by Laura Wright
He lowered his head and lapped at her with his tongue, running it straight through her slit, then up over her clitoris.
Bronwyn’s hips jerked like a wanton, like a veana who wanted more, wanted deeper and quicker.
Lucian spread her pussy lips with his fingers and groaned. “Yes. Fuck yes, there you are. That’s where I want to go.” Then he dropped his head and slid his tongue inside her.
Bron gasped and writhed beneath him. The feelings running through her were savage and untamed. Electric pulses hit every muscle, every cell. Never had she felt such all-consuming pleasure, never had she wanted something, someone, so much. And as he worked his tongue in and out of her like his prick had done on the island, she melted, died, ached, but with absolutely no relief. Not that she wanted relief. God, now she didn’t want this to end, ever. She wanted the pleasure of his tongue, his teeth on her forever.
“Ahhhh, yeah,” she heard him moan between her legs. He gripped her hip bones, the long chain stretching, slapping gently against her thigh as he slid up to her clit. “It’s begging for me, Bron. It’s so red, so full. Should I lick it nice and slow or suck it into my mouth and make you come?”
“I can’t come,” she cried, her ears filled with the sounds of the fire crackling behind her and screams of pleasure coming from her body, her skin, her core. “Not yet. Please, Luca, not yet.”
He chuckled softly, his lips, his breath so close to her clit. “Tell me what you want, lass.”
“You’re doing it,” she uttered. “It’s perfect.”
“Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me to lick you.”
She shook her head, her body on fire, her nipples so hard it was painful. She couldn’t. She couldn’t…
“You must,” he said wickedly. “Say the words. Say the words and I will lick your sweet clit so softly, feather-light strokes until you fall apart under me.”
“Oh, God,” she cried out, her hips jerking, shaking. She was desperate, so desperate for him she’d do anything, say anything he asked of her. “Lick me—”
“Lick my tight cunt, Lucian,” he corrected, dropping his head and giving her pulsating clit one soft lap. “Say it, Princess.”
She pulled in a breath, her lungs so tight she thought she might die from the pressure. “Please, Lucian,” she begged. “Lick me, lick my tight cunt.”
His head disappeared between her thighs and his tongue went to work on her clit. Slow, gentle circles as his fangs grazed the flesh surrounding. It was too much. Bronwyn felt herself slipping away, her mind unhinged, perhaps dead now—dead and gone. All that remained were the sounds of him as he fed from her. She arched her back, moaned, gripped his head, his scalp, his white hair with her fingers until he hissed.
“Oh, yes,” she called out, riding his mouth as the heat began to build inside her.
No! She wasn’t ready. She wanted him all day, for hours. She wasn’t going to come.
But as his tongue moved quicker over her clit, as the heat and the pressure collided into a mass of uncontrolled sparks, she knew holding on was impossible.
And then he slid two fingers inside of her and she lost all control. Her skin went tight, her head buzzed, and she felt herself cream all around him.
“Ah, you have the sweetest taste any paven could wish for,” he whispered, his breath moving tantalizingly, achingly over her wet, sensitive lips. “I will lick every last drop from your pussy, lass; then I will hear you scream.”
His mouth closed around her clit and as his fingers played inside the hot, wet channel of her body, he sucked.
Bronwyn’s hands left his hair and fisted around the pallet, her breathing so ragged she couldn’t keep up with her own movement, much less the hope that she could prolong her climax. It was too much, too wonderful, too perfect, and so she let go, let his fiercely passionate suckle on her clit, his fingers moving inside her like a piston, drive her over the edge.
Without the thought of his earlier command, she screamed—loud and long and without care. A shower of sparks had erupted inside her and she could do nothing but take them and cry and pump and die under his mouth.
Her blood—or was it his?—rushed from her veins toward his mouth, his tongue, and she came, tumbled over the edge, her legs shaking, her hips spasming as she rode the waves of pleasure, rode his mouth and fingers until exhaustion struck her down.
“Oh, God,” she uttered, unable to breathe, to think. He’d destroyed her, and yet given her life in the process. She lay there, trembling, wanting to move, wanting him, but unable to move. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes, but not from sadness, from the purity of release. She’d never felt so boneless, so heavenly, so deeply relaxed, and she wanted to remember the feeling always.
Lucian was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his arms. “Come, my tired one.”
“Your blood is a drug to me,” she said, burrowing into him where it was warm, safe.
“As yours is to me,” he growled.
“But your body,” she murmured, unable to think properly…“Your hands, your tongue…”
“I know. Fuck, I know.”
“I want to touch you, Luca. I want—”
He kissed her temple. “Not now. Now, you rest.”
Her breath was gone, her words too. All she wanted was him, all she wished for was to stay in his arms forever—for the pure true mate love she had longed for since balashood to be real. But what was the truth? She burrowed deeper into his flesh to avoid answering, even silently. Yet it was there…He could have no true mate, and in the blink of an eye, his safe arms could become weapons to hurt her—her perfect fantasy into her most ultimate nightmare. Conflicted down to her soul, she whispered, “What are we going to do, Luca?”
