He took it and held it high, waiting as she danced beneath his arm. He drew her close then reeled her outward, joining the dance. She smiled, the heaviness in her heart lifting. Soft laughter rang out as they continued to dance toward the hastily constructed bower where they’d mate and exchange their vows.
Where she’d been embarrassed to witness Miren’s marriage, she was eager for the rest to witness her own, so when Sigurd tugged her toward the wooden lean-to with its gauzy curtains, she didn’t hesitate, following him inside.
They rested on a soft, pale blanket and the pillows Radha had made. Someone had sprinkled rose petals over the pallet.
Sigurd moved over her body. His eyebrows lowered.
She raised a finger and pressed it against his mouth. “You prepared me this morning. I need no encouragement to receive you. Come straight inside me.”
“They’ll think I’m too eager,” he drawled.
“Aren’t you? I know I am,” she said, guiding his hand between her legs. When his fingers slid into moisture, she waggled her eyebrows. “There’s your proof,” she whispered. “Now, Sigurd.”
Laughter sounded outside their bower, but Aoife ignored it. So, they knew she was eager to mate. She was a witch—she’d own her passion.
Sigurd shook his head, and his teeth shone as he smiled. “How did I ever think you were the modest one?”
“I am what you’ve made me,” she said, sighing as he settled his body against hers. When his cock prodded her entrance, she took a deep breath and held it as he pushed the tip inside. Just the tip was enough to stretch her opening. It crowded inside. An involuntary gasp escaped, along with an equally uncontrolled clenching.
Sigurd’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Baby, you have to relax,” he whispered. “Remember? Thunder. Echoes. We won’t get there if you don’t let me inside.”
“Seriously?” Miren whispered from outside. “He’s going right for it?”
“Butt out,” Aoife shouted then rolled her eyes.
“Just sayin’.”
Aoife giggled, which eased her sudden case of nerves. “I’m ready. I don’t mind a little discomfort,” she whispered.
“To mark the moment?” he asked with a sly note in his voice.
They were not yet fully bonded and already he read her mind. She smiled. “Exactly.”
“Babe, hold on tight.”
Wrapping her legs around his narrow hips, she let her eyes drift closed as he filled her in slow pulses that deepened with every stroke. Her mouth sagged at the sensation. “It’s glorious.”
“Yes, you are.” He moved faster and deeper.
Chanting sounded all around them. Whether it came from outside their bower or inside her head, she didn’t care.
The wind whipped up, tugging at the curtains. The branches creaked.
“If it crashes around us, I’m not stopping,” Sigurd said, his voice louder.
“Don’t stop,” she said, digging her fingernails into the muscles on either side of his spine.
He powered into her, thrusting straight and sure.
Their breathing grew louder than the chanting and the thunder cracking in the distance. The ground beneath them shook.
Aoife cried out at the moment their souls bonded. Ecstasy shuddered through her.
Sigurd surged hard one last time, and then his back arched. His shout echoed as lightning brightened the sky. His hot come jetted deep inside.
Suspended in the moment, she saw his face clearly in the bluish light. His eyes glowed, his expression was feral and triumphant. She reached up and slid her hand along his cheek. He nuzzled against it then leaned toward her. His kiss was another claim. A hard, thorough promise.
When he collapsed against her body, she wrapped her arms around him, savoring the waning pulses of his cock lodged deep inside her. In her mind, shadows swirled.
There would be a child. A girl—dark-haired like her father with blue-green sparkling eyes. Trouble was coming to Bonne Nuit. Something dark. But their bond was strong. Her coven, his band of demons—they would prevail.
She could almost see the moment of their victory, but then the vision faded.
“Where did you go?” Sigurd whispered in her ear.
Part of her wanted to blurt out what she’d seen, but she sensed this wasn’t something to be shared with anyone except her sisters. Not yet, anyway. And knowing that their minds were linked, she quickly shuttered the vision from his view.
There was much to be done. Two more sisters to be strengthened through the mating bond. She’d have to tell her sisters to hurry the hell up.
“Aoife?” Sigurd was frowning now.
Summoning her flighty side, she gave him a blinding smile. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”
His gaze narrowed, but a slow smile stretched. “Was it everything you dreamed?”
“Even better, but now that we’re past all that, I still expect you to show me all those infinite ways.”
Sigurd threw back his head and laughed.
Relieved she’d distracted him, she relaxed. She hadn’t noticed the storm’s passing. Silence surrounded them. She was ready to move the party indoors and let Sigurd show her in bright electrical light what she’d been denying herself all these years.
So, although tradition dictated that the male offer the first part of their vows, she said in a steady voice, “Once bound, we’ll never part.”
His teeth flashed. “One love, one true heart,” he replied, equally as strong, giving her the second part of the ancient promise.
“There,” she said. “You’re mine.”
He canted his head. “Are we in a hurry?”
“See? You can already read my mind.”
