Moon Burning

by Lucy Monroe

  She recognized the distraction for what it was, but she could not help observing, “Doesn’t that prevent some of the Faol from controlling their change?”

  “Until they have had sex? Yes.” Subtle tension drained from the set of his shoulders.

  “That does not sound strategically sound.”

  “He believes some things are more important than strategy.”

  “Like love?”

  Barr laughed, the warmth of it going through her in a wholly different kind of pleasure. “Maybe now he’s found love with his wife, but not before. No, he considered the possibility of creating a sacred bond in a casual or badly conceived pairing something to be avoided at all costs.”

  There was something more there, she could hear it in her beautiful warrior’s voice. “Why?”

  “His father true mated an Englishwoman who betrayed our clan, causing our laird’s death and that of many of our best warriors.”

  The woman who had caused his brother’s scarring had been their laird’s sacred mate. The pain that had caused the pack was in every line of his rugged features. “She was human?”

  “Aye.”

  “It is too easy to underestimate their strength.”

  “That is what the Balmoral’s wife says.”

  The Balmoral lived on an island and the Éan knew little about them. “Does she?”

  “Aye, being human herself and having brought the Balmoral to his knees, I think she might well be right.”

  “It is the Faol my people watch most closely,” she admitted.

  He gave her a strange look but did not demand she explain further and for that she was grateful. She could not do so without betraying the Éan and she would die before doing that.

  “So, one or two?” she asked again, when it became clear he thought he had sidestepped her last question so neatly.

  He sighed, his big body pressing against hers. “Two.”

  “That does not make me happy,” she said, not really understanding her own reaction but uninterested in pretense.

  “I can tell that it does not.” His eyes devoured her with their concern. “Neither woman was a lover.”

  “What does that mean?” He’d had sex with them. He’d just said so.

  “One was a widow grieving the loss of her husband.”

  “So, you were just comforting her?” Sabrine asked, the sarcasm dripping like vinegar from her voice.

  He looked relieved. “Yes, that was it exactly.”

  “How lovely for her.”

  This time he didn’t miss her undertone and his wince gave her some measure of satisfaction.

  “And the other?” she asked.

  “I did not wish to live without control of the change.”

  “So?”

  “So, I found a willing partner and had sex the night of a hunt.”

  The burnished lines of his cheeks said this had neither been particularly pleasant nor a moment he was proud of.

  “Was she Faol?”

  “Aye. We were both much too young. She was one of the rare female wolves not born with control of her change. It humiliated her.”

  “So, you agreed to take care of each other’s problem.”

  “Aye. I lost two of my closest friends because of it.”

  “Why?” Sabrine did not understand the terrible outcome if the female had been willing. Unless … “Did she develop feelings for you that you did not return?”

  That Sabrine could understand far too well for her own liking.

  He made a sound of bitter amusement. “Not at all. She found my company embarrassing afterward. If I am honest, I will admit I found hers equally so. Though it made no sense to me.”

  His perplexity was almost amusing. He gave himself no quarter to experience weak emotion, but then neither did she. “You said two friends? Was the other her brother?” Or maybe her father?

  “One of my closest friends turned out to be her true mate. He challenged me after realizing I had had her innocence.”

  “You did not kill him.”

  “Nay, but our friendship was buried that day.”

  “I’m sorry.” That he had lost a friend, but Sabrine was still bothered he’d had sex with these other women. And she could not pretend to be sorry Barr was no longer friends with the female.

  “I’m sorry I cannot come to you as untouched as you come to me.” The sincerity in his tone assuaged some of the negative feelings plaguing her.

  “It should not matter,” she admitted.

  “But it does.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can only promise you my fidelity from this point forward.”

  “Don’t.” Please. She pleaded with him with her eyes though she did not say the word aloud.

  His narrowed. “Neither of us will have a choice.”

  “You truly believe that?” she asked, half afraid of his answer.

  “Aye. You do not?”

  “No.” If she did, she’d be out of his bed and out of his room faster than he could blink. Her true mate did not exist, and if he did, he wasn’t a wolf.

  “One of us is wrong.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are confident it is me.”

  “I am.” And part of her, a really stupid part, was even saddened by that fact.

  He grinned. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  For a single moment, terror unlike anything she had ever known paralyzed her. What if he was right? What if he was the mate she was so certain did not exist for her?

  But he couldn’t be. Faol and Éan matings were rare. Of those that had happened, too many ended in betrayal and death for the Éan.

  Her raven insisted sharing intimacy with this man would not hurt her; Sabrine had to believe her bird. The raven had never led her astray, not even once.

  “Let’s.” She reached around his body, pulling him down onto her to resume those amazing kisses.

  This time, he moved against her as his tongue pressed between her lips. He dwarfed her, filling her senses until nothing but him existed for her. The hardness against her body was every bit as big as the rest of him. She had no idea how they were supposed to fit together, but that was one problem she would gladly leave in his hands. She was busy coming to terms with the fire running through her veins as their bodies rubbed together in an imitation of the act to come.