“Sleep,” he said, his jaw tight, and yet his hand on her back was so gentle.
“Not that,” she said, utterly wiped out now, the warmth of the fire lulling her. “About us. What is the future for us?”
Too late, she wished she could call the words back. Future? Us? She was a fool. How could there be a future?
“Not tonight, Princess. Tonight you must rest.” He turned onto his back and took her with him, let her fall easy against his chest. “I will read to you, shall I?”
“Hmmm,” she breathed, “that would lovely.”
Her eyes closed then, and as he read Treasure Island to her in a soft, husky baritone, she drifted off into a sound, gentle, and very warm sleep.
Lucian, however, remained awake.
Something was happening. A sound he knew touched his ears, a feeling of foreboding pulsed through him. Then, on the stone wall before him, moving in those slow, easy waves he both recognized and despised, were letters carved with an unseen hand.
Beware, my son. Cruen and his mutore advance. They will not stop until they have you caged. They will kill whomever they must to get to you.
Including Bronwyn Kettler.
The only words in the message that had Lucian’s fangs extending were the final ones. He pulled Bronwyn closer to his side and growled a word of warning himself…
Mine.
Synjon’s insides felt as though they’d been stuffed through a meat grinder. But he didn’t give a donkey’s arse. He needed to see her again. Up close. Know that what he’d seen through those razor-sharp specs had been complete bollocks—that his mind was playing tricks—bloody cruel tricks.
Couldn’t be his love, his veana. It was impossible. She was dead. And though her body had been stolen before he’d ever had a chance to give her over to the sun, he’d seen her murdered. He’d chased her killer into the woods near their home until the coward had flashed away with her body in his arms.
Syn had never forgiven himself for being a premorph and unable to flash, and his body, his veins, had never stopped craving her. Never would.
On the rock ledge facing one window in the compound, Synjon raised his blade and cut through the glass, popped it out, then expertly slid through the opening.
He’d be quick, unseen
like the ghost he was named for, and he would find this imposter who tortured him with a hope he could not have, did not deserve. And once he revealed her identity, he could get back to work.
He had to find the one who truly waited for his rescue.
Bronwyn.
The veana he would never let down.
The veana he would never fail.
With the memory of his father’s warning still very much imprinted on his brain, Lucian flexed his muscles in frustration. “If you’d free me, I could help you with that.”
Bronwyn was warming water on the stove for the bath, but glanced over her shoulder to answer him. “I don’t have the key. One of the guards has it and, as we both can see, they haven’t returned yet. It’s why I need to go to town. Find those males and bring them back.”
Yes, the guards—where were those bastards? Screw his own protection; how the hell was he to protect Bronwyn?
“I should be going with you.” Not chained to the wall like a dog, unable to bite if any problems should arise.
“Agreed,” she said, carrying the water over to the tub and pouring it in. “But unless you’re capable of ripping down the stone wall and taking it along, then you’re sort of stuck here.”
He watched the steam rise from her nearly full tub. He didn’t want to overreact to what Titus had written on the wall and scare the veana before him, but he needed to find a way to calmly talk her out of this journey. “You don’t know your way.”
“I’ll be fine,” she argued, returning to the stove and the final pot of heated water. “I have a very good sense of direction.”
Leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, he grumbled, “I don’t like it.”
“What is it you don’t like exactly?”
Oh fuck, did he tell her? Lucian thought, grinding his molars. Did he tell her about the warning or that he hated the idea of her leaving at all, walking out the door, taking her scent and her smile with her, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the possibility that while she was gone he could change back into the monster?
Shit, no. He wasn’t saying any of that. Not yet.
“You will be meeting credenti members,” he said instead, “speaking with them.”
She laughed, her back to him at the stove. “I hope so. It’s the only way I’m going to get some information on our guards.”
“Screw the guards! I don’t need them anymore. I just need you.”
She brought the last of the hot water toward him, toward the tub. “Well, that’s very sweet, in a volcanic eruption sort of way, but I’m worried about them.” She smiled at him, her green eyes flashing like emeralds. “You? Not so much.”
He pushed away from the wall and headed straight for her, only stopping when the chain wouldn’t allow him farther. Even then, he yanked on the thing, seeing if he in truth could rip the fucker off the wall. Damn the Order! Damn his father. Damn his head for all the thoughts of her, his tongue for wanting to taste her again and again…
She poured the last of the hot water in the bath and was about to remove her nightgown when she suddenly realized he was in the room and unable to leave it. She glanced up at him, her brow lifted.
Lucian rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you naked, remember?”
“I don’t care,” she said with too much calm, too much embarrassment. “This is…different.”
“What? Standing before me in the light of the fire as opposed to lying beneath me in the light of the fire?”
“Shut up.” Her eyes narrowed and a blush crept up her neck. “And yes.”
He grinned and his cock knocked at the door of his zipper again. Poor fucker needed some attention…“Since I can’t get this leash off and take myself for a walk, what would you suggest, baby?”
She lifted her chin. “That’s Princess to you.”
He snorted. “Maybe stab my eyes out with the fire poker?”
“Hmmm,” she said, her eyes roaming over him, his chest, his zipper, “not a bad idea.”
