When he disappeared into the trees, the two wolves, who Vivienne guessed were Sloan and Raoul, followed him. She approached Conall quickly. “What was that about?”
Conall spun around and caught her shoulder with one hand. He buried his nose against the side of her neck, inhaling deeply, before moving to her clavicle, then lower still. Vivienne blinked rapidly before shaking her head and trying to push him away.
“What are you doing?” she managed, catching his head as he sniffed at her arm.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he demanded.
Vivienne shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“Did he touch you?” Conall continued, blue eyes boring into hers.
“No,” Vivienne replied, before remembering the kiss Raoul had placed against her hand.
“He kissed your hand?” Conall snapped, and she cursed the mating connection that allowed him into her mind. His rage tripled, and Vivienne felt her body break out in almost anticipatory gooseflesh. What the hell was wrong with her?
“It wasn’t like that, Conall. He was being a gentl—”
“Rafael Mathias is no gentleman, Vivienne,” Conall snarled. “And I don’t want any other male touching you but me. Ever.”
Eyes narrowing, she pushed out of his grasp. “What?”
He repeated it slowly, as if she were an invalid who wouldn’t understand, which made Vivienne angrier. After a lot of blinking, and huffing, she finally found her voice.
“So, I’m not allowed to be around any men, but you can be around whoever you please? Did your pack miss the century where females protested for rights and actually got them? Seriously. And what did Rafe mean that he was challenging you for me as well? Even if you lost, he’ll never have me. What the hell is wrong with all of you?”
Conall grabbed her hand and turned, pulling her with him. Vivienne had to run to keep up with him. “Conall, you’re leaving your clothes.”
He didn’t answer, just kept up that pace until they were in the house. Vivienne was briefly reminded of a similar encounter with Sloan, and her anger was no less fierce simply because it was Conall.
“I know you’re angry about Rafe, Conall—”
“Rafael!” he corrected, obviously taking affront to the intimacy of a nickname.
Vivienne didn’t protest much as he dragged her up to the bedroom, but once there, she launched into him. “What is wrong with you?” She paused and drew her arm away from him. He didn’t let go on the first tug, but when she tugged again, he did. His eyes narrowed to little slits. Crossing her arms before her chest, she stared him down. His gaze was no less hostile. Taking a deep breath, she decided to try a different approach, a calm one. “I said I was sorry.”
Vivienne gasped and blinked when he rapidly began pulling her clothing off. Her jacket was unzipped and tossed somewhere, her shirt was pulled over her head before she could so much as breathe. His face was a mask of concentration, his eyes that feral yellow.
“Conall,” she began in a placating manner, only to groan when a hand squeezed at her already sensitive breast through the thin material of her bra. He easily tossed that as well. He went to his knees before her, and rapidly tugged her pants and underwear off. An alarm went off in Vivienne’s head. He couldn’t—not today—
Mine.
Remaining where he was, he parted her legs and began a series of long, wicked licks that simply drove her wild. Vivienne stared down at his dark head between her thighs, alternating between groaning and shaking her head, between shock and impossible pleasure.
What is he doing—? That thought was cut off completely by a flick of his tongue directly over her bud. She would have fallen numerous times if not for his hands cupping her buttocks as his tongue lapped.
By the time he’d lowered her to the dark carpet, she could barely think of anything except his body, and the pungent spicy odor emanating from his skin. A strong hand gripped her waist, and then he was inside her. His thrusts were merciless, hard thrusts that had her digging her nails into his back, drawing blood. Still, she lifted her hips to receive him, holding him close as he marked her. That was what he was doing. Joined to him mentally and physically, she knew it.
His mouth caught hers and Vivienne moaned at the wild taste of herself on him. Her tongue lifted to caress his, and she felt the prick of his elongated canines. Blood filled their mouths, and they both moaned.
Conall lifted his head, locking his gaze on hers. They were still yellow, shining down on her.
“Conall,” she whispered, barely getting in enough air to form that word, and feeling a tremor rock through her body. He growled and lowered his head to her neck, sucking and biting against a tender spot. She cried out and felt a powerful orgasm wrack her body. It seemed to sneak up on her, leaving tremors that literally shook her.
His thrusts grew harder—Vivienne hadn’t thought it possible—and she closed her eyes, surprised and slightly terrified at the intensity. Without breaking pace, the hand at her waist moved lower until it was wrapped around her knee, pulling her leg forward, so that her calf lay horizontal to his body. She felt herself stretch to take him and whimpered, nails digging even deeper into his back. Leaning down, he nipped at her shoulder and continued his quick, hard thrusts. Vivienne felt another orgasm approaching, and the bite he placed at her shoulder sent her over the edge. In the distance, she heard the equivalence of a snarl, a growl, as she sobbed out his name. That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up on the bed with Conall’s arms around her.
***
Conall stared down at her, a sheepish, concerned expression on his handsome face. His hair was damp and his eyes had returned to their usual blue.
“I’m sorry, alainn,” he began, only to have her lift her arms above her head and stretch cautiously.
