Demon Blessed

by Nikki Sex

  “Of course, I’ll give you their clothes, too.”

  “It hasn’t rained, so I should be able to pick up the scent of the wolf and the vampire. That’s all I can do before the full moon.”

  I almost blurt out I’d be glad to help with his investigation as long as I’m needed. Then I remember that I’m leaving the country—preferably tonight or first thing in the morning. Instead, I ask a question I’ve been dying to ask.

  “Why did you create an artificial womb?”

  He tilts his head, studies me. “How much do you know about werewolves?”

  “Very little. Bits and pieces from conversations I’ve eavesdropped on over the years.”

  He smiles. “Red fox, bear, cougar, equine—all shifters are capable of reproduction. Werewolves were able to sire and give birth to children once, but not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “In 1940, when Hitler was causing so much trouble, the supernatural community decided to step in. Hitler had a formidable sorcerer working for him. We know now the German leader had become demon-possessed.”

  “A demon took him over?”

  He nods. “That was why Hitler did so many atrocious things—why he lost his humanity, and went insane. Demons will drive anyone stark raving mad. A vampire assassin put an end to him.” An instant of raw fury flashes in his dark eyes. “It’s part of the reason the werewolf community are pissed with the vampires.”

  Huh. Politics. Best to keep my nose right out of supernatural creature crap.

  Stafford continues, “Hitler discovered the werewolves planned to kill him. Consequently, his sorcerer cast a spell. The enchantment killed any werewolf not in a magical territory. We lost tens of thousands of wolf shifters worldwide. The rest of us became moonstruck—forced to shift during a full moon, whether we wanted to or not.”

  “Wait, you mean every werewolf simply dropped dead?”

  “More or less.”

  “I’m so sorry. Were you here in the magic lands?”

  “No. I was at war in the South Pacific, in the Guadalcanal Campaign against the Japanese.”

  My eyes widen. “You didn’t die.”

  He arches a mischievous brow. “No, I didn’t. Like you, I’m different.” His tone is light, amused, and dryly sardonic. “You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

  I’m pretty damn sure my demon did something to you, is my first thought—but there’s no way I can tell him that.

  Chapter 33. Moonstruck

  I ignore his question and ask, “How did you survive as a maddened wolf, surrounded by humans, in a war in the South Pacific?”

  “I was moonstruck for two days.” His expression turns to one of disgust. “I killed and ate everyone in sight.”

  “Gross!”

  “Tell me about it. When a werewolf becomes moonstruck, they lose any semblance of humanity. The beast—in a rage, lost and alone, goes mad.” He sighs. “It’s up to the alpha to put them down.”

  He sounds as though he’s speaking from experience. Has he had to execute moonstruck wolves? Friends of his? That would be rough.

  “Didn’t soldiers shoot you?”

  “Many times, but not with silver bullets. I can survive almost anything unless it’s made from silver.” A dark brow lifts, his gaze intent on me. “I also survived being moonstruck. No other werewolf can make that claim.”

  Jesus, he’s back to attributing his unique abilities to me.

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Yes, it is. Before the spell was cast, no wolf was forced to shift during the full moon. The full moon was simply a period of joy, of hunting, mating and pleasure. Wolves used to serve in any job or position, anywhere. They didn’t have to worry about the phases of the moon.

  “All that has changed. Any werewolf not within magic lands during a full moon is unprotected and becomes moonstruck. Even within the magic lands, they still must shift. That’s why no children have been born to a mated werewolf pair for the last seventy-five years.”

  “I don’t follow. Why not?”

  “When a female werewolf shifts, she loses a child she’s carrying. In the past it was a choice. A female wolf could enjoy the moon but not shift for nine months, thereby bringing her child to full term.”

  “I see.”

  “I experimented with various combinations of drugs for many years. A pregnant mother only needs sedation for a day or two during each full moon—just enough time to pass the moonstruck phase.”

  “Didn’t that work?”

  He sighs. “No. That is how my wife and daughter died. I don’t think the medication killed her. Experiencing the joy of moonlight is part of our magic. Without the light of the moon the spirit of our wolves sicken. Susanna was sedated through six moons. That’s what destroyed her. She lost the will to live.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pauses, exhales audibly, then inhales a deep breath. “How can I ask people to join our pack, to become werewolves, but never to have children? The desire to procreate is an incredibly primal urge. That’s why I decided to make an artificial womb. That and someday I hope to sire children of my own.” His eyes light.

  “And?” I ask.

  “And we may have made a breakthrough. Follow me.”

  He leads me into a locked room where three artificial wombs are operating. Inside the vats are human fetuses, perhaps four months old. I sense the life and energy of each one.

