by Michele Hauf
“See voo plate.”
“Oh, darling.” She stroked his cheek, following the line of the soft stubble. “Your French is terrible.”
“Guilty. But I don’t need words to please you.” He drew his fingers up her thigh and over to her mons, where he moved lower, deeper.
Blyss sucked in a breath. She tilted her head and closed her eyes at the delicious sensation of his finger entering her. He turned her chin to face him.
“Look at me, glamour girl.” Now he slicked over her clit slowly, achingly. “Don’t look away.”
In his eyes she found an intensity that would have made her wolf howl with delight. It certainly made the woman she was shiver and coo.
Hands still at her breasts, she released the lacy cups and then caressed them while Stryke coaxed her body toward release with his fingers. The focus in his eyes heightened every sensation. It was difficult to look at him, and yet she couldn’t look away. That would be a betrayal, a refusal to give him all that she could. And she wanted to. She needed to.
Tomorrow night he would need her to satiate him. And she would do that. Because he could touch her very soul. And she never wanted him to stop.
Gasping as the hum at her loins began to ripple outward, gripping her muscles and promising exquisite release, Blyss moaned and tilted her forehead against Stryke’s.
And as she came, she whispered, “I’m yours.”
* * *
He wanted to melt into her. To kneel before her and worship her. To tie her up and keep her only for him. To set her free and watch her spread her wings. He wanted to never forget the feel of her body shuddering against his as she came. And he must never forget the sound of her whimpers and the clutch of her fingers against his shoulders as the tremendous release captured her.
He didn’t want to share her with anyone else. Ever.
Be damned his plans to leave Paris with fond memories of an amazing fling. He wanted to make this woman his. His bondmate. Maybe even his wife.
Yes, even if she chose to live life as a human as opposed to the true wolf she could be. Stryke couldn’t see any other way to keep her. So he’d surrender his need to love a werewolf, to love and raise the big family. He’d sacrifice it all for Blyss. Even the pack.
“Let me love you,” he whispered in her ear as she shivered against him. “Always.”
“Yes. Jamais.”
“No one else,” he said as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “Only me.”
She pulled him on top of her and pushed down his boxer shorts. “Only you. I don’t want any other man, Stryke.” She kissed him and then pushed him to roll onto his back so she could straddle his hips. “I don’t want any other wolf.”
Dipping her head, she licked down his stomach and then took his erection into her mouth. He raked his fingers through her luscious hair and followed her rhythm as her head dipped up and down. She devoured him, nipping gently and then laving him from tip to root.
As he rode the wave of orgasm she clung to his body, her heat insane and the stroke of her fingernails over his skin only prolonging the pleasure. Finally he exhaled, his energy spent and his body lax.
He’d meant it when he’d asked her to love only him. He’d worry about real life—the fact he didn’t even live on the same continent as her—in the morning.
* * *
Stryke woke to the patter of the shower in the bathroom. Lavender permeated the room. Combined with the lingering tendrils of Blyss’s flower perfume, it made for a heady atmosphere. He sat in the queen’s chambers, her willing subject, waiting for her beck and call.
With a smile, he got up and pulled on his pants. The glass vial the devil Himself had given him dropped to the floor. He’d almost forgotten about it. After they’d returned to her apartment—well, his mind had been elsewhere. And over dinner he hadn’t wanted to spoil the romantic mood.
“She’ll be pleased.”
And for a moment Stryke struggled with tossing the vial outside in the nearest garbage can, thus forcing Blyss to face her werewolf. She’d never have to know he’d held a definitive fix for what most bothered her.
He rubbed a palm over his face and shook his head. “She’s gotta do what she needs to do to be happy.”
Because he’d decided last night that he could be happy with her no matter what. Really, he could.
Mostly. He chose to ignore that niggle of doubt that said perhaps his happiness wasn’t worth the effort of tossing the vial.
He clutched the key to Blyss’s happiness.
