“Are you feeling well, Vivienne?” Zahira’s voice intruded on her reminiscence, and Vivienne pulled her head from the window.
“Yes, I was just looking at the children—”
She broke off when she recognized the children were no longer there, and the street was now dark and empty. The only light came from a dimly lit street lamp a few houses up. Werewolves didn’t need light to see in the dark. They were natural energy conservators.
“Oh, which children?” Zahira came to stand beside her.
Shaking her head, Vivienne felt a twinge of anger at Zahira’s question but she hastily pushed it away. It wasn’t Zahira’s fault she was acting like a pre-menstrual freak! She wasn’t even prone to PMS. This had to be a first in twenty-three years of regular and painless periods.
“I must have closed my eyes for a while,” Vivienne managed tersely, stepping away from the window. She pasted on a smile for Zahira, who along with Verity, who was currently in the kitchen, had been doing everything over the past days to make her life easier. They were her staunch supporters outside of Conall, his nephew, and his betas, and very appreciated in times like these.
Brennus, Samia’s father, had taken his request for a blood rite to the pack, and it had been approved. If Vivienne thought she’d been treated as an outcast before, she’d obviously been wrong. The pack now went to extreme lengths to avoid her. Before, they would remain where they were, and act as if she weren’t there, but now they left whenever she approached. No one had spoken offensively to her, but they didn’t have to. Zahira had explained that the pack was torn between respecting their alpha and his chosen mate, and offending Brennus and Samia. As such, they avoided all parties involved. It gave Vivienne a little pleasure to know Samia was being treated similarly, but today that pleasure was forgone in place of anger.
That was the emotion that pulsed through her, and only seemed to pulse stronger with the passing hours. It was joined by sadness, frustration….
“You’re bleeding,” Zahira said, as if they were talking of chocolate and candy, and not something so personal. “Oh, save your shock for your human friends, Vivienne. Werewolves have no couth, and certainly no shame, especially in these matters.”
“That’s really none of your business—”
“You’re sad, depressed, and most of all, angry,” Zahira continued, as if Vivienne had not spoken. “It’s been so long I did not recognize it at first.” She gave Vivienne a little smile, which only prompted the already angry druid to scowl.
Zahira chuckled before walking back over to a brown sofa. “I now see why my pack sisters found it amusing to watch as I went through this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have a seat, Vivienne. You’ve been standing by the window for almost an hour.”
She lifted her brows as she looked to the grandfather clock above Zahira’s fireplace. It was after six. The werewolf was right. “I’m sorry, Zahira. I haven’t been myself. I’m tired. I should leave now.”
“Vivienne, what you are experiencing is very normal.” Her brows furrowed and she added curiously, “Well, it is normal for a were female who has recently been mated. Although you are not were, and the ceremony has not been completed, it seems you are experiencing it as well.”
“What am I experiencing but a bad day?” Vivienne snapped, running a hand over her eyes. She really needed to leave before she went off on Zahira. That would be unforgivable.
“You’re sad, depressed, and angry because with your bleeding comes the recognition that you have not conceived for your mate…yet.”
Vivienne scoffed, even as that truth settled in her heart. When she’d first seen her period, she’d been ecstatic for the span of thirty seconds. Of late, she’d begun to recognize that the amount of sex she indulged in with Conall could definitely result in the possibility of a baby. Or two. Her period had symbolized that despite her stupidity for foregoing protection, she was being given a second chance. And then had come the wave of sadness. Why wasn’t she pregnant? That had led to indiscriminate anger at everyone and everything around her.
“I’m going home,” she announced, heading for the coat rack where her fleece was. “Please tell Verity I’ll come back soon.”
She’d just shrugged into the garment and had turned to say her goodbye to Zahira when the Elder touched her wrist. An encouraging smile graced her lips.
“It’s fine, Vivienne, to feel as you do. It’s quite normal, in fact, and likely that Conall understands.”
Nodding, Vivienne turned and pulled open the door.
“I’ll walk with you,” Zahira announced.
“Thank you, Zahira, for everything, but I really just want to be alone.”
The Elder seemed torn, but Vivienne added, “It’s a ten minute walk, and there are still people outside.”
That didn’t seem to reassure Zahira any. In fact, worry lines edged into her usually smooth forehead. Vivienne guessed Zahira, the older woman, was afraid someone would attack her. Someone meaning Samia. Never one to condone violence, Vivienne decided if Samia really wanted to mess with a pissed-off, half-depressed druid on this night of all nights, she was welcome to it.
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m inside.” She rushed out, stepping into the night air. “Good night, Zahira.” She pulled the door closed behind her and drew in a deep breath. The cold air seeped into her system, refreshing her. She stood on Zahira’s porch for a few seconds, scanning the streets on both sides of her before heading in the direction of Conall’s house.
***
The ten minute walk turned into a twenty-five minute stroll.