  She might never have experienced sex, but the Éan did not have taboos about sexual intimacy as found among the clans.

  His hand moved between her legs, touching her in a spot that had her screaming into his mouth. The joy was so intense, the pleasure so immense, she could not hold it inside.

  One big finger slid inside her, not deep, but just far enough that she could not ignore its foreign presence.

  She whimpered and could not even work up a smidgen of embarrassment for it. He was inside her even if his member was not and the moment was so intimate, she had no other standard by which to compare it.

  Other than her younger brother, she allowed no one to get close to her and this was beyond close. This was joining . For this moment in time, they were not Faol and Éan. They were two in the making of one flesh. He male. She female. Together one, both and neither wholly.

  The finger pressed further inside and pain pulsed in her core. It was so unexpected, she could not help reacting to it.

  Her sound of distress had him lifting his mouth, his breathing harsh. “I will try not to hurt you, but your body’s barrier must give way.”

  And there would be tearing and blood. She had heard of what was to come, but to experience it was beyond anything she could have imagined.

  She would not let something that women, no matter their kind, be they human or Chrechte, had been prey to for millennia hold her from this moment. “The pain is part of it.”

  “It can be a very small part.” He kissed her softly, on the corner of her mouth.

  “How do you know?”

  “My widow told me, when I confessed the dismal failure of my first time.”


  “I do not want to hear about the widow. She is not yours, is she? You did not claim her.” Her raven’s feathers ruffled; Sabrine did not like him speaking of the other woman in that possessive way. Not at all.

  “Nay, I did not.” He caressed her face, brushing the hair back from Sabrine’s face. “She has remarried.”

  “Then do not call her yours,” Sabrine instructed testily even as she melted under his affectionate ministrations.

  “As you wish, little spitfire.”

  “I am only little beside you.” Even a wild boar would be little beside the giant warrior.

  He shrugged, his finger shifting inside her, brushing back and forth with tiny movements. She could not decide if she wanted to press down, gaining more of the sensation, or pull away from the small sting of pain. His thumb slid over that place of intense pleasure again and deciding, she arched up, pressing herself further onto his finger. The connection was so small and yet so big. Overwhelming.

  Forcing her to become fully aware of herself as a Chrechte female for the first time.

  Chapter 7

  In this bed her role as warrior was far away. Her commitment to protecting her people did not dominate her thoughts. Instead, carnal yearning had her seized in its voracious grip.

  “You are so beautiful.” He growled the words, his voice deep with a sincerity she could not question.

  She had never considered herself such and told him so.

  His growl this time was subvocal and pure masculine displeasure. “You are everything I dreamed of in a mate and never thought to have.”

  “We are not mates.” They could not be. She refused to entertain the possibility.

  He gave her a secretive smile that made mockery of her willful self-declarations. “We shall see.”

  “Your wolf is wrong,” she insisted. “I am not your mate.” Her raven would never lead her into such an untenable situation.

  She could think of nothing worse than to discover her sacred mate and have to leave him. Except leading the Faol to the last of her people so they could be destroyed.

  “My wolf is never wrong.”

  “He is this time … ahhh …” His thumb flicked against her pleasure spot, sending her into a haze of desire-filled bliss in which there was no room for arguments or protestations.

  Then he lowered his mouth, not to press against her lips, but to suck up a mark on her neck. The prospect of carrying his claim on her body, even for the short while it would take for the bruise to heal, sent a cataclysm of emotion pouring through her.

  Her perception grew disjointed after that as his mouth and hands learned her body in a way she had never expected to experience. He caressed her breasts and the undersides of her legs. He nibbled on her shoulder, nuzzling her in a way that sent her raven into ecstasy. He tasted her, brushing his body along hers, combining their scents until she thought hers would never be entirely her own again.

  He allowed her the same liberty with his big, scarred body, his muscles rippling beneath her fingertips with every caress. He tasted like the untamed wind, his wolf close to the surface just as her raven was. And instead of fearing the beast she longed to meet it.

  After long agonizing minutes of building pleasure, he put his mouth on her there, between her legs … on that most intimate flesh, his tongue taking over for his thumb, drawing forth excitations unimaginable.

  The sensations spiraled up and up and up until she felt her perceptions shatter and her body convulse in an agony of pleasure she was sure no other woman could have ever known. It was so much, so intense, she thought she might die of it, that her heart might stop, but it continued to beat a frantic tattoo in her breast. And his finger pressed forward and the sting of full penetration past her maidenhead mixed with the pleasure, adding an edge that both enhanced and detracted.

  She cried out, the sound coming from her throat that of woman beyond her endurance and yet exultant at the same time.

  He touched her, causing mini quakes throughout her body until she lost all tension in her limbs and melted into the ticking under her.

  He reared up, his magnificent body on display for her once again, and her raven could not help preening inside her.

  “Are you ready for the joining?”

