He sucked in a deep breath.
Leila caressed the hard, long length of him, ran her hand along its underside.
The tip of Vidar’s tongue caressed her right nipple. He worked the rising bud into full hardness, pulling it slightly between his teeth, sending pleasure through her every nerve. The area at the tip of her breast puckered as her nipple extended to the point of pain.
She moaned. Wanted more of him, her left breast aching for his touch.
A hint of lemon teased her senses. She sighed. No man smelled as good as did her Viking.
A warm ache shot to her clit. She wanted Vidar inside her.
She guided him to her entrance.
He pulled away from her breast. “Patience, sin-eater.”
“I don’t have any, Viking.”
He chuckled, but returned to suck her swollen nipple, took the full mound into his mouth and then rolled his tongue over its sensitive top.
“Oh...” She couldn’t manage any other word. She wiggled beneath Vidar. “Please.”
He lifted his head. “As you wish, Leila.” His hand drifted to her clit, stroked it with deliberate strokes.
A small spasm shot through her.
For an immortal Viking, a man who was more at home on the battlefield than on the couch, he was damn good at satisfying her needs.
Leila hiked up her legs, wrapped them around Vidar’s waist. His back muscles flexed beneath her calves. She ran her fingers over his spine, dragged her nails up his back.
Vidar moaned.
She loved hearing him respond to her, loved knowing she had a bit of control over this big, hunky warrior.
He positioned himself at her slit and pressed into her.
“Don’t make me wait, Viking.”
A grin spread across his lips, accented his high cheekbones and overall rugged good looks.
Vidar had the grace of the gods when it came to his handsome face. To his whole body for that matter.
He pushed into her. A long, glorious thrust that sent her slick walls clenching.
Vidar pulled out, and then thrust again.
Leila met his every move.
With each stroke his cock made, the pressure inside her mounted. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.
As seconds became minutes, Vidar hammered his cock into Leila with an urgency that forced him, apparently, to speed up his moves.
A series of spasms exploded through her.
Vidar gave one final buck and then cried out. He collapsed on top of Leila.
She stroked his back, wrapped her arms around him, held him close. The weight of him on top of her, making her feel safe.
There was no other place she’d rather be than here, now, with Vidar.
Chapter Nine
Leila woke to a slight buzz emitting from the floor. Who knew a castle could snore? Spending time in a medieval keep that had a mind of its own was a far cry from the charming images of the snow dressed Wolfsden that had graced years of Christmas cards she’d discovered in an attic trunk back home. Those idyllic photos had nothing on the truth.
A kink twisted in her lower back muscle. Leila stretched. He choice of sleeping on the floor suddenly seemed like a bad decision, but at least the carpet allowed room for both her and Vidar. And she had enjoyed spending the night cuddled up to the man.
Her gaze drifted to the grate that still remained in place.
Vidar wasn’t the only stubborn dude in Dundaire.
The realization struck a chord.
Wolfsden was male. Or at least she hadn’t picked up on any female energy from the structure, but since this castle, from what she’d pieced together thanks to diaries and old family journals her father had possessed, was always headed by a male wolf-shifter. No wonder the old building was temperamental. It was as moody as were its masters.
A grunt sounded from under her ear.
Male. Definitely male.
Uncle Bane needed a talking to. The man hadn’t had a woman in his life since his wife died, which was about as long as Vidar had been harboring that darn curse in his heart. No one deserved to go all those years without true love. Bane needed to remedy his situation, and not just so he could stop meddling in her personal affairs, though at the moment she was quite glad he had, if that was indeed the case, but because Wolfsden itself needed a woman’s touch. Maybe Bane could build a new addition on the place, something not so rough and sharp as the rest of the castle’s architecture. She was definitely going to bring the idea up to her uncle.
The dim glow of dawn’s light filtered into the small room, highlighted the wadded-up ball of gray corduroy just to the side of her make-shift floor bed.
She pushed the comforter back.
A draft wafted in from the kitchen, sent goosebumps dotting along her arms. Winter was way too cold up here in Dundaire.
Stretching, she reached for her pants, along with her bra and shirt that were laying next it, then shimmied back under the oversized blanket and dressed.
The last time her clothes ended up on the floor in a wrinkled heap was due to an energy extraction gone wrong. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened last night. Having had her garments tossed aside thanks to Vidar’s handiwork, was much more pleasing.
Rolling over, she anticipated snuggling up to her hunky Viking but all she found on the other side of the floor was a bare spot of blue and green paisley wool.
She turned back toward the archway and its entrapping wrought-iron grate.
A wispy swirl of energy wrapped around the grate’s spokes.
The bitter flavor of rubbing alcohol tinged her tongue.
Darkness. Very wicked darkness.
She did not need to start sucking in negativity first thing in the morning. If its bad taste was any indication, that mass of energy had come from a nasty source. Something beyond vile.
The curling threads of energy entwined, expanded, and then formed into a ghostly wolf. It’s ice-gray eyes leered at her.
Fear rose in Leila’s soul.