She passed a group of what looked like young teenagers standing before a house, passing around a cigarette, and chattering happily. At another house was a group of older kids, who looked more like college students, lounging on the porch stairs. When she passed, the talking dimmed down, before advancing once more to loud whispers in which she heard her name, Samia’s name, and the words “blood rite.” She continued on, and was just about to turn the bend that would place her onto the block with Conall’s mansion-like house, when she noticed a lone man standing on the porch to the last house on Zahira’s block.
Despite the dark, she could make out a face that could be considered handsome, with rakish good looks. His hair was red, an auburn color that was brushed away from a square face. A pair of vivid green eyes stared back at her, and full lips curved upward in a smile. There was something familiar about him, but in her current mood, she dismissed it.
As Vivienne continued walking, she wondered if Conall was home. She stopped when the house came into view, searching the front for any sign of his Escalade. He also had two sleek, fast cars, a Benz convertible and an Audi that he usually kept for flashy functions, and a bike Eli coveted. A little smile curved her lips as she thought of that. While showing her the garage, Eli had been sure to ask her to put in a good word with Conall for the bike.
Vivienne was about to continue to the house when she felt as if she were being watched. Trusting her instincts, she spun, going on the defensive immediately as her power surfaced.
It was the man, the one she’d glimpsed standing on the porch. He was coming toward her, his gait confident, his stride long, but languid.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded, looking over his shoulder to find that the teenagers and college students were still out and about. He gave her an easy smile. It didn’t make her any less apprehensive. Here was the first man, outside of the men associated with Conall, to ever approach her during her weeks at Cedar Creek. Just because he was smiling didn’t mean he didn’t have ulterior motives.
“The better question is what’s a pretty lady like you walking these streets all by your lonesome?”
She heard an accent she couldn’t place, and gave him a quick once-over. Black leather clung to him like a second skin. His jacket, pants, boots, even his knuckle-bare gloves were the result of some poor animal’s hide.
When she d
idn’t answer, he chuckled, a deep easy sound, and said, “Name’s Rafael, but friends call me Rafe.”
“Why are you following me?” She might consider it rude on any other day, but he’d approached her today, and rude just happened to be in her vocabulary at the moment.
Rafael stopped a few feet from her, inhaling deep. His smile fell, before it came right back.
“You’re a witch,” he murmured as if in awe of the fact. Vivienne made no move to reply. She was a druid.
“Stop following me,” Vivienne said firmly, before turning on her boot-covered feet and walking briskly toward Conall’s house. She heard his pace pick up and moments later he was next to her, matching her stride for stride, quite easily.
She stopped a few houses away from Conall’s, gritted her teeth, and turned to glare at him. He grinned.
“What are you doing?”
“Escorting a pretty lady home,” he replied, as if that was the most natural thing in the world.
“I didn’t ask for an escort, so leave me alone.”
The smile widened, and she glimpsed slightly elongated canines.
“I wouldn’t be able to get a lick of sleep knowing I let a lady walk by herself when I coulda just walked her home.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Vivienne continued on. Whatever. If he wanted to escort her home, let him. She remembered Sloan giving her that warning, about staying at least ten feet away from every unattached male, but Mr. Chivalrous over here wasn’t taking a hint, and she wasn’t particularly in the caring mood tonight anyway.
When she arrived in front of Conall’s house, she barely spared him a glance as she turned to walk across the lawn to the front door. She was halfway across when he caught her, lifted her so she faced him, and set her back down. It happened so fast, Vivienne had just barely had the instinctive urge to blast him, when he lifted her hand, pressing the back of it to his firm lips. That startled her enough that she forgot her original intentions, and could only stare at Rafael in confusion as he released her hand and stepped away with a smile.
“Good night, Vivienne.”
After shooting him all sorts of glares, she walked across the distance to the front door, and stepped inside. Moving over to the window, she noticed he continued to stare at the house for long moments, until finally he turned away and headed in the direction from which he’d come.
Strange, she thought, removing her fleece and heading up the stairs to the bathroom. A shower and phone-call-to-Zahira later, and she was curled under the thick duvet of Conall’s bed, his pillow clutched firmly to her body as she pitched headlong into a deep and relaxing sleep.
***
Vivienne awoke to find the pillow missing and her body warmly cocooned against Conall’s naked chest. She breathed deep, taking his scent into her, and smiled. The last thing she remembered doing last night was cuddling with his pillow. He must have come in sometime after. She was about to stretch when the events from the previous day came rushing back to her. God, she’d been a bitch to him. Her mood seemed to have lifted considerably with a full night of sleep. She wondered if he was angry with her.
Shifting slightly, she was about to detangle herself from his body when something hard pushed into her belly. Lifting her gaze to his face, she watched for the flicker of an eyelid, for his breathing to change. Any sign that he was awake. He wasn’t.
Moving her hand down his chest, she softly ran her fingers over what had to be his morning erection. Vivienne bit back a little giggle at the thought. Morning wood. When they were younger, and had just learned of the male anatomy, she and Cassie had had a running joke about the weird body of boys and their morning ‘woods.’ And every time someone said the word “wood”, they would giggle.