Her muscles were tense, there was a slight soreness between her legs, and she could still feel the imprint of his hands against her waist. “Why are you sorry?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
“I lost control and I frightened you,” he said, moving away from her as if he expected an outburst. Yes, he’d lost control, more than the previous times, and yes, he’d scared her with it. Without lifting her arm to her nose, she knew his scent was inside of her, that anyone passing would catch it.
“Yes,” she replied, nodding as she did so.
“I—did I hurt you?” He looked and sounded unsure. Vivienne took pity on him, rolling toward him and lightly touching her palms to his chest.
“You told me you’d never hurt me,” she started, and Conall closed his eyes. She waited for him to open them, and saw regret lying inside. “And you never have.” She kissed his lips quickly. “You did wear me out, though.”
Rolling away, she yawned and stretched some more, feeling her muscles loosen. Sighing, she was about to ask him about Rafael when she suddenly popped up, pushing the covers back. Oh God, she was going to mess up his bed!
His hand caught her arm gently and he drew her back down. It’s okay, alainn.
Okay? He obviously didn’t understand she was about to ruin his expensive Egyptian cotton sheets! Granted, she was at the end of her time, but still!
She tried to pull herself up once more, but he suddenly pulled her atop him. She struggled to get off, which was impossible as his hand was at her back, holding her steady.
“No, Conall, I’ll—”
“It’s okay, Vivienne. They’re only sheets.” He rubbed his hand gently down her back, and when she tried to push herself up again, he kept her still.
She exhaled, sulking. “Fine. It’s your sheet and your mattress!”
Using one hand, he lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. She tried her best to avoid his gaze.
“Vivienne, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s a natural occurrence.”
“Thanks. I had this talk with my mother when I was twelve, you know!”
A little grin touched his lips before he smirked. “Did she a
lso tell you that mates sometimes share this? That your mate will want you even now? Our attraction is hard to control most times, so it’s likely to find two mates sharing a bed, even during this time.”
Vivienne didn’t respond for long moments, and when she did it was to say in a curious, slightly disbelieving voice, “You didn’t do anything this morning.”
“Because I didn’t want to scare you. Humans are conservative and restrained in what they do with their lovers.” He paused and a hand went through her hair. She shuddered. “I’d intended on gradually easing you into this, but….” He let his voice trail off, but she knew what he was going to say: but Rafael had kissed her hand, and Conall had turned half-crazed as he staked his claim.
Zahira was right. Although they looked human, the tendencies that guided them were those of an animal. She tried to relax atop him and focus her attention elsewhere. “Who’s Rafe, and why does he bring out the beast in you?” She smiled at how she’d phrased that question.
“Rafael is one of Brennus’s sons. He fled the pack years ago.” So it was as she suspected. Rafe was related to Samia.
“Why?”
“A female was killed. His scent was all over the body, and then he disappeared.”
Vivienne gasped. Wow. Rafael was a killer? The things she learned, daily. Make that hourly.
“And now he’s back?”
“Until tomorrow,” he retorted with a finality that made her shiver.
“Tomorrow’s my blood rite with Samia.”
“Not anymore.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rafael challenged my position. That takes precedence.”
“So, can’t you fight him in the morning, and I fight Samia in the afternoon?”
Conall sighed and tightened his hold on her. “Vivienne, you don’t have to—”
“She isn’t going to stop unless I stop her.” She pushed out of his arms and rolled onto the bed beside him. “You’re not going to use Rafael to push this blood rite back.”
They stared at each other for long moments until Conall shook his head. Satisfied, Vivienne moved closer and placed her head into the crook of his arm.
“So, do you have any advice for a novice fighting a werewolf?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Maybe it wasn’t the right question to ask. His response was quick. “Don’t.”
A little smile curved her lips. “Any other advice?”
“Keep moving. Samia’s a good fighter, quick and strong. Don’t stay in one place too long.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
“If you really wanted to thank me, you’d say you’re not going through with it.”
“Then don’t fight Rafe. Don’t go through with it, Conall.”
“Rafael,” Conall hissed. “Call him Rafael.” Vivienne lifted a brow. “He challenged me.”
“And Samia challenged me.” She kissed his chest, then snuggled close to him. “Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
***
“M-m-my lord.”
Maximilian Cronin wasn’t given to stuttering, but he wasn’t accustomed to seeing apparitions of long-dead druids, either. When he’d awoken to find himself standing feet from a very alive-looking Alexander Petraeus, he’d immediately called up his powers, only to find they were not there. The only place where his powers were voided was when he was in between worlds, or dreaming. So, this was obviously a dream. Which did little for his psyche, as witches were known to die in dreams.
“Maximilian Cronin.” When Alexander spoke in that familiar, calm voice, Maximilian swallowed. It was him. But how? He was dead. The grand wizards had killed him before banishing the druids. It was a tale passed down to young witches about the powerful twelve who’d defeated the undefeatable. And yet here he was, dream or no.
“Your grand wizards underestimated me, Cronin,” Alexander answered, and in the answer Maximilian heard the warning: he would be stupid to do the same thing.
