod. The moment had passed. Alia felt fleeting relief, which vanished when he went into the adjacent washroom and returned with a wet cloth.

  “Open your legs,” he commanded.

  Biting her lip she complied. But he took the cloth, warm and soft, and washed her. His touch was gentle, and it soothed the stinging ache of her flesh.

  Was he preparing her for some Dark Fae ritual?

  But he only returned the cloth to the washroom, and then with a sigh, went to the nightstand. Gideon picked up the blade and examined its tip. Alia shrank back against the covers.

  Maybe she should have killed him while she’d had the chance.

  She’d heard how the Dark Fae could not resist their sexual deviance and how they enjoyed inflicting pain…

  Gideon started toward her and she trembled, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Alia, what’s wrong?”

  “Do what you must. Please, I only ask you be quick about it.”

  Gideon frowned. “Be quick about what?”

  “Please…if you must hurt me for your satisfaction, do it quickly.”

  Catching her stare, he blinked. Gideon ran a hand through his long, blond hair.

  “I use the dagger for protection, wife. Nothing more.” His voice gentled. “I would never hurt you.” He glanced at the blood-stained sheet. “Not intentionally and certainly never again in the marriage bed.” Gideon smiled. “Unless you are willing.”’

  She stared, marveling at that smile. Was he joking? She could not tell.

  With the blade’s tip, he traced another rune upon the wall behind the bed. But this time the rune barely sparkled. Judging from his frown, she knew this could be very bad.

  It meant the magick shielding them from prying eyes had faded. She left the bed and touched the wall behind the headboard. Beneath her palm, she could feel her father’s powers pulsing like a heartbeat.

  “It will not work,” she whispered. “Your magick has little power against my father in his castle.”

  Gideon balled up the sheet showing the splotch of her virginal blood and strode to the door and opened it. A guard nearly fell inside, obviously eavesdropping. Her husband threw the sheet at the guard.

  “Tell the king the marriage is consummated,” he snapped.

  Gideon slammed the door in the Fae’s startled face.

  Alia searched for anything to cover herself. Gideon tossed her a soft blue robe.

  “I have no desire for your father’s nobles to see you naked. That is for my eyes alone,” he told her.

  She shrugged into it, the silk kissing her suddenly cold skin. Were they watching now, Gideon’s Dark Fae magick overpowered by the king’s magick? Snickering as they speculated about the groom’s sexual prowess and her nudity? Alia wrapped her arms around herself. She would not let them turn the sweetness and intimacy of what they’d shared into tawdry, crude sex.

  “We leave for our manor home tonight.” His sensual mouth held a hint of cruelty. “I warded it with my powers after your father’s servants delivered my personal belongings. One of your father’s spies thought to sneak inside. He burned his hand upon touching the doorknob.”

  Startled, she looked up at him. “What did you do to him?”

  His smile remained grim. “He will spy no more. I temporarily blinded him.”

  She shuddered at such cruel punishment. Yet her father would have done worse. Gideon’s action reminded her of the dangerous tensions that always ran between the Summer and Winter Courts.

  Gideon picked up her palm. “The magick will not harm you, for the runes warding the cottage will drop to admit you and the fairies and sprites of the forest and anyone I invite inside.”

  Interesting he had chosen to trust the fairies. She felt the same. The woodland fairies and sprites, who watched over the creatures of the forest and the wilding Fae who lived in the settlement, were her friends.

  Gideon went to the armoire and removed a pretty blue satin gown and handed it to her.

  Alia went into the bathing chamber and dressed quickly. When she emerged, Gideon wore his uniform and showed no signs of the tender husband who had merged her flesh with his. He was all business, ruthless and purposeful, as he picked up the knife and sheathed it at his hip.

  When they emerged from the bridal chamber, Gideon beckoned to a palace steward. “I am taking my bride to our home tonight. Get the carriage ready for our departure.”

  The steward looked uneasy. “The royal couples always remain in the palace on their wedding night.”

  “Not this royal couple.”

  Still, the Fae balked. “King Oren has given you two servants for your household, but they will not be ready to join you until tomorrow afternoon, when we expected you to move into your new home.”

  “That will suffice,” he said crisply. “See to our carriage immediately.”

  As they strode down the hallway, members of the court lingering there, eyeing them with complete, undisguised curiosity, Alia struggled to regain her lost composure. She was Gideon’s wife now and held even less status than previously. But her goal was secure. Her new husband had set the course in motion for his own assassination. For she could not kill him in her father’s castle. The magick was too powerful and too many eavesdroppers spying on them would stop her before the blade reached Gideon’s throat.