  “They’re alive,” I breathe excitedly, resonating with enthusiastic sensations from my demon.

  “Yes. The amniotic sac was a trick, but we figured it out in the end.”

  “It’s incredible!”

  His lips tug into a lopsided grin as he accepts my praise. God, he’s so damned gorgeous…and smart. I find his IQ and passion a real turn on.

  “These are from a pair of werewolves who were mated sixty years ago,” he says. “I had no expectation they would all survive. It’s too early to know—after all, Susanna and Janice seemed fine when sedated each full moon. Still, there’s an excellent chance these test subjects will live. Four months have passed with normal growth and no signs of stress.”

  “Are these your first werewolf test subjects?”

  “No.”

  His lips tighten. The clipped manner of his reply leaves no doubt—many have died. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? I recall something Churchill said: “Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.” Yet failure when attempting to create life, means being responsible for death.

  Right. I won’t bring that subject up again.

  “If all goes well, our mated pair will have triplets.”

  My demon and I sense something wrong with two of the fetuses. Only one is thriving. I’m drawn to examine them further, to tell Stafford what I know, but I don’t.

  Half of the reason I’ve survived so long is because I don’t act impulsively. I’m big on self-preservation. If there’s the possibility of personal risk, I stop and think things through. There is no rush, for now. If my demon and I can help, there will be a way to safely do so before I leave.

  Instead, I reply, “I’m so happy for you.”

  He turns to look at me with greedy eyes. The wolf in him seems very close to the surface. The animal part of me recognizes exactly what he wants.

  Fuck. My body is instantly slick and wet and ready.

  Stafford’s smile is knowing as he takes a step closer. “I never aged a single day after being with you.” His voice lowers an octave deeper. “I also threw away my glasses after we made love. My eyesight became better than 20/20, before I shifted. Did you know, one wolf in the whole world survived the sorcerer’s enchantment? Only one wolf lived through that spell. Any guesses who that was?”

  I’m beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable with his line of questioning. Licking dry lips, I reply, “Um…you?”

  He nods. “Me.”

  His formidable presence sends a heated rush thro
ugh me. Is this fire in my veins from his otherworldly magic, or from his body? He’s standing so damned close—I can barely think.

  I should resist him.

  My inner monster hungers, my body burns with desire. My demon and I have always craved the magic and energy of shifters. We never have because of the risk. I struggle to deny my heart-pounding lust, but on a difficulty scale of 1 to 10, I’m pushing 100.

  The heavy beat of Stafford’s blood feels as though its flowing through my own veins. I close my eyes, absorbing his potent male energy. I want to do him right here. Right now.

  Does he smell my arousal?

  What a stupid question.

  “Tell me, Jan,” he asks, his voice a low, seductive purr, “what exactly did you do to me?”

  With a deep breath, I open my eyes and shrug. “Nothing.”

  He gives me a doubting glance.

  “Seriously. If I did, it was by accident. I certainly wasn’t aware of doing anything.”

  Stafford keeps his possessive gaze firmly on my own. His brown eyes lighten. “It doesn’t matter.” Smiling with open affection, he shakes his head. “My life changed completely after spending a few hours in your bed. I said it before, but you know what, Jan? I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

  The most powerful paranormals learn to conceal their intentions. It’s a prudent, self-protective instinct. His open honesty crumbles my defenses. Stafford doesn’t hide his longing.

  He wants me.

  He’s so close, I feel heat emanating from his body. The air is thick with desire.

  There’s a lustful look of ownership in his compelling, now wolf-amber eyes. He has the appearance of a wild animal. Primal. Uncontrollable. Maybe a little unhinged? Perhaps this is how a werewolf looks when moonstruck.

  Or how a human wolf looks when he is love struck?

  Uh-oh.

  My breath catches. Stafford St. John wants to keep me. In fact, if this determined alpha has his way, this time I don’t think he’ll let me go.

  Jesus, is he addicted?

  How am I going to get out of this?

  Chapter 34. Giving in to Temptation

  Potent sexual tension lies thick between us. My demon pulses his hunger and lust to feed, adding to my own.

  Stafford’s intensely burning gaze meets mine. “Tell me you want me.” His husky rasp of command makes my breath catch.

  “I want you.”

  So much for strong will and resistance.

  Every muscle in my body tightens. My feminine core clenches and throbs. My breasts swell—they tingle and ache for his touch.

  Damn, I’m so incredibly turned on. A part of me whispers this is dangerous and it’s wrong, but I don’t care. I thought I lusted after Stafford when I first knew him. That’s nothing compared to how I feel now.

  My every sense is heightened by his entrancing wolf magic. The attraction between us is too strong to deny. I’m intoxicated.