“Don’t move,” Vidar said, his voice coming from the shadows next to the hearth. He stepped into the light, directly in front of the spectral wolf that was now snarling and staring up at the Viking.
“I can’t stay here forever,” Leila said. “Your wolf is made up of energy, negative energy due to the hex on it, but still, it is an essence that torments my sin-eater.” She paused. Telling Vidar what it was like to consume darkness was scary. The man might be a strapping immortal Viking who she was sure had seen a lot of brutal happenings in his lifetime, but telling him she craved eating darkness might be a bit much for Vidar. But she had to trust him. “The sin-eater in my soul is starting to crave your wolf.”
“Do whatever is necessary to keep it from coming to you,” he said, his voice calm.
Relief filled her. At least Vidar didn’t sound as if he detested what she did.
“I will keep its attention focused on me,” he continued, “but I can’t guarantee how the beast will react if you start moving around.”
She inched out of the comforter. “How long have you been awake?”
“I didn’t sleep.” Vidar kept his stare directed at the animal which was a good thing because the wolf was now drooling. Ghostly wisps fell from its snarling mouth and shattered into bursts of scattering energy once it hit the carpet. Those bits then quickly returned to the wolf, being sucked back into its body as if the animal itself possessed its own version of her sin-eater soul.
She slowly stood. Taking small steps, she crossed the room and came to huddle behind Vidar. She peeked around his broad, muscled back. The wolf appeared to be quite taken with Vidar.
“You don’t listen very well.”
Did the man really think she was some sort of damsel in distress? She was here as his partner to fight this vile curse. “I am not going to stay put when you need my help.”
“Do I look like I need assistance?”
He didn’t. At least not at the moment, but who knew what that animal was
going to do? It was the soul of a cursed wolf. “We need to contact Bane.”
Vidar laughed. “Unless you can use telepathy or get Wolfsden to reach your uncle, I doubt we’ll have much luck with that.”
A tendril of energy twisted away from the wolf.
Leila’s mouth opened. She clamped her hand over his lips, squeezed her lower jaw.
Vidar wrapped his arms around her waist. “Just stay behind me.”
She dropped her hand from her mouth and leaned into his back. “You do realize eventually it is going to get tired of just standing there. We need to figure a way to get it back into your heart.”
“Is that even possible?”
She wasn’t so sure. “Well, it didn’t want to come out totally, yesterday, so I think it might, in some way, have enjoyed the coziness of your heart. But I don’t know the exact procedure of returning it to your body. I wonder how it even got out in the first place.”
“You had your hands on my chest, in your sleep.”
“Why didn’t you push me away?”
“I didn’t realize it at first or I would have.”
She huffed. “How could you have not realized it?”
He hesitated. “I was enjoying it. Then I felt something shift in my chest and I knew it was too late. The wolf was out of me in seconds.”
Guilt filled her. “I’m sorry. I should have worn gloves to bed.” She reached behind her back and rested her hand in Vidar’s palm.
He clasped his fingers around hers. “Would that have helped?”
“I’m not sure in this exact situation, but in the past, gloves have acted as barriers between me and whatever negativity is in the area. They don’t stop me from consuming darkness, because negativity usually only enters through my mouth. But a pair of gloves, as long as they are made of synthetic fabric, do work from keeping me freeing tainted energy from a source. Unless it desperately wants out, then nothing will stop it. I should have worn a pair of gloves to bed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll figure this out and survive. Then we’ll have a really strange tale to tell our children, one day.”
Did Vidar just talk of them having kids? She didn’t want to ask for fear she’d imagined it.
The wolf snarled.
Vidar backed up, pushed Leila along the carpet.
Coarse edges of wool fibers nipped at her bare soles.
“It’s getting really cold in here,” she said, huddling closer to her Viking’s back once he stopped moving. “And that is going to make this situation turn very bad soon because my sin-eater will start searching for fuel to keep it warm and she’s not picky as to where that negativity comes from. She’s never had a discerning palate.”
Vidar cursed. “Wolfsden is going to have to step up if you need heat in the room. With nothing to light those logs, there’s nothing we can do.”
She didn’t need to be at the mercy of a temperamental medieval keep while a deadly, cursed beast was sizing her up for its next meal.
The ghost wolf inched forward, it’s large paws padding across the floor as if they belonged to some bumbling beast who wasn’t all that steady on its feast. But the wobbly movements didn’t stop the animal.
The castle rumbled.
Vidar held Leila steady. “I don’t think Wolfsden is very happy with my wolf.”
She didn’t blame the castle. Darkness was emitting from the animal in droves. Vidar might not be able to notice it, but the sin-eater side of her soul saw it very clear. Curls of shadow peeled from the animal’s ghostly body like steam exploding from a hot pan when you run it under cold water.
Little snaps crackled at her ears.
Eventually, all that negativity was going to end up inside her, the unpleasant taste of rubbing alcohol already coating her tongue. Sin-eaters didn’t have limits to what they consumed. But Rorik’s curse was a heinous venom that could destroy even the best of souls, it certainly had hampered Vidar’s. What it would to her was unknown. She’d never taken in a curse as powerful as the one consuming the ghostly entity glowering at her.