The shower stopped. Blyss’s humming made him smile. But too quickly the smile slipped away. He shook the little glass container. Just demon ash? Or something so powerful even he would regret ever giving it to her?
“Morning, lover.”
He turned and held out the vial toward Blyss. Because if he didn’t do it now he’d lose the courage.
She wore a sheer black robe that did not hide the gorgeous body beneath. His eyes veered to her breasts, and even as she took the vial, he pulled her to him and bent to bite gently through the sheer fabric at the full swell of her breast.
“What is this?” she asked.
“From Himself.”
“What?”
And for the first time he considered that what gleamed red inside the glass vial was devil magic. The darkest form of magic in existence. Did he want to let Blyss take her chances with it?
He had no right to deny her.
“The Dark Prince offered me anything I wanted after I’d told him about the missing diamond and we...” Nope. Wasn’t necessary to detail his adventures as Himself’s sidekick. “I asked for something that a werewolf could take to become completely human.”
She clutched the vial against her chest. “Really? But that’s... Wow. But what about you?”
“I don’t want a thing. My needs are simple. And this way, if you drink the stuff, it’s permanent. You’ll never have to deal with Thrash again. In fact, I told the asshole to stay the hell away from you.”
“You always think of me. That’s so...” She gasped. “Thank you, Stryke.”
“You deserve whatever makes you happy.”
He kissed her. And her lips tasted bittersweet. Suddenly life tasted the same.
He could do this. He wanted to do this. With Blyss.
“You going to take that before I push you onto the bed and make you messy again?”
“Yes, sure. I’ll be right back.”
He winked and strolled away, wincing as he imagined her pulling out the cork stopper and tilting back the vile concoction. He’d found the wolf he had hoped to find to make him happy.
Too bad she couldn’t face that truth.
* * *
It was afternoon when Stryke kissed Blyss and bid her au revoir. He intended to pick her up and they would then drive out to the country cabin Rhys Hawkes had loaned him for the weekend. Blyss wanted to pack a few things for the day and he was going to the apartment to grab some things, as well.
She closed the front door and realized with a start that she’d forgotten to tell him about the missing transfer records for Le Diabolique. And the missing fake. Not that it mattered anymore. She now had the key to making her life exactly as she wished it.
She wondered if Edamite had forgiven her debt to him. Because she did still owe him the five hundred thousand for this past year’s supply. And since when were Ed and Kir friends? She vacillated over giving her brother a call, but the glass vial on the counter called to her.
Tomorrow night was the full moon. When she stopped her pills once a year for the shift, she usually stopped taking them the day before. So today would be appropriate. But it had been only ten months since she’d shifted. She didn’t need to do so this month.
The contents of this vial would forever make her human? That was all she desired. She teased at the cork stopper, which was sealed with black wax. She ran her fingernail along the wax, but didn’t press hard enough to crack it.
She set the vial on
the counter. She’d tuck it in her bag and take it along to the cabin. Right now she had to find something in her closet that could possibly be worn in the country. In a cabin. In the middle of nowhere. That probably didn’t even have internet.
“I wonder if there is even plumbing?” She shuddered to consider they could be going rustic tonight. “I hope Stryke realizes the sacrifice I’m making by roughing it. This may be harder than facing my werewolf.”
Now, what sort of shoes did one wear to venture into the country?
Chapter 21
Rhys had loaned Stryke an Audi coupe and the keys to a country cabin. The man’s kindness was impressive. And they weren’t even related, only by the new distant ties that Stryke’s aunt had forged with Rhys’s grandson, Johnny Santiago. Stryke had yet to meet Rhys’s wife, Viviane.
Viviane, a vampire, was supposed to be crazy. Apparently in the eighteenth century she’d been buried alive in a glass coffin by a nasty vampire, and Rhys had only found her two hundred and fifty years later. That would be enough to drive anyone crazy. And talk about holding the romantic torch for over two centuries? Cool.