He moved backward, groaning when his cock fell free of her body. Then he reached for her hand and tugged until she followed him outside.
The meadow was empty. The torches smoking. Aoife glanced up at her wolf. “Can we look for our clothes tomorrow?”
Sigurd’s gaze sharpened, and his chest billowed. “First one inside gets whatever he wishes.” Then he darted away, running toward the road.
Aoife laughed and called after him, “Not fair! My legs are shorter!” But she followed, her legs stretching to catch up.
He ran purposely slow enough she almost caught him, racing up the steps at the side of her porch. When he turned and stepped backward through the front door, she bent over, laughing and gasping for breath.
“And that’s what I want.” His hands on her hips angled her toward the railing. “Step up on the lower rail,” he said, his voice deepening to a growl.
She did so, but before she’d gripped the top rail, his tongue stroked through her folds. “I win,” she said breathily. “That’s what I wanted.”
“I know. Funny how our minds are so in tune.”
She grinned at his smug tone and strengthened her grip. She’d need it or they’d both end up toppling into the water below.
So, with the Wolf Moon beaming down, Aoife gave herself over to her lover. Their future was uncertain, but they had this time, these few months to prepare. Part of that included binding their hearts together with a ties so strong they’d never fray. She raised her fact to the moonlight.
*
The End, for now…
So, a funny thing happened while I was writing this story. I had no inkling where I was going, not until I reached the church and realized the good father was…her father! Then I saw the end—which can’t happen until after the last two witches are bound to their mates. So, don’t be mad. Dream of battles fought in Middle Earth with furious fairies. We’ll get there. Promise.
About Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and sexy romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred eighty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Entangled,
Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
You can find Delilah all over the web:
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If you love sexy vampires, shifters, and other creatures that go bump in the night, check out the rest of Delilah’s Night Fall series!
Sm{B}itten
Truly, Madly…Deadly
Knight in Transition
Wolf in Plain Sight
Knight Edition
Night Fall on Dark Mountain
Frannie and the Private Dick
Sweet Succubus
Bad to the Bone
Long Howl Good Night
Silent is the Knight
Big Bad Wolf
Enjoy an excerpt from another sexy shifter story, Bad Moon Rising…
“Wah-ah-ah-ah!”
DiDi Devereaux bounced her head to David Draiman’s gorilla-like chant. After she’d turned onto the small county road in a Louisiana bayou, she’d popped her Disturbed CD in the player. She liked listening to hard rock when she wrote a fight scene or needed a little courage. Raucous, masculine music rarely failed to rev her engines.
Unfortunately, the music wasn’t working its magic now.
Her headlights barely cut through the thick fog, forcing DiDi to ease off the accelerator as she peered over the steering wheel at the narrow donkey trail of a road. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d left the highway and knew she’d entered bayou country by the thick forest pressing against the road from both sides and the air’s muggy quality. She’d rolled down her windows because her AC fogged up the windshield, but she still had to swipe her palms against the glass to clear it enough to continue.
Why she’d decided to finish the journey at night, she didn’t know. But she never questioned an impulse, and never really regretted any of the mishaps she’d fallen into as a result of ignoring good advice. Many of her stories were born from those exact misadventures—and inspiration, of late, had become pretty thin. A road trip was just what she needed to “fill the well”.
On a whim, she’d removed the deed to the Gauthier House from her safe deposit box on Monday after moving her furniture into storage and letting her apartment go. When she’d first contemplated making a change, she’d been torn between seeking a summer rental in the Yukon and heading Down Under.
Then she’d remembered the property she’d inherited three years earlier. A dilapidated house in a section of boggy bayou with a dock that led into the swamps. The lawyer who’d handed her the deed and the keys had told her to sell it—or let it return to the land. No use fighting the age of the place because the restoration would be a money pit.
She’d been satisfied to let the document lay at the bottom of her safety deposit box, beneath her passport and a flash drive that stored every page of every book she’d ever written, just in case catastrophe hit and she had to start all over again. Nothing was more valuable to her than the dreams she’d created on paper, nothing was more meaningful. She’d sacrificed a lot to be where she was, edging toward the top of the bestsellers’ lists and finally getting those lucrative contracts that let her continue to feed her gypsy soul.
Now, she had money to sink into the old plantation house. Enough to pay for remodeling while she plunked away at a keyboard with an iPod in her ears as workers sawed and hammered around her.
She could make this new house work—if she ever found the damn place.
The clerk at the gas station fifteen miles back had told her she’d never find her way in the dark on these back roads, that she’d wind up hopelessly lost and he predicted not until some backwoods Cajun found her car in the swamp would the mystery of her death be solved.
He’d cheered up at that thought, saying he bet 20/20 might pay him for an interview. And the little prick had smirked as he said it. Which only made her mad and even more determined to forge ahead.
But things were looking bleak. She considered pulling to the side of the road at the first rest stop, if she ever found one, or at a widening of the road’s shoulder and sleeping in her car until the morning. Wouldn’t be the first time.