God, he’d love to take her right now—rip that white scrap of nothing off of her once and for all. Let her walk around naked all the time. “Or perhaps I can turn around and face the wall like a good dog?”
Her lips twitched. “Even better.”
Wicked thing, he mused, backing up until his back hit stone. Forget tasting her. What she needed was a good slap in the ass. And he was just the asshole to do it. “Or perhaps I could watch you bathe and comment as crudely as possible about everything I see and wish to touch?”
She swallowed, her neck turning a pretty pink as blood rushed toward her face. “That would be true to your nature.”
He looked at her through his lashes, his voice going savage. “You know, with your blood inside me, I would be calm and gentle—fit to assist you.”
“What are you suggesting?” she asked, her eyebrow lifted. “Touch, but don’t look? Is such a thing possible for you, Lucian Roman?”
His cock pulsed. It wanted her, wanted between her legs, wanted up and inside her cunt. “It would be a supreme effort, Princess, but I believe I am up to the task.”
“Perhaps I could blindfold you,” she joked, holding up the dish towel she’d used to wipe the stray droplets of water that littered the side of the tub.
The seductive humor dropped away from Lucian’s mood and countenance and was replaced with a tight jaw and eyes narrowed into two slits of predatory lust. “I would like that.”
She tilted her head. “Stop it.”
His brow arched in challenge. “Blindfold me, baby.”
Her cheeks colored prettily. “No look. No touch.”
“Well, what the hell else is there?” he growled with annoyance.
She walked toward him, waving the piece of fabric, her grin widening with each step.
“You will make me a credenti veana with that wrap,” he uttered, but beneath his grouch, his body was aflame and pulsing, thinking about her containing him.
“Fine,” he said as she placed the towel over his eyes. Anything to keep her here, keep her close. “Have it your way, but I will be listening.”
She reached up, fitting the white fabric to his eyes. “Consider me warned,” she said, as she moved behind him, her breath on the back of his neck. Then slipped away, cool air filling the space.
He stood there, his chain and shackle hard against his wrist, digging into his flesh. But he didn’t give a shit. His ears strained for any sound it could manage to pick up on. Hands rising, the hiss of fabric as it fell down the body.
This was fucking torture! “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I have just removed my nightgown,” she said.
He ground his molars, his hands clenched into fists. “I knew it.”
“You peek, you die, Roman.”
“I’m already dead, remember?” he growled. His cock jerked, his balls tightened. “You said so yourself, lass.”
“No, you’re the undead. Remember?”
He never got a chance to answer because he heard the sounds of water moving, rushing, greeting beautiful, white skin. Fuck. His nostrils flared. This was completely unfair. He wanted to see—using his imagination was complete and total horseshit!
He heard her hiss and started.
“What?” he said, his hand reaching for makeshift blindfold. “What it is?”
“Hot,” she said with a sexy little growl.
He about lost his mind. “This is bullshit!”
“Wait, Lucian!” He could almost hear her covering up all the good parts with her hands, her thigh crossing over to meet and protect the other in a continuation of splashes. “We agreed—”
“I agreed to nothing,” he uttered tersely, his body on fire. “I don’t follow rules. No matter who makes them.” He ripped the fabric from his eyes and threw it into the fire, then let the sunlight assault his vision. “No one will ever keep me from looking at you, Princess. Understand? Not even you.”
She stared up at him from the center of the white
claw-foot tub, her green eyes emerald bright. Her dark hair was loose and falling over the back edge like a waterfall of chocolate. He was no artist, but she was sure as hell a painting.
His eyes roamed over her in the water, and as they did, she let her hands fall away from the places and treasures they were hiding.
“That’s right, lass,” he said, his tone as fierce as his intent. “What you have, what you are, belongs to me now. No more pretending, remember?”
Her eyes closed and she inhaled. “I don’t know how this happened…It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
His hand went to the waistband of his jeans, flipped off one button, then another. “Does it matter? Does anything matter anymore? We are both doomed to our own particular brand of hell.”
Her eyes opened and she turned her head toward him. “I wish you could come in here with me. Water’s warm. I’m warm.”
His lip curled. “Too far, but how ’bout I come right here.”
She bit her lip and her gaze dropped to the waistband of his jeans.
His hand was almost to his cock when a loud rap on the front door halted him. In under a second, he had his head down, his eyes up, and his fangs bared.
21
Bronwyn stood up so quickly water splashed like a tidal wave over the sides of the tub. She looked around for her nightgown, spotted it on the floor in a discarded puddle of white cotton.
“No,” Lucian uttered, the word exiting his lips with a grave snarl.
Naked and dripping wet, Bronwyn’s gaze shot to the paven, who one moment ago had had his eyes on her skin and his hands hovering near his cock. Now his gaze was pinned on the door, his growl for the one behind it.
“It has to be the guards,” she said, stepping out of the tub, grabbing a towel. “The magical barriers the Order put into place wouldn’t allow anyone else to pass.”
“The scent of Impure is weak,” he said, suspicion lacing his tone. “I don’t like it. Don’t want you anywhere near that door.”
