by Tess MacKall
“There is a reason,” he said, thumb circling her inner wrist.
Chapter Four
Warmth flared in his groin as his cock stretched the front of his jeans and apprehension fisted in his gut. If she was the one he’d been waiting for, he had to find a way to make her stay. At least until he could figure it all out, decide if he really did want to be normal, whatever that was.
Would the spirits of his ancestors give him a choice?
Her eyes told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but would that be enough? Two people needed more than sex. They had nothing in common. Yet he was drawn to her and that terrified him. He hadn’t experienced so much fear since he was a small boy and first learned of his cougar. If she wasn’t the woman who could lift his curse, he couldn’t afford to get too close.
She was afraid too. But what did she fear? Him? None of it mattered. It was out of their hands. They were on destiny’s path now and nothing could stop whatever was about to happen. She looked at him with such longing. Such sadness. How could he tell her? Guilt plagued him. Maybe she’d be better off not knowing and telling her would be selfish. But she’d come to him looking for answers, hadn’t she?
She started to stand and he touched her shoulder.
“Wait. Sit down,” he said.
She sat. His hand still wrapped around her wrist, he leaned closer to her. What he had to say wouldn’t be easy for her to hear and even harder for him to tell. What he’d seen that day out on the mountain was through his cougar’s eyes. If he told her everything his cougar had seen, she’d expect him to go to the authorities with the information.
And that he couldn’t do.
Sam would not place himself at risk. Several lifetimes of running, hiding, had left him jaded. Someone always came to prove the black cougar existed and someone always got hurt. A searing pain spread across his chest and he heaved in air. An image of Lucia, broken and battered, lying in the nearby stream assaulted him.
A premonition.
He couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt, and it relieved him to know he was right in not telling her everything. At least for now.
The vision vanished. He settled his thumb on the pulse point at her wrist, feeling the strong rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. Fear weighed heavy on him—fear for her. The spirits had given him a glimpse into the future. Would they have done that if Lucia wasn’t the one? Over the years he’d had similar visions about other people, so he couldn’t be sure. But for her sake and his, he had to convince her to stay. She really wasn’t safe now that he knew the killer was back and had apparently taken an interest in him, and possibly her too.
What had led him to his cabin?
“Sam? What is it?” she asked, her voice soft and coaxing as she tugged on the sheet to keep it from slipping lower.
His throat constricted with the words he needed to say. “I don’t think your father’s death was an accident. I think someone may have killed him.”
She paled, jerking her arm from him. Her hand covered her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut. Sitting very still for a minute or so, she then jumped from the chair and ran. Sam followed, terrified she’d try to leave, but she hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. He stood outside, propped against the door, and heard her retching.
Like a vise, her suffering clamped down on his chest. The overwhelming need to hold her, to take the pain from her, gripped him. His own ache over Silver Hawk’s death rose inside him with the freshness of yesterday. Yes, someone always came for the cougar and someone always got hurt.
And this time Lucia might be the one claimed by the Raven Mocker.
The sound of water splashing as she brushed her teeth filtered through the door. Silence followed and moments later a low whine. She was crying. How much should he tell her? What should he tell her? The truth would be too much and she’d never believe him. He’d concoct a version of the truth, then, and answer her questions as best he could. Something told him she’d be relentless with those questions too.
Sam opened the door to find her sitting on the toilet, face buried in her palms, the sheet loosely pooled around her body. The horrendous sobs tearing from her throat shook her shoulders. He gathered her in his arms. With slow, easy steps, he carried her to the bedroom where he set her on the bed and gently pushed her back.
Tears coursed down her cheeks and she sniffled. The anguish in her eyes burned brighter than the sunlight bursting through the window. Soft red highlights streaked her dark brown hair. Sam was way out of his element. He’d never had to comfort a woman before. Instinct took over and he did the only thing he knew to do. He lay down beside her and took her in his arms, letting her weep into his chest. He stroked her hair and simply remained quiet. Eventually her tears subsided and she too quieted. For a moment he thought she was sleeping, but then she stirred, sitting up. She looked down at him and smiled. The sheet dropped to the bed as she threw her leg across his body and straddled him.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful. Hair brushing her jutting nipples, eyes wet with desire and grief, she placed her hand on his waist and began tugging at the hem of his shirt. Sam breathed deeply, anxious, his cock already hard. With his bare chest revealed, she leaned forward and rubbed her lips back and forth over his nipples. He threaded his hands into her hair, dragging her to his mouth.
One…two…three brief pecks to his lips was all she allowed as she fought not to kiss him, teasing. He groaned, desperate to taste her, and lunged upward to take her mouth. The kiss began feverishly then slowed to an exploration that joined them in so much more than simple lust.
Sam rolled her onto her back and ran his hands up and down her body—over the curve of her hips and waist and up to her large rounded breasts. She made furious work of unfastening his belt buckle. Before he knew it, she had his pants unzipped and his cock in her hand, poking it into her wet slit.
He pulled away from her mouth. “Easy. Easy. Not so fast,” he warned.