  A lump filled her own throat. I have no desire to do this, but I must. Is the life of one Fae worth more than the lives of tens of thousands?

  The home the King had given them was on the edge of the Summer King’s court, set in the enchanted forest, the woods that snaked out through the kingdom before touching the boundaries of the more ominous and sinister Mystic Forest. Moonlight silvered the tall oak and sycamore trees flanking the carriage as they rode along the main highway toward their new house.

  Green and blue fairy lights followed
them, the fairies and sprites curious about the stately silver and blue carriage leaving the palace. Tiny whispers rippled through the forest from the winged forest sprites that lived there guarding the mystic woods. One flitted over to the open window, wings beating fast, and accompanied them as they rode. Gideon glanced at the sprite and held out his hand.

  To her surprise, the tiny creature, no bigger than his thumb, landed upon his outstretched finger. He gave an indulgent smile. “Hello,” he murmured. “Are you here to escort us to our home? Were you at the wedding?”

  “We were not invited,” the sprite chirped. “King Oren never invites the woodland sprites to his court. We are not welcome and have not been welcome since he threw us out of court. Are you going to evict us as well?”

  Gideon frowned. “You are welcome in our home.”

  “Thank you!” she chirped and flitted away, her wings flapping furiously.

  He looked at Alia. “Why did your father banish the sprites from court? They have as much right to be there as the Fae nobles.”

  Here was a delicate matter she must carefully tread. Summer Court politics were very tricky. “The woodland sprites are protectors of the royal ladies of the court. My father banished them when he thought they gained too much power.”

  The carriage pulled up to the flagstone path leading up to the manor house’s front door. Tucked away among the trees, with a flowing creek in the front, it gave the illusion of isolation. The manor was hewn from the finest cedar wood and granite stone, and suitable for royalty, though Oren considered it too small for anyone of real privilege.

  Stables, a storage barn for supplies, and a cottage for servants were on the grounds an easy walk from their home.

  As the coachman drove off toward the stables, Gideon escorted her up the pathway. He opened the door of their new home and then to her shock, swept her into his arms and carried her across the threshold.

  “That was not necessary,” she told him.

  Still, he did not put her down. Gideon marched around the living area, seeming to study every angle. “It is quite necessary.” He looked down at her. “I am not being a sentimental romantic, Alia. Despite the fact I warded the manor, I do not trust your father or his men, and until I am assured these quarters are safe, your feet will not touch this floor.”

  His concern touched her. Men in her kingdom seldom showed such care with their women.

  The interior living room had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the forest. The stone walls were warm brown, and gave the room a feeling of intimacy. Lamps set into the wall glowed with golden light.

  Holding her easily, Gideon made a fist with his right hand. A dazzling, iridescent glow wreathed his fingers. He unfurled his palm and sparks shot out from his skin, zigging and zagging through the air.

  Seemingly satisfied, he set her down. Alia stared at his glowing fist.

  “More of your Dark Fae magick? For what purpose?”

  Gideon flexed his hand and the silver sparks returned to him, then dissipated. “A cleansing magick to ensure no unwelcome surprises were left here by others.”

  Alia scrubbed her hands against her gown. “This manor is safe enough. My father has many spies, but few dare enter this place. The one you caught yesterday must have been desperate to gain favor with my father.”

  Gaze hooded, he looked at her. “Why do few dare to enter here?”

  She ran a finger along the windowsill, reluctant to answer. He turned, clasped her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze. “Tell me, Alia.”

  Such command in that deep voice, she felt compelled to obey.

  “It belonged to my mother. It was her private retreat when she needed…to get away.”

  “You mean when the king sent her away.”

  Emotion clogged her throat. “Yes. You have heard the stories of my mother and her madness, I see.”

  “Madness or practicality? Being the lesser wife of the Summer King must have put a tremendous strain on your mother.” Gideon’s gaze remained steady. “I understand she was a gentle soul and the politics of court can be quite brutal.”

  She could not talk about her mother, and the anguish of watching her grow into a shadow of herself. The feelings ran deep, the love too raw, too real, to tell this man whose bed she must share.

  Bed, yes. Innermost secrets, no.

  Gideon went to the window and traced another rune on the glass. “Alia, it is still our wedding night and the ritual must be performed. Remain here a moment and rest, and I shall return soon.”

  She sat on the settee as he vanished into the bedchamber. When he emerged a few minutes later, he wore a burgundy dressing robe that draped down to his feet. His expression was intense as he handed her a goblet filled with dark liquid.

  “Tincture made by my people. It expedites healing of a new bride after she loses her virginity and prepares her for the ritual ahead.”

  Alia drank. It tasted like mint and honey, and warmth filled her. The space between her legs ceased to hurt. Instead, she felt open, aching and wanting all over again.