The floor continued its little dance of unending vibrations.
Despite Vidar holding on to her, Leila reached over to the mantle and placed her hand on the marble edge. A wave of nausea claimed her stomach, but she fought the urge of it going any further.
The wolf growled. It’s long, sharp teeth coming exposed from beneath its curled lip.
Leila stared it in the eyes.
Three photos on the mantle toppled over, their glass panes shattering. She yanked her hand away. “We need a heat Wolfsden and we need it fast.”
A fire sparked in the hearth.
Thank God. The bitter flavor of rubbing alcohol left her mouth, as did the desire to consume darkness.
The wolf came to a sudden halt, a low grunt rising in its throat.
“It doesn’t seem to like fire much.” Vidar cocked his head to the side, but refrained from turning around.
“My sin-eater has retreated, so it’s no longer calling to your wolf and vice versa. That may be the reason why the animal has backed down.”
The sound of gears turning, echoed through the air.
The archway’s grate lifted.
Vidar’s wolf howled, then pivoted and barreled out of the room.
“That thing can’t be roaming around Wolfsden,” Leila said.
Vidar spun around. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“Just making sure.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a key. “Keep this in case anything happens to me. It belongs to a strong box that is located in the basement of my New Orleans home. The one next to Katya’s mansion on St. Charles Avenue. Everything important to me is in that box.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll make sure your sister gets this.”
“No,” Vidar said. “It’s not for Katya, but for you. Everything I have, I want you to have.”
No one ever cared for her like this. “But…”
“Shhh… Don’t say a word, my lovely Leila.”
Then he kissed her. A sweet, innocent kiss that left her feeling scared, afraid and lonelier than she ever imagined she could be.
“Grab my phone off the desk and call Bane. I’ll take care of the beast.” Vidar was out of the room in a flash.
Leila prayed the wolf wouldn’t kill him.
Chapter Ten
Vidar searched for his runaway wolf through the castle’s main floor, thankful the only areas open to the animal were the kitchen and the MacHendrie Archives. Both turned up no sign of the beast.
He reentered the entrance hall. His gaze darted to the Christmas tree skirt, to the pile of glitter dust where a kilted Highlander ornament lay shattered.
He swore a silent oath. Bane was going to have a fit at losing one of those miniature skirt-wearers. From what he knew, the decorations had been part of the alpha’s extensive Christmas collection for at least two centuries. Replacing it was not possible.
A rumble echoed through the hall, shimmied some of the glitter off the tree skirt and onto the floor.
Vidar followed the trail of dust, its last traces ending at the bottom of the staircase in the faint outline of a wolf paw.
Only his damn wolf would trek upstairs. The cursed thing was making this hunt very difficult, which he didn’t understand because being trapped inside the castle meant it had few places to hide, few places to escape him and eventually, he was going to win out. Even if it killed him.
He let out a deep huff.
Damn his wolf and its mangy tail. The Christmas decoration most likely fell after being slapped by his wolf’s tail as the animal bounded up to the second floor. Tails usually were the culprits in such cases.
He crouched and picked up the top half of the damaged Highlander ornament. The scent of rubbing alcohol mixed with what he deciphered as burnt charcoal—aromas he often smelled over the years, but only now realized they had come from his wolf—irritated his nose.
The beast neede
d to be stopped.
He tossed the broken decoration back under the tree and stood.
Grief crept into his heart.
Hunting the cursed beast that had been a part of him for a thousand years wasn’t easy, but he knew, in the deepest depths of his core, the animal had to be put down.
It no longer was the better half of him. That designation now belonged to Leila, God save her soul.
He cursed under his breath.
Love was the most anguished emotion he could ever imagine experiencing.
It also was the most wondrous.
Which was precisely why his wolf had to be stopped.
Leila needed protecting.
Vidar headed upstairs.
The sound of slamming doors echoed through the upper corridor. “Thank you, Wolfsden.” The castle was finally cooperating. The less rooms open to his wolf, the less places Vidar had to search.
A rumble shook the floor. “Now what? I just paid you a compliment.”
The tiles under his boots vibrated.
His nose twitched. The scent of fresh-cut roses filled the hall.
Leila.
Dammit, but the woman was trouble. Why couldn’t she have taken his advice and just stayed put? “You really need to cut me some flack, sin-eater.”
“Slack,” Leila corrected.
He spun around. “I told you I would go after the wolf.”
“I know. And that’s precisely why I’m here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You can’t help me.”
“You can’t kill a wolf with your bare hands.”
She didn’t know the things he’d done in battle. Choking a wolf was nothing compared to the vile actions he’d committed while trying to protect innocent people from Rorik’s men.
“There you go again,” she said, “showing your emotions on your face. For a warrior, you are far too easy to read.”
“Tell me, then, what am I thinking?”
She eyed his hands. “I know you’re strong, but whatever things you’ve done in the past, can’t be done now. The wolf is spectral. He doesn’t have a physical body. So hands aren’t going to do much damage. Maybe work him over some, yes, but putting that beast down...no.”
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