by Ann Gimpel
He raised his mouth from her breasts for long enough to grin and say, “Women. I swear you wear more layers of coverings.” Luke shifted and untied her petticoats and drawers so he could slide them down her hips.
“It’s to ensure our virtue stays intact,” she informed him roguishly and twisted her hips to help.
“Oh, is that it? I’d always wondered.” As long as he was sitting, he toed off his boots and pushed his leather pants down his legs.
“Oooooh.” She vaulted to a sit and wrapped both her hands around his newly exposed cock. “It’s beautiful, long, and so thick it takes both my hands to span it.” She raised her gaze to his face. “The rest of you is beautiful too. Perfect man.” She let go of his cock and traced her hands down his face. “Look at you. Between those emerald eyes and high cheekbones, you could pass for a god. Never mind your amazing shoulders.” She moved her hands lower. “And all these muscles.” She grazed his arms with her fingertips, tiptoed across his stomach, and took his cock in her hands again.
Luke wanted to tell her that no, she was the beautiful one with her lush curves, thick tresses, and alluring eyes, but words wouldn’t come. It was hard to think of anything but the beautiful woman before him. Her scent was intoxicating; jasmine, vanilla, and the musk of her need filled him with longing.
He wrapped her in his arms and lay back down, glorying in the feel of her skin-to-skin against him. She ended up laying half atop him and closed her mouth over his. The kiss was urgent, telling him her need rivaled his own. He ran his hands down her silken back and curved them around the firm globes of her ass. Painfully aware of his erection sandwiched between them, he thrust against her stomach and then rolled her onto her back.
Breaking their kiss, he knelt before her and pressed the tip of his cock against the sensitive nub between her legs. Tight red curls glistened with her juices. He gripped his cock with one hand and rubbed it in small circles around her clit. She spread her legs and brought her knees up, opening herself for him.
He hoped she was ready, because he wouldn’t last long, not this first time. Maybe he should bring her to orgasm with his mouth or fingers first. He hunted for the words to ask, since talking about sex didn’t come easy, but Abigail circled his body with her legs and pulled, her intent obvious. Color splotched her face and breasts, and her chest heaved as she panted, breathless.
Luke gave himself to the moment. He couldn’t talk, didn’t want to. The only thing that mattered was how inexorably he was drawn to the woman beneath him. He moved his cockhead back until it seated against the opening to her body. She writhed and twisted, trying to get him inside. He let himself sink slowly into her, delighted by the heat of her surrounding him, and giving her time to stretch around his girth. She wasn’t a maid, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Once he hit bottom, he stopped and wrapped strands of magic around his crumbling control. He wanted to at least last long enough to make her come. His entire body vibrated with sexual tension and his balls were about to explode.
She drove her hips upward and gripped his hips. “Move, goddammit.” Her voice was thick, raspy with passion.
He withdrew, almost all the way out, and plumbed her again. After half a dozen long, slow strokes, he couldn’t stand it anymore and slammed his body into hers again and again. Her pussy liquefied around him. She cried out and he felt the rhythmic contractions of her release. For the barest moment, he nurtured the illusion he could ride herd on his own orgasm, but it was a losing battle. With a groan, he pulled out of her wonderful warmth, gripped his shaft, and spilled his seed on her belly. His cock jerked for a long time as he straddled her breathing hard.
Luke’s legs were shaking. He straightened them from where he’d been kneeling over Abigail, and lay next to her. Emotion thrummed through him. Sex had never felt so right before. It had moved from the physical realm to a spiritual experience. He and Abigail were bound now, body and soul, forever. At least he felt that way, and so strongly he couldn’t imagine she didn’t share the wonder of what had just passed between them. He enclosed her in his arms and felt hers wrap around him. They rocked against each other for long moments, breathing each other in.
“You could have come inside me,” she murmured. “Even if I got pregnant, I know how to fix things like that.”
“We’re going to do this right.” Luke’s vehemence surprised him, but he kept talking anyway. “We’re going to get married before the young ’uns start coming.” Protectiveness roared through him and he tightened his hold on her. Nothing would ever harm Abigail, his Abigail. Ever.