  She did not tell him they were already joined, for she wasn’t about to admit such a weak sentiment. Nor did she say she was ready, because she wasn’t sure that she was. What she did do was smile, allowing the full extent of the pleasure he’d given her show in her satiated gaze.

  His eyes turned smoky black and he lifted her hips, pressing forward with that magnificent male sex against her open flesh. The bulbous tip pressed inside, bringing both intense pleasure and the sensation of being stretched and stretched and stretched some more.

  “Good?” he asked, his brow beaded with sweat.

  “Yes.”

  He rocked forward, slipping further inside. She closed her eyes, concentrating on exactly what she was feeling. There was more than a physical connection. Far more. He was mystical and spiritual and utterly terrifying. The shimmer of magic she felt at the change tingled between them, though neither was calling on their Chrechte nature. His sex filled her, but it felt like it was going beyond her own warm depths. He filled her with his very essence and her soul reached forth into his.

  As the blunt head of his member hit the depth of her channel, her body clenched in another shattering climax. Her raven cawed the Chrechte word for mate in her mind, filling the silent cavern inside her, the place that had been empty since the death of her parents.

  Her eyes snapped open and she met his, their smoky depths awash with a tenderness she could not understand. He was wolf. She was raven.

  This moment in time might well destroy her.

  But perhaps it was worth it. For the first time in years, the loneliness that was her constant companion dissipated under the heat of his presence, both inside and around her.

  Her younger brother had been raised by their aunt and uncle while she started training at an early age to be a protector of her people. While she called the others family, the truth of her life since her parents’ death and Sabrine was named warrior had been a searing aloneness never once breached, much less decimated as Barr had done with his touch.

  She ached with the knowledge that were Barr not wolf, she would adore him. As it was, they could never mate. Sabrine and Barr could not make the family all Chrechte longed for.

  Tears slid down her cheeks as the pleasure rolled through her in wave after wave, finally drawing forth his rapture, his seed exploding from his sex to warm her very depths, his body going rigid in the richness of pleasure so devastating, it verged on the edge of death.

  “Mine,” he shouted in ancient Chrechte.

  And her raven unstoppably answered in the affirmative.

  He kissed away the tears and then just kissed, her temples, her face, finally her lips.

  They were still connected intimately when she slipped into sleep.

  Earc let Verica explain to Sorcha why they were there. He’d thought Barr’s edict might come better from another woman, but Sorcha’s upset and confusion were plain. She did her best to ignore his and Circin’s presence while arguing with Verica.

  Brigit stood to the side, her small face creased in worry, her gaze jumping between her mother and the healer and back again.

  Earc thought one of the women should see the girl’s need for comfort and deal with it.

  When neither did, he reached out and patted Brigit’s back, careful to rein in his strength. “All will be well.”

  Her head jerked around and she looked at him with wide eyes. He tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  She flinched.

  He caught Verica’s gaze and gave her a glare meant to let her know she needed to fix this.

  A smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she smoothed her hand down Brigit’s hair. “Don’t be scared. He’s not as frightening as he looks.”

  Earc released a g
rowl to let her know he was not amused. He’d wanted her to comfort the child over her mother’s clear upset; there was no need to reassure her about Earc.

  He was not the problem here.

  Though the way Sorcha looked at him said otherwise.

  “But I’ve no need for a guard.” The lie was a rancid thing in the air around them, mixing with her desperation, making his hackles rise.

  Verica put her hand on the lovely widow’s arm, the healer’s expression compassionate but firm. “We both know that’s not true, I think.”

  Sorcha’s gaze slid to her daughter as she hugged herself. “What has Brigit been saying?” Her tone held no accusation, nor any anger; instead it was laced with fear and sadness.

  “I didn’t say anything, Mum. I didn’t.”

  Sorcha pulled her daughter to her, hugging her tight. “It’s all right, sweeting. I am not angry.”

  “But I didn’t break my promise.”

  “Indeed, she did not,” Verica affirmed. “But the fact something is very wrong has become apparent.”

  Sorcha’s gaze darted to the door of the cottage, her agitation showing in the shallowness of her breathing. “Her da is dead, that is problem enough.”

  “Aye, it is, and how he came to die is no doubt part of it.”

  Sorcha released her daughter and gave Earc a worried look. “He was ravaged by a wild beast when he was hunting.”

  Her attempt at lying was so poor, Earc winced. Clearly, the woman believed her husband had died in some other fashion.

  She frowned at him. “You doubt my word?”

  “Yes.”

  Sorcha gasped, her face draining of color.

  Verica pulled the other woman into a comforting embrace. “Do not worry yourself so. You are safe and will remain so.” The scowl she sent Earc would be worthy of any soldier. “Earc did not mean to say he thinks you are lying.”

  “Yes, I did.” And the female wolf knew it. Why was she dissembling to the human?

  Verica let go of Sorcha and marched over to Earc. “Be so kind as to step outside with me.” The words barely made it past her clenched teeth.

  Damned if she was not twice as appealing angry.

  “Barr said we were to stay with the woman,” he reminded Verica.