“How are you here, my lord?” Centuries ago, Alexander had been a peer of the realm, an English duke as well as a French count, if he remembered correctly, and immortal and mortal alike had addressed him as such. He wasn’t dressed the part of nobility at the moment, with his cream-colored slacks, white button-down shirt and bare feet, but the man still held himself as regally as any king.
“That is insignificant,” was the easy response. “It seems we have a common goal.”
Immediately, Maximilian’s ears perked up. “The resurrection of the druids?”
Alexander nodded. “Why?”
“I don’t understand, my—”
“Why are you doing this? What motivates you, Cronin?”
Maximilian purposely blanked his mind. It wouldn’t do well to have Alexander Petraeus know everything about his plan. If the druid did, he might not be allowed to leave the dream world alive.
“My people have suffered just as much as yours, my—”
Alexander snorted and returned, “Your people do not know the meaning of suffering.”
Maximilian said nothing, simply watched as the druid turned those pale eyes on him. They were still as unnerving as they had been centuries ago. Pale green. It would be easy to think he was blind, but for the fixedness of his stare.
“We will help one another,” Alexander finally said after a long time. “I need my people resurrected and you have a burning wish to have your immortality reinstated.”
Maximilian nodded slowly. “Yes, the immortality of my people.”
Looking at the druid, with his silken blond hair and perfect youthful features, only made Maximilian hunger more for immortality. Petraeus was centuries older than him, and he still looked like a young man in his late twenties, while Maximilian appeared as if he was going in to get hip surgery at any moment. There had been a time when he’d considered knee surgery, but that was beneath him! To go under the knife for something so distinctly human.
“How do you intend to resurrect the druids?” Alexander asked, almost as an afterthought.
“There are two girls, druids, whom I would use to open the portal, my lord.”
Alexander nodded. “And do you know where these girls are?”
His thoughts went back to the human, Drew, who hadn’t told him anything yet. It had only been a day, but humans were frightened little creatures who usually spoke at their first opportunity, in order to avoid pain. The girl hadn’t. He’d left his two specialty trackers with her from the moment of her arrival yesterday, hoping she would have given up at least one location, but she was either incredibly strong-willed or did not know. He’d been contemplating allowing his trackers to go into her mind and retrieve the information, but to do so would either kill her or send her into a coma, and if either of those two were to happen, she would be of no other use to him.
“Not yet, my lord. I suspect Vivienne resides at Cedar Creek with Conall Athelwulf’s pack.”
When Alexander’s brows drew together, Maximilian filled him in. “Athelwulf seems to think she is his mate.”
Nodding, Alexander waited for him to continue. “It would be difficult to extract Vivienne from the Cedar Creek pack, so I’ve been searching for the other one.”
“Have you found her?”
“No. Her mother has safe houses scattered across the continents. She could be at any one of them.”
“She’s in New York,” Alexander finally said, and Cronin wondered if he was here to tell him exactly where the druids were. Of course he was. He wanted his people resurrected almost as badly as Maximilian wanted his immortality back. “Her mother has a safe house in Brooklyn.”
“The address, my lord?” Maximilian asked carefully, and Alexander leveled him with an all-seeing stare before he repeated an address.
“You understand that a sacrifice must be made to reopen the portal.”
“Yes, my lord. One of the girls—”
“No.” Alexander’s reply was instant. “Another sacrifice. Perhaps one of your grand wizards.”
&nbs
p; Maximilian frowned but then he remembered Wilhem. It was the perfect way to utilize the upstart’s powers.
“And Maximilian?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Do not fail me.”
The grand wizard bowed, knowing the conversation was over. Alexander faded into the white background, and Maximilian soon woke. He grabbed a pad and pen on the end table near him and jotted down the address Alexander had given him. Everything was falling into place. He knew where one of the druids was, and with her in his possession, he imagined it wouldn’t be long until he had the other.
***
Vivienne came awake with a start, blinked, and pushed her body up. It had been a dream, a bad one, but a dream nonetheless.
She’d been running beside a wolf, a sleekly built white wolf with intense blue eyes a shade lighter than Conall’s. It had been like running with Eli or Zahira, but in the dream, she was in a forest. She didn’t know how she knew it was a forest, and not Conall’s estate, but she did. When she came to a halt, breathing hard and laughing down at the animal beside her, she’d noticed the wolf was sitting on its haunches, silently staring up at her.
“What’s the matter?” The fact she’d spoken to the creature told her that it was a werewolf. She’d leaned down to touch the wolf’s head and quicker than the blink of an eye, the wolf had attacked, catching her hand in its powerful jaws. The bite had awoken her, and it was for that reason her heart pounded fiercely, her mind slowly coming to terms with the fact she’d just had a nightmare.
Strong arms encircled her body, and she was pulled back down to the bed. Conall easily maneuvered her body so she faced him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, and when she continued to stare at him wide-eyed, not seeing him but the white wolf who’d bitten her, he probed her mind himself. When he pulled away, he tightened his arms against her and nuzzled her cheek and neck.
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