“I need—”
“I don’t care. Slowly.” He trailed his tongue across her bare shoulder.
And he didn’t care. He would have all of her and take his time doing it too. The woman just didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into with him. Almost two hundred years of fucking tended to hone a man’s skills.
He dragged both her hands above her head, stretching out her arms, pinning them to the pillow. Continuing his erotic assault, he wound his tongue around one taut nipple. Her soft moan of pleasure clung to the air. Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he ground his cock against the downy tuft of hair covering her folds. She pushed upward with her hips, chasing what she wanted.
Sam looked at her and shook his head. “Not yet.”
His tongue blazed a trail down her torso and like an arrow moved straight to her navel where he teased the small hole with tickling strokes. She giggled and he raked his teeth over her flesh. Her hands strained against his. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it beneath her ass, raising her hips to the perfect angle.
With his gaze trained on the neatly trimmed thatch of dark brown hair hiding her cunt, he grinned. One thing you could say about a city girl, they knew how to package the goods. He took her hands from above her head and pressed them to either side of her body. It wasn’t often that he got to eat a little pussy. Everybody in these parts knew to wear a condom with the Monroe sisters because they entertained gentlemen callers regularly. It wasn’t unheard of for one man coming to see another man going. Those two women gave new meaning to the term ”sloppy seconds” and Sam wasn’t about to put his tongue in anything they had.
But Lucia’s taste and scent left him drunk with desire. And last night’s sampling hadn’t been nearly enough. He wanted to lick her pussy until she was senseless with need for him. Her sweet womanly aroma had been made just for him.
He blew his breath across the plump folds of her sex. She shuddered with just that tiny huff of air. His cock jerked, thumping hard against her thigh. Damn. The power of a
woman—this woman in particular. If she truly did belong to him, the spirits had indeed rewarded him for all the years he’d protected the mountain from those who would harm its wildlife or mar its beauty. Wanting every single moment with her to last, he playfully wiggled his tongue over her cleft.
Her hips jiggled. “Oh, yes. Yes.”
Those breathy words of approval spurred the need to bury his tongue inside her juicy depths. Letting go of her hands, he parted her outer lips, salivating for the taste of her. At first he smoothed his mouth over her satiny folds, kissing the glistening pink skin She humped her pussy against his face, begging with soft whimpers. Again, he blew his breath over her wetness as her hands fisted into the sheet she’d worn.
Hips writhing, mouth uttering Ohs and Ahs of pleasure, her stomach muscles undulating. And all his. For now. What if she left him tomorrow? Or the next day? The thought pressed down on him with the intensity of the mudslide they’d escaped. At that moment he didn’t care what the spirits had in store for him. He wanted Lucia. No other.
Just her.
And not only for a few days.
It wasn’t the sex. And it was. It wasn’t her body. And it was. He’d been alone for too long and her being here heightened his awareness of that loneliness. A loneliness he’d pushed aside for too many lifetimes. He slid his tongue upward, touching her clit and circling the taut nub. Her sounds of pleasure became shrieks of torturous need, amplifying his own craving to fill her with his seed, to keep her with him.
Now and forever.
Would the spirits be that generous? The longing in his heart expanded, shelving the emptiness that had been his life and giving way to hope. Her scent called to him as his tongue stroked her clit. Thrusting two fingers inside her, he matched the rhythm of his finger-fucking with that of his tongue. He burned to be inside her, to brand her as his.
He glanced up at her. She pushed her breasts together, massaging and pinching at her nipples, licking her lips. Flattening his tongue against her clit, he rose with her hips as she pressed for more and sought the orgasm he knew swelled inside her. As her agitation grew, she bucked and moaned beneath his tongue, pulled from him and brought herself back.
And Sam never let up.
Relentless, he continued the passionate onslaught, tongue flicking, fingers working furiously. And then her moment came. Gasping for air, she grew rigid before releasing her creamy juices. He slipped his fingers from her opening and dipped his mouth lower to catch the flow. Drinking her in, he tasted the musky scent and only wanted more.
He lifted his head, expecting to see spent desire in her eyes and instead saw the embers of lust burning brightly. She hadn’t had her fill of him. And he sure as hell didn’t think he’d ever get his fill of her.
She reached for him as he covered her body. Her lips brushed over his, her tongue licking her juices from his mouth. He fumbled for a condom, smiling with the thought that he’d need to buy another box. Impatient, he nudged her over and up on all fours. He brought his cock between her thighs and slid the tip through her wet pussy. Back and forth he rubbed, riding just high enough in her folds to touch her clit with a promise for more. But he wanted to feel her warmth, the tightness of her walls, and with one hard thrust, entered her. The smooth glide of his cock inside her tight walls drove him to the point of breaking. Her muscles flexed around his thickness and the slick wet heat of her felt so damn good. So right.