“Sure you don’t want to, um, practice a little more before you extend that marriage proposal?” She bucked her hips against him. “If you keep asking, one of these times, I’m going to say yes, and you’ll be stuck. Not that I’ve still got a daddy who’d come after you with a shotgun for reneging on a promise, but still…”
He shifted a hand between her legs and inscribed small circles around her clit. When she pressed against him, he rubbed harder. It felt like she was close again from the quickening motion of her pelvis, so he inserted a finger inside her and pressed down on her clit with his palm. She swayed against him, captured between his finger and his hand, until her muscles tensed and released around him. “Yes, love,” he murmured. “Sweet, love. Come for me.”
Gasping with pleasure, she relaxed in his arms and curled her fingers around his still half-hard penis. “We could do this some more. I could take you in my mouth, or I could roll you over and straddle you.”
“I can’t remember when I had a more attractive offer, but we need to sleep a little. Those two hour watch cycles go quick and I should close my eyes for a bit before it’s my turn.”
She fitted her body against his. “I guess I’m sleepy too, but what we just shared feels magical and I don’t want it to end.”
His chest swelled with love. “It never has to end. About that marriage proposal…”
“I accept.”
Luke crushed her to him. “We’ll ask Don to marry us in the traditional Coven ceremony first thing tomorrow.”
“Do you think that’s wise? Given he’s just lost his daughter—and we’re not sure about him in other ways.”
“Humph. Good point, at least the second one. I’ll talk with Sam tomorrow. He might be a better choice, anyway.”
Abigail didn’t answer, probably because she’d fallen asleep. He settled the blanket around them and withdrew magic from his spell. Even though the temperature dropped rapidly once his magical tenting dissipated, an inner fire raged through him. Two parts love, one part vigilance, he swore he’d devote his life to being worthy of Abigail’s trust in him.
They hadn’t exchanged love words, not yet, but they would, given time. The groundwork was there, and he’d do whatever he could to ensure their lives blended seamlessly.
•●•
Abigail wasn’t quite sure what woke her, but when she reached for Luke, he wasn’t there. She fired her mage light in time to see him fully-dressed and strapping his ammo belts around his shoulders. “What—?” she began sleepily.
“You stay here. Sam roused me. Looks like we may have trouble.”
Abigail struggled against her sleep-fuzzed brain and pushed to a sit. “If there’s trouble, I can help.”
He stopped what he was doing long enough to crawl over to her. “If it comes to that, I’ll let you know.” He wrapped an arm around her in an awkward hug. “I’m falling in love with you, Abigail. I don’t have any idea what’s going on. Until I know more, I want you up here. I’ll spell the barn when I leave to protect you.”
She’d stopped listening after falling in love. The words were so sweet, and so unexpected; they seared her soul. Sure, he’d asked to marry her, but love wasn’t necessarily anywhere in the marital equation. People coupled up for lots of reasons. If they liked one another, it was a plus. Love was icing on the cake, and exceedingly rare.
“Abby.” He shook her gently, probably aware she was off on a mental tangent. �
��I have to go. Promise me you’ll stay here.”
“Sure.” She still wasn’t all the way awake. She lay quietly until the sound of his footsteps descending the ladder and leaving the barn faded. Abigail extinguished her mage light and shut her eyes to encourage them to dark adapt again. When she opened them, tendrils of dawn showed through chinks between the barn’s boards.
It was probably a good idea to get dressed. If the enforcers needed her, she couldn’t do much buck naked. It took a while to sort out her underthings, dress, and Breana’s shawl from the tangle of clothes beneath her. The last thing she did was put on her stockings and lace up her boots. She’d kept half an ear cocked, but it was ominously silent outside.
Let’s be smart about this.