David D was giving her a headache, so she glanced down to eject the CD.
When she looked back up, something large and black darted into the road in front of her then stood there, caught in the headlights.
A scream lodged in her throat. She slammed on her brakes, causing her car to swerve onto the soft shoulder. Her tires caught the edge of the road and sank. Before she could compensate, her car left the road, crashing into the ditch. Water splashed up the hood and drowned her windshield in the wet onslaught and long grass.
Seconds later, the engine sputtered to a halt. The headlights dimmed. Then water seeped through the floorboard.
DiDi lifted her feet, clutched the steering wheel hard and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, just long enough to still the thoughts racing too fast through her mind to process.
The car was stuck. But the water wasn’t deep enough to drown her. She had time to react.
She flicked her ignition, but the starter sputtered. Using the battery alone, she lowered her window. Bending to her right, she reached toward the floor and swung her hand around until she caught the handle of her purse. Straightening, she clutched both sides of her window and climbed out.
She stepped into stagnant, swampy water that filled her shoes and soaked her jeans to the knees. “Shit. I hope the alligators won’t like the taste of me,” she muttered. “Or that whatever jumped in the road isn’t looking for dinner.”
In the distance, she heard the roar of an engine. Rescue. So she slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed handfuls of the grass at the side of the ditch and crawled up to the road.
Headlights blinded her for a moment, but she lifted her hand, praying she wasn’t flagging down a serial killer. If she was, she hoped he’d spare her life long enough for him to tell her his story. Her mouth formed a grim smile as she straightened.
A car pulled alongside her, the passenger window whirred downward.
An emblem on the side of the car had her sighing with relief. A police car had halted beside her.
“Ma’am, do you need help?”
The soft southern inflections in the deep, rasping voice soothed her fears. She leaned down and braced her hands on the open passenger window to peer inside. “My car’s in the ditch,” she said, eyeing the large shadow of the man behind the wheel.
“I can see that,” he said calm as could be. “Need a lift?”
“I need a tow. And probably repairs. The engine took on water.”
“Get in. I’m heading into Bayou Noir. Henri’s gas station isn’t open this late, but you can get a room at the motel for the night and figure things out in the mornin’.”
She nodded, hesitated for a second, hoping he wasn’t a rapist posing as a cop, and then opened the door to slide onto the bench seat. When she closed the door, she turned to get a better look at her savior. Her mouth dried in an instant.
Even shadowed, she could tell he was handsome. Strong, rugged features, a blunt nose and square chin. A full head of dark hair, cut short and with a slight curl.
Probably married. Nothing that delicious wouldn’t have been wrestled to the altar long ago.
He studied her while she stared back, his dark gaze flicking over her hair, and she lifted her hand to comb through it, suddenly self-conscious. Then her mind began to click as she inventoried the person beside her, thinking she couldn’t have found a better hero for her next novel. “I’m DiDi Devereux,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Sheriff Mason Breaux.” He gave her a quick, impersonal clasp. “Anything you need from your car?”
Her palm burned from the hands
hake. Not a flicker of recognition had glinted in his eyes at the mention of her name. Good. “Um…my suitcase. It’s in the trunk.”
He put the squad car in park. “Give me your keys, and I’ll get it for you.”
Handsome and a gentleman. Mmmm. “I left them in the ignition.”
He nodded, let himself out of the car.
Leaning into the window opening, she watched as he plunged down the bank. Things were indeed looking up. Already her fingers were itching to tap on keys and capture her first impressions of her backwoods cop. Her mind leapt back to the cause of her current dilemma—the large animal that had stood defiantly in the center of the road.
If she hadn’t known the situation was impossible, she would have sworn the animal was a panther. A black panther. But they didn’t exist in North America outside of folktales, and tawny Florida panthers no longer roamed this part of the south.
No, what she’d spied was far more likely a large dog. Her imagination had simply traded one prosaic image for the fantasy her artist’s soul craved. She angled her head on the padded rest. But what would be the harm in creating a story, wrapped around the tale of a stranded tourist who found a strange enchanted land deep in a Louisiana bayou where black panthers roamed?
Mason cursed as his boots sank into muck. Damn tourists. The sooner he dropped her at the motel, the better.
He hadn’t liked how his body had reacted to the stranger—pulled, his groin heavy and surging. Almost like the instant, inevitable attraction between two soul mates. Not that he believed that old wives’ tale.
Likely he’d just been drawn by all that gold hair, curling wildly around her head. By the wide blue eyes that had stared avidly at him. She didn’t act like most women who hid their curiosity beneath the coy sweep of lowered eyelashes. Her gaze had scoured him from his head to where his legs disappeared into the shadows.
He wondered if she’d be that curious, that meticulous, when studying a naked man’s body. A snort escaped. Not that he’d ever get the chance to know.
Wolf Moon Rising Page 5