He wound a hand around her hair, tugging. Her body arched and she shoved her ass back against him. From long, slow strokes in and out, taking his cock to the hilt and back to the tip of her opening, he shifted to short, jabbing lunges. Her fleshy cheeks slapped his thighs and the sound of their wet joining echoed in the room. She clawed at the sheets then jerked upward and locked her hands around his neck. He adjusted the angle of his strokes as she sat on his haunches to have more control over their rhythm. He circled her breasts with his hands and pinched her nipples. Sweat beaded his forehead. Her soft moans grew louder. Bucking up and down, she sheathed his cock over and over, pussy clenching and unclenching around him. Her nails raked the skin on his neck.
Insatiable. Wild. She rode him hard and fast. Sam had never failed to outlast a woman, but damn if she wasn’t testing every ounce of his stamina. He tensed to hold back, his heartbeat accelerating. His balls tightened and a tingling sensation shot out into his cock. Breath held, lungs painfully expanded, he heard her scream. On a whoosh of air, he emptied his cock in short, jerky thrusts.
Sam felt himself falling, hurtling through a black veil of time and space. The scent of wood smoke filled his nostrils. Flashes of an old man sitting by a fire spun through his mind’s eye. Lifting a turtle-shell shaker, its rattle ominous—deadly—the man’s singsong chant rent the quiet night and flames billowed, beckoning. Alive within the red-orange blaze, the dark spirits lurked.
And the cougar leapt.
Sam threw his head back and growled from deep in his chest, holding Lucia tightly against him. She struggled, pulling away as if suddenly afraid. Rearing his head once more, he let loose another feral wail then laid her down and claimed her once more.
Love had finally found him.
* * * * *
The early afternoon sun fell across them in a blanket of yellow light. Next to him, the old quilt rustled with Lucia’s movement as she glided her lips over his shoulder. Pulling her closer, he kissed the top of her head, breathed in her scent and nestled her into the crook of his arm.
Time for the questions, he supposed. Questions that would force him to walk a fine line. He was certain she was indeed the woman promised to him. The one who would forever change the only life he’d known—the life of two souls dwelling within one body, each sharing the other’s existence yet walking the earth alone.
It had always been his nature to keep to himself because of what he was, but that part of him had already changed just by being with Lucia. Could he go back to that solitary world? But then he’d never really been alone, had he? His cougar had always been there. If the curse could be lifted, which one of them would disappear?
The cougar or Sam?
Would the spirits be so cruel as to send Lucia to him just to have him taste her love and never live out his dream of truly being loved by banishing him instead of the cougar? And the cougar deserved to exist in this world just as much as he. Sam wasn’t the only one who’d guarded the mountain all this time.
The cougar belonged to the Great Blue Ridge. It was a part of the “place of blue smoke” and understood things that Sam never could, sensing all the wondrous phenomena and upheaval that was nature. In truth, Sam’s need to interact with other people—his need for a woman—had brought trouble down on them. Everyone was curious about the reclusive guide who seemed to know the mountains like the back of his hand.
He’d been forced time and again to vanish into the wilderness for a decade or more because someone was getting dangerously close to discovering his secret or because he couldn’t age, and sooner or later someone would notice. Each time the need to return would overwhelm him and he’d reinvent himself so he could stand on the fringes of life and watch from afar. What was this…his tenth or twelfth incarnation?
Sam had lost count.
While as much a part of him as his cougar, the sounds of the hills and valleys had never fully given him what he needed, and he always found his way back to the edge of civilization, longing for what he could not have. That elusive promise.
Friendship. Family. Love.
“Sam?”
“Yes.”
“I feel like there’s more to all this. To you and me. I’m not ready to talk about it, but we need to at some point. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
How the hell did his mate end up being a city gal? The woman was just too damn comfortable with herself, but they were all that way, weren’t they? At least the ones he’d seen—wearing their designer jeans and boots to go hiking as if they were on a trip to the mall. Tossing their g
um wrappers into the streams and taking pictures with their fancy digital cameras and never really understanding the beauty they saw.
Yet he sensed something different about Lucia.
If she wasn’t, it would never work between them. But why did he even doubt she was his. He knew it with every part of him.
“And we need to talk about something else too.”
Here it comes. He nodded.
“Who killed my father?”
Sam threw back the quilt and tried to get up. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her breasts pressing the bare skin of his back.
“Don’t. I need to know.”
“I don’t know who killed your father.” First lie.
“But you said—”
He ripped her arms from him, stood and turned to face her. “I said I thought someone killed your father. I never said I knew who.”
“Then tell me who you think killed him. I have the right to know.”
He couldn’t argue with her on that score. Hell, he couldn’t argue with her anyway. Not and look at that sexy mouth of hers or those gorgeous breasts. The thought of driving his cock deep inside her tightened his nut sac. He’d love to spread those pretty legs and have her again. But he doubted she’d be in the mood once their talk was finished.
“I was out walking near your father’s campsite.” It wasn’t actually a lie—he’d been prowling the night as his cougar. “I’d talked with him the day before.”
“You spoke to my father?” The quilt fell farther down her body as she pushed up onto her knees.
Sam nodded and silently reproached himself for thinking about sex while in the middle of telling her a bunch of half-truths about her father’s death. “Seemed like a nice guy. I’m sorry for your loss.”