Abigail fanned a subtle stream of magic outward in a full circle, and dragged it back in a hurry. Crap! They were surrounded. Mad wolves, wraiths, men turned by evil. How the hell had they found out about the Girauds’ vulnerability so soon? Truth cascaded down her spine in an icy sheet. The other side must have known about Goody and Carolyn—maybe because the Girauds were already in cahoots with them. They’d have been waiting, biding their time before they struck. Just because Goody met her end in mage fire was no reason to abort whatever else they had planned.
Stupid. We were stupid not to think of that…
The Girauds weren’t looking all that innocent right about now. She ran options through her mind and, in a burst of bravery, sent magic their way wondering how they’d respond to a direct confrontation. Whatever happened, it would tell her a lot. After enough time passed that she feared the worst, Don’s mind voice answered. “Yes, Abigail. What is it?”
“A dark host is massing not far from the house. I have no idea how many. The men are outside somewhere, planning something.”
He growled, a ripping, tearing sound that filled her head with awful noise. She would have shuttered her mind, but she needed to talk with him. “Don.” She screamed his name.
“I’m fine, but damn it all, Breana’s barely breathing. I can’t rouse her. She wasn’t like this before I finally fell asleep. Get in here, Abigail. You’ve got some healing talent. Use it. I’ll join forces with the men.”
“On my way.”
“Do not let her die,” he grated. “I couldn’t stand to lose her. What’s already happened is bad enough.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Abigail’s heart stuttered, and her mouth flooded with the acrid taste of fear. Maybe they’d misjudged the Girauds after all, because Don sounded genuinely distressed. Luke told her to stay put, but Don’s orders trumped his. She started to call Luke, but reined her mind voice in. If he was hard-pressed, the last thing she wanted to do was distract him. Grateful she was already dressed, she worked her way down the ladder in the pale light of dawn filtering into the barn. Before opening the door, she summoned magic to render herself invisible. It might not work—if the enemy she sensed outside was strong enough, they’d see right through her spell—but it was the best she could do.
She slid the door back just far enough to slither out, masking her movements. Abigail sucked in a tense breath and eyed the stretch of open yard between her and the house. Maybe fifty yards. Behind her a horse whinnied nervously. Picking up on the horse’s tension, the goats baahed and the cows mooed.
No time like now.
Abigail forced herself to hold a moderate pace. Moving quickly would make her invisibility cloak that much less effective. The air felt still and heavy and wrong. It settled in her lungs like a stone and, for one horrid moment, she wondered if it was poisoned. Despite the chill, morning air, sweat dripped down her sides. She kept her hands raised, power balanced between them in case she had to defend herself.
She stumbled, and almost fell as a familiar reek tickled her nostrils. The books. The fucking, goddess-blasted books were close. She’d know their rotten stench anywhere. How the hell had they gotten to the Girauds? Abigail grimaced. She didn’t like any of the answers that jumped into her mind. It took a lot to force herself to keep moving toward the house. What she wanted to do was disappear back into the barn, curl into a ball, and shudder in horror at the depth of the Girauds’ treachery.
Tension carved deep, making it hard to breathe. Her muscles felt like rocks, and pebbles rolling beneath her boot soles threatened to send her sprawling. Though she kept her gaze straight ahead, she gathered information from where she couldn’t see with tiny blasts of magic. Not too much. She didn’t want to give away her position. Even though she tried not to think about them, her mind boomeranged back to the books over and over. Dark magick must have transported them here; there wasn’t any other explanation. Was it just Don who was corrupt? Or was it both he and Breana? Fury leant her badly-needed energy. How dare the Girauds denigrate Coven leadership by parlaying with the dark behind everyone’s back?
Finally, when she was so frazzled it took a huge effort not to scream at the bastards to just show themselves, goddammit, she reached the steps leading to the kitchen door. Abigail took them two at a time, but slowed once she got to the door and eased her way inside. The sense of wrongness was worse in here, much worse. Maybe that was why she hadn’t run into the enemy outside. But her sense of the books’ nearness receded, which meant they had to be outside somewhere.