He glanced at Blyss, who followed the streaks of rain that beat down the car windows with a manicured fingernail. A downpour had rolled into Paris as they’d exited the city periphery and it was difficult to see driving along the dark country roads. Blyss’s lips curled into a smile.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he slowed the vehicle to follow the GPS’s blinking directions to turn. He had to keep an eye on the screen because the French instructions could not be adjusted to English.
“About all the sex I’m going to have with you tonight.” She shot him a flirty shimmy of shoulders and a wink. “I’ve always wanted to have sex in the rain.”
“Even this monsoon? Maybe we can find a place on a porch or under an overhang. Wouldn’t want you to muss your hair.”
“Oh, please. You like me messy.”
“I do. I’d love to lick more food off you too, if you want to make that happen.”
“All I’ve brought along is wine, cheese and bread. I suppose I should have packed more if you intend to stay the entire weekend.”
He planned to bring her back to town tomorrow and then drive out to spend the full moon by himself. He’d shift, and all would be well with his werewolf.
“I’ll pick up some food when we return to town. Rhys did say there was meat in the freezer and some stock in the cupboards. I guess he owns a handful of properties in and around Paris. This cabin he mostly lets friends use. The man is generous.”
“Half wolf and half vampire, right? I couldn’t imagine having a hunger for blood.”
“One of my brothers has such a hunger. Blade is faery and vampire.”
“Quite the mix. Has he ever bitten you?”
“Once, when we were teenagers. It was more a tussle kind of thing. But he spat it out and walked away. Blade is kind of...intense. He’s the black sheep of the family if there ever was one. Been through a hell of a lot.”
“Handsome, too,” Blyss commented. “But everyone in your family is attractive. Your sister’s hair was pink.”
“Because she’s half faery. Make that faery now. She sacrificed her wolf because there was something wacky going on with her body. Her two sides were fighting one another, so she had to choose one over the other.”
“Living among humans, I’ve forgotten all the interesting situations and people our breed encounters. I confess the wedding made me nervous.”
“I sensed that.”
“I’ve completely forgotten how to be a werewolf. Not that that’s a bad thing.”
“You said you shift once a year?”
“Yes. It hurts. I don’t like it.”
“It actually physically hurts you?”
“Yes. Probably because I don’t do it often enough. I know it’s not supposed to be painful.”
“I love shifting,” Stryke said. He slowed, noting their destination was a mile ahead. “Great way to stretch the muscles and invigorate my whole system. I bet if you did it more often it would stop being painful.”
“Probably.” She tilted her head against the window. She didn’t like talking about it, so he’d leave it be. For now. Because even if he thought he could overlook her weirdness, he knew, in his heart, the bigger discussion was necessary if he meant to think long-term about their relationship.
“There’s a light ahead. Must be the place. Rhys said the garage is separate from the house, so we’ll park and then you’ll have to dash through the rain.”
“I can handle a little water.”
The car headlights beamed onto the garage door. Stryke found the door opener and pressed the button. Inside the three-car garage sat a four-wheeler and a couple of mountain bikes. Once parked, they got out and he retrieved their bags from the trunk. Blyss had packed a large suitcase for her one-night stay. He wasn’t even going to question. Not after stumbling into the shoe closet.
Standing inside the garage, they assessed the hundred-yard walk from there to the house. Grassy and muddy and slick from the rain, the land rose to an incline closer to the house.
“I’ll run these up to the house, then come back and carry you,” he suggested.
“You don’t think I can walk on my own?”
“Not in those heels and that mud. Unless you want to give it a try?”
She tapped her heels together. “I’ll wait here for my knight to come rescue me.”
“I like the sound of that. Give me a few minutes.” He grabbed the suitcases. “I’ll be back.”
* * *
Blyss leaned into the mist that sifted into the garage. Cool on her nose and lips, it made her smile. Or probably the smile was because she was to spend the night in a romantic cabin with the man with whom she had fallen in love.