  With a possessive hand on the small of her back, Gideon guided her into the bedchamber.

  Alia stared, dismay mingling with excited anticipation.

  She knew that Gideon’s nature was sexually deviant. But the court gossips and what few rumors her handmaidens passed along were nothing compared to the reality staring her in the face.

  The bedroom was designed to feel natural and bring the outside indoors. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the gardens and forest beyond, where moonlight silvered the thick green grass and the silver and blue roses near the pond. Over the bed was a window carved into the ceiling. The sight coaxed a smile to her face. They could lie upon the bed and gaze at the starlight beloved by the Winter Court.

  Walls of stone and natural wood surrounded a bed with four hand carved posters, each with twisting designs of vines. The craftsmanship was breathtaking and she knew the artisan who made it was long dead, for there was an air of age about the wood.

  Gideon nodded at the bed. “I had it brought over from my father’s castle. Many generations of royalty were conceived and born in this bed.”

  But more than the bed was the wall and what decorated it…

  Dangling from the stone wall near the bed were silver handcuffs attached to pretty silver linked chains. Diamonds glinted in the silver and the restraints were lined with…

  She picked up one and touched it.

  “Fur.” Gideon’s voice was low and lush behind her, his warm breath feathering her ear. “So to not bruise your skin.”

  He picked up her wrist, pressed a kiss to the inside. “The ritual requires physical stamina, so I intend to make it as easy as possible on you.”

  “The mating ritual.” Breath fled her lungs in a loud whoosh as he shed the robe and stood before her naked. “What exactly do you plan, Gideon?”

  Unsmiling, he nodded at her gown. “Take it off. Now.”

  She kicked off the satin shoes, shed the gown. As she went to unfasten the lacy white stockings, he shook his head. “Leave them on.”

  Cool air brushed up against her nipples turning them hard as diamonds. Gideon’s gaze darkened. Hands at her waist, he turned her around and slid her wrists into the handcuffs. Arms stretched slightly over her head, she faced the stone wall.

  He gave an experimental tug. “Does this hurt?”

  “N-no.” She was fascinated more than fearful.

  He skimmed a hand along her arm, and then down her front, playing with her breasts. Arousal flooded her veins once more. She didn’t know what he planned, but something warned it would be sensational. Earthshattering, perhaps.

  A night she would never forget.

  The earthy scent of wood smoke filled the air. Alia turned her head to see him pour a handful of oil onto his palm. Light filled the room as his magick surged. Gideon smiled.

  “Best way of warming the oil,” he said.

  She gave a delicate shiver.

  “Arch
your back.” He pressed a hand gently on the small of her back.

  As her rear rose into the air, he began rubbing her bottom, smoothing the oil over her flesh.

  Reaching between them, he slid an oiled finger over her slit. Then he thrust two fingers deep inside her, as if testing her readiness. She whimpered as he stroked slowly, then withdrew, banking the heat between her legs.

  “You’re mine, Alia. No other man will touch you.” Gideon gave a low growl and nipped the juncture of her shoulder, then softly kissed the skin. He slid his hands across her belly, cupping her breasts and playing with her nipples. She wriggled impatiently when his hands returned to her slick cleft. He worked his oiled fingers over her flesh, stroking and creating exquisite friction, until the tension built higher and higher. Alia cried out, the chains on the handcuffs rattling as a powerful orgasm seized her. If the first he’d given her before their consummation had been powerful, this one shattered her.

  Then he gripped her hips, his fingers holding her still. Alia gasped as the head of his slick cock touched her wet cleft. Gideon gave a single, hard thrust. No pain this time, only a feeling of fullness, of delicious pleasure as his penis slid against the erogenous points inside her slick channel.

  He kept thrusting, slowly, keeping a rhythm. Two deep strokes, then one shallow, then withdraw. The slow tease made her bite her lip in frustration. She wanted all of him, now, deep inside her, sealing them together.

  “The ritual,” he whispered, his voice ragged, “is to bind the couple together on their wedding night. But it is more. The man’s duty is to so deeply pleasure his woman that she will never turn her eyes toward another man, and the day after their wedding, she will carry the memory of her husband’s body making them one flesh, his cock driving into her, feeling him inside her even when they are parted.”

  He slid a finger over her pointed ear and built the tension higher, until she climaxed again.

  He whispered dark words of passion while his fingers worked magick between her legs, all the while his cock kept thrusting inside her. Alia lost track after seven orgasms.

  Dazed, exhausted, she whimpered and begged for mercy. He showed her none, and each time she hung from the cuffs, panting and feeling as if she could not bear more, he urged her on.