She bit down on her lower lip. If she trusted her magic, and she had no reason not to, it suggested hundreds of dark spirits were congregated in the house. Where had they come from? More importantly, where were they hiding? Abigail slid her gaze from side to side, and clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Where were Luke and the other enforcers? They’d done a stellar job masking themselves, since she hadn’t caught the slightest whiff of their magic outside. Unfortunately, they didn’t appear to be in the house, either.
She scented the air, stifling a cough. Breathing too deeply wasn’t wise since wraith stench could make her ill. She sent magic out, scanning, and quickly sheathed her power. Breanna was upstairs. Don wasn’t. Presumably, he’d carried through on his promise to join up with the enforcers. Or maybe he was outside with the books. Wraith energy closed in. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel their foulness and smell their rotten meat stench.
Abigail gathered her courage. Don said Breana was unconscious. Maybe it was a lie to lure her into the house, but she had to look for herself, and she’d never be able to sneak her way up the stairs. Her invisibility spell drained power; it was time to let it go. In a burst of boldness, she funneled everything she had into deploying a defensive perimeter and loped up the staircase. Wraiths lined the top of the stairs. She blasted through them, watched a dozen fold in on themselves, only to be replaced by a dozen more.
Her fear shrank to manageability now that she had something to do. Kill or be killed. Abigail understood this game. She felt evil behind her, and knew they planned to pen her in. So much for staying a safe distance from the bunch above her. With a wild war whoop, she charged the wraiths that were spewing black magick from the balcony. They fell before her as she topped the stairs and raced down the hallway.
Breana had to be behind the closed door. Abigail rattled the knob. Locked. Shit!
She turned, pressed her back against the door, and sprayed the wave of wraiths closing in on her with the unmaking spell. That wasn’t the sort of magic she could call on for very long because it was a real power hog, but she hoped it might intimidate the rest of the wraiths and give her a few moments’ respite.
While she fought, she trickled magic behind her seeking the right touch to unlock the door. The tiniest of snicks thrilled her. Damn if the door wasn’t open. With a final volley aimed at her tormentors, she slipped into the room and threw the bolt back into place. By the time she was certain the door was secure, Abigail was doing more than panting. She gasped for something to breathe in a space where decent air had departed. Maybe her breathless state was a result of sharing the hallway with so many wraiths they’d polluted her lungs, but it felt as if someone had sucked half the ox
ygen out of the room. No wonder Breana was unconscious.
Abigail wrapped the door in a you will not enter spell and turned to the comatose woman sprawled on the bed. Her first glance twisted her gut into a knot. Breana’s face was the color of her pillowcase and she lay so still, it was unnerving. Maybe it’s better this way. I don’t trust her as far as I can see her.
Abigail raced to the room’s only window and peered outside. No wraiths. She took a chance and shoved the sash up to pull better air into the room. After a deep, cleansing breath, she hastened back to the bed, bent over Breana, and placed a finger beneath her nose. When she felt a faint puff of breath, she was so relieved, tears threatened.
No time for that. If I make it through this, I can fall apart later. Besides, maybe it’s a huge mistake to wake her. At least this way, she’s not trying to claw my eyes out.
Abigail sent magic into Breana, assessing what was wrong, what she could fix. Though she searched for wraith-taint, she didn’t find any. Breana had withdrawn deep into her mind, barricaded herself in. Maybe it was her reaction to losing her daughter. Maybe her husband had done this to her on purpose. Regardless, it was only a matter of time before wraiths stormed them, and Breana was helpless in her current state.
What had Don said? Something about her not being like this earlier, not that his words carried much weight.
Abigail debated what to do. Fight the dark on her own, call Luke, or try to get Breana to help. The latter was definitely a two-edged sword, given she wasn’t at all certain just where Breana’s allegiance lay. Noise escalated in the hallway, driving ice picks into her brain. The certainty of an upcoming battle—of things that wanted her dead—decided her. She cradled the other woman’s head between her hands and sent energy pulsing into her. “You have to come back.” She repeated the phrase over and over, upping the volume until the unconscious woman squinched her eyes shut tighter. Good! It meant she’d reached her. “You have to come back now,” she repeated.