Vivienne enclosed what she could of her hand around him. Conall made a sound at the back of his throat and clutched her tighter against him, but he still he didn’t wake. She ran her hand up and down the length of him, gasping in shock when she tried to enclose the base of his cock. It was big, much bigger than the rest of him.
Excitement rushed through her as she pulled her hand back up, and slowly caressed him. She’d taken it—all of it—inside her, on numerous occasions.
Releasing him briefly, she detangled herself from the duvet and pushed it back, revealing his naked body, perfectly sculptured and marble-hard, lying in wait for her ministrations. Shifting on the bed, she pulled out of his arms and crawled down his body. And what a beautiful body it was. It took everything in her not to run her tongue across the inky black of the tattoo over his chest, to not flatten her tongue over his nipple and lap until it formed a slight bud, but that was for another day. Today, was for something different.
When she was eye-level with his sex, in the early morning light, Vivienne smiled and placed a quick kiss to the underside. Lifting her head, she watched his face. Still sleeping. Calling upon all the gossip, magazines, and movies she’d ever been privy to, she lifted his heavy length into her hand, and slowly licked the tip. He shifted, hips pumping up, and she licked him again, this time taking a few inches into her mouth.
An involuntary moan escaped her lips. Was he supposed to taste this good? Like dark spices.
A deep and masculine groan disturbed the silence in which she worked, and Vivienne knew he’d awoken. Keeping him in her mouth, she looked up to his face, only to find he was blinking down at her, his expression a cross between sleepy and needy. Using her other hand, she cupped his sac, which brought a low growl from his lips. Her nipples tightened at the sound.
You like that? she teased into his mind, cupping them again.
“Vivienne….” It was a warning, a warning she wasn’t heeding. She wanted this. She wanted to pleasure him in this way. Increasing the suction of her mouth, she took him in as far as she could, lifting her head every so often to watch his face.
A loud groan erupted from him and then his hand slipped into her hair. She moved her mouth faster, releasing him only to place long licks along the sides of his cock, only to suck him back into her mouth.
He came shortly after, calling her name as his fingers tightened almost painfully on her hair. She didn’t mind, and felt oddly sated at his orgasm.
Conall pulled her up immediately, his lips claiming hers, keeping her distracted for the next minutes. When he finally released them, she was breathing hard, and had almost forgotten what it was she’d meant to say.
That was my apology for yesterday, she managed. Her breath still hadn’t returned so she couldn’t speak aloud.
A low laugh escaped his lips, and he continued laughing for a long while. From atop his chest, Vivienne lifted her head and stared down at him, a smile forming on her own lips. “What? Didn’t you like my apology?”
“No, I loved your apology, alainn, but you have nothing to apologize for.” The laughter stopped and he sobered. “After being mated, most females become a bit—”
“Bitchy?” Vivienne supplied.
He shook his head. “Upset when—”
“Zahira explained it to me.” She chuckled when Conall let out what could only be called a sigh of relief. Lifting her head, she caught sight of the time. It was after nine.
“Aren’t you going to work?”
“No,” he replied, and when she lifted a brow at him, added, “A perk of being your own boss.”
“Unfair,” she teased lightly, and then asked, “What are you doing today?”
“Spending the day with you.”
Warmth ran through her body until she was sure that if she smiled any wider, her face might break.
“Oh yeah? Doing what?”
“Whatever you want, alainn.”
“Hm, I should wake you up to an apology more.” She pressed her cheek against his chest, and sighed.
“Yes.” His hands slid against the bare skin of her back. “I really like your apologies, alainn.”
***
Drew stared into the bathroom mirror, taking in her reflection for what had to be the sixth time since she’d
arrived at her new studio apartment. She’d removed her braids, and now sported her own hair for what had to be the first time in at least four years. It had grown long, flowing to the middle of her back. The hairdresser had layered it, and given her bangs, something she’d always wanted but refused to get. The thought of brushing hair out of her face constantly had irritated her. Now, all she wanted was change. Turning down the toilet lid, she sat, leaned her head against the wall, and sighed.
She was waiting for the people from IKEA and Target to deliver her furniture. A week ago, she’d signed a six-month lease for a studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. After spending two weeks and some days with her aunt, she’d had to leave. Her aunt wasn’t the type of woman who did anything without compensation. While she lived there, she was expected to contribute to the rent, which was fine, except the woman had tried to scam her into paying what she would pay for a one-bedroom to sleep on the rundown couch in her living room.
Drew had known of her father’s side of the family for years now. She’d met them at his funeral, but had never reached out to them before. They hadn’t shown much of an interest in her, either. It was sad, but after being there for those weeks she didn’t believe she was missing much. Her father had been a crackhead, her mother a reformed prostitute. She’d had a hard life, growing up in Bed-Stuy on food stamps, and walking streets where gang-bangers and pimps constantly patrolled. The one thing that had kept her sane was school. She’d gone to a public school there, but the teachers had taken an interest, and had pushed her hard, which in turn made her gain grades enough to attend NYU, where she’d met Vivienne and Max.
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