She pulled off her shoes and clutched the heels with one hand. “Manolos for a cabin adventure? What was I thinking?”
Should have worn the riding boots and a comfortable pair of jersey leggings. But she felt wrong when not wearing a dress. It was her uniform of sorts. A dress was feminine and sexy and so not rough and wolflike.
Ah, well, she didn’t intend to stay dressed long.
“Whoa!” Stryke slid down a slant of dirty land and caught himself by slapping his palms against the garage door wall. “That mud is slippery. The cabin looks amazing. There’s a fire started and everything.”
“Really?”
“It’s an electronic fireplace. I think Rhys sent a maid in to gussy up the place for us. Very cool. As for getting you up to the cabin, you are going to get wet.”
She tugged him to her. He was soaked to the skin and smelled like wild spring. “Doesn’t take much to get wet around you, mon amour.”
The man beamed and he leaned in to kiss her, crushing his wet clothes against her body. She couldn’t complain. Tonight, she was in for the whole messy adventure.
Stryke swept her into his arms. “Ready?”
She tucked her shoes against her chest. They were going to get wet, but there was nothing she could do about it. Thank goodness they were patent leather. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He dashed out into the rain. Cold, pounding, it beat about them as he seemed to be racing directly into the storm. A few times his footsteps slipped. His body wobbled, but he maintained balance. Eyes closed against the downpour, Blyss clung to his wet shirt and biceps. They were halfway to the cabin when a big splash of muddy water preceded Stryke’s shout. This time when he wobbled he went down.
Blyss fell out of his arms. The shoes flew. And she landed on palms and knees in thick, slippery mud.
“Ah shit, I’m so sorry!” But the chuckle that followed didn’t jibe with Stryke’s apologetic words. “Told you it’s slippery out here. Blyss? Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m... I don’t know.” Kneeling there, she tried to get her bearings. Her fingers curled into cold wet mud. Something gritty irritated her knees. She tasted dirt in her mout
h. And her precious shoes were not to be seen. “This is horrible.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Let me lift you carefully—”
“Back off, wolf.” She shoved a muddy hand at him, landing on his face. She hadn’t intended to do that. Didn’t want him to think it a slap. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean...”
And then something shifted inside her. The pristine, primped socialite fell off her pedestal and landed in the mud—and laughed. She lowered her head and curled her fingers deeper into the mud and laughed louder.
“Really?” Stryke sat and wiped at the mud on his face. “You think that was funny?”
“That wasn’t funny.” She grasped at the oozy mud and flung a wad at Stryke’s chest. His stunned expression was exactly as she’d intended. “But that was.”
“You think so?”
He raked up a slosh of mud and trailed his palm along her bare leg to her thigh. It didn’t feel any nastier than the cold rain or the gritty mud beneath her knees. Blyss shifted in an attempt to shake his touch away, but her knees slid and her shoulders went down. She landed her back in the mud.
And Stryke landed on top of her, hands to either side of her head. Mud from his cheek spattered her nose and lips. She spat it out and cried out in disgust.
“Too late now, glamour girl. You’re going to get messy.”
“I already am!” she pleaded as his muddy hands moved over her hips and up to her breasts, where he pulled down her dress and caressed her bare skin. The cold shock of his touch tightened her nipples and the slip and slide of their bodies in the mud made their dalliance more fun than she would have expected.
“You’re merciless,” she gasped, but followed with a wad of mud to his neck. It oozed down his shirt, which he pulled off and tossed aside.
The sight of his bared muscles dripping clean with rain enticed her. She kissed his cool/hot skin and gently tugged his nipple with her teeth. “Mercy, you are beautiful.”
His hand slapped her thigh and slid up under her dress, lifting it to expose her panties, which were soaked in mud. The ooze between her legs was not the sexiest feeling, but the roaming hands that lifted her to sit atop his thighs were.