  After nearly two centuries of successfully avoiding the temptation of werewolves, I’m finally going to give in. I barely have a choice at this point. I’d rather chew off my own right arm than miss out. Just once I want to know what it’s like to have sex with a powerful supernatural—this powerful supernatural.

  One night together should be safe.

  Stafford can never know of my demon.

  I want Stafford too much to deny myself. I ache to feed on him, his energy, his magic, his primal, male body. I hunger for the sight and the smell of him.

  Yum.

  I hear him breathing over my own quickening breath. My mouth waters at the thought of his taste. I want to touch and be touched by him. Anywhere. Everywhere.

  What am I thinking? I know what I intend to do, but selfishly won’t change my decision. I’m a terrible person! I’m going to love him and leave him—for a second time!

  Stafford’s hands cup my face. Teasing and testing, he bends toward me slowly. His lips press against mine, while his fingers lightly skim over my features.

  Not breaking our kiss, his fingers slowly roam. They trail lightly along my cheekbones to the nape of my neck, gliding sensuously down and over my shoulders, my back, and arms.

  Sighing with pleasure, I welcome his kiss, his embrace. My hands slide up to his shoulders, wrap around his neck. My fingers weave into his thick, silky hair. His hips rock against me, grinding his hard length between my thighs.

  A whimper escapes me. My hands tighten, gripping his hair as I pull him even closer, kissing him with a passion I never knew existed.

  The feel of his arousal against me is almost too much to bear. Oh, he wants me alright. The feeling is mutual. My heart races, my blood heats.

  The purr of his magic trails over our bodies in a soft, hot wind. I moan. Feeding on this powerful supernatural is going to blow my mind.

  His hands slide lower, cupping my ass. I tremble as the hard muscles of his body press against mine. My breath comes too hard. My heartbeat—in sync with his—pounds too fast.

  Stafford the hot, sexy and controlling alpha refuses to rush, even though I urge him on. Reduced to pure need, I try to relax and savor each moment. To let this dominant man-wolf run the show.

  “You’re exactly the same, yet totally different,” I murmur breathlessly.

  “I feel as though I was with you only yesterday.” His voice is husky with lust, yet there’s so much more to it. Affection. Joy.

  I give a yip of surprise when he sweeps me up off my feet, into his arms. Evidently, he’s stronger than ever. He takes me out of the gestation room into a nondescript bedroom close by.

  He flicks a switch which lights a lamp on a bedside table. Jesus, his heady male scent is all over this place. Mmm.

  My eyes lift to his. “You stay here in order to be close to them…to the unborn children.”

  “Yes.”

  I smile. “Ah, I see. Caring, careful, and even willing to lose sleep.” I raise my eyebrows mischievously. “The perfect man. You’ll be a good daddy. Many would say that you’re already being a good daddy.”

  He gives me a boyish grin. “High praise.” He lowers his head in a slight bow. “Thank you.”

  He unbuttons my blouse, lightly kissing my skin as it’s exposed. Feather kisses of pleasure move from my lips, down my neck and shoulders, as he peels my clothes from my body.

  At the same time, I unbutton his shirt. Parting it, I spread my hands over him, stroking the smooth tan skin that covers hard muscle. His chest is beautiful, his dusky nipples draw me to taste, to suckle.

  I ignore the desire. Even without foreplay, neither of us is going to last very long. Not this first time together again.

  Good thing we have all night.

  One precious night.

  As we rush to unbutton each other’s jeans, our heads accidentally and painfully bang together, which cracks us up. We laugh loudly, openly.

  I feel silly, he feels happy. All the while, the connection and heat between us continues to build from a slow simmer to a boil.

  I sense his tension and restraint—feel him holding back.

  I’m working very hard to hold back, too.

  My heart thunders in my ears, my breath catches. I’m drowning in an ocean of intoxicating magic. I’m so hungry! So aroused! This could easily finish in a glorious, three-minute slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

  After so long apart, we both want this to be special.

  More like mind-blowing and explosive.

  We ease our pants and underwear off. Once naked, his heated gaze rakes me slowly, head to toe. He growls his approval. No joke—I swear. I hear a low, guttural growl. It comes from his inner wolf, this rumbling animal sound made by a man.

  He exhales sharply, harshly, yet his words roll over me in a soft caress. “You look fantastic.”

  I reciprocate, my gaze deliberately travels up and down his lean, muscular body. There’s more compact weight on him, more confidence. He hasn’t aged, yet he looks older. More masculine. Power and purpose radiate from him.


  Now, he has presence.

  My brows arch. “You look pretty damned amazing yourself.”

  While we take our time to explore and rediscover each other’s bodies, my hands run over a wound on his ribs. It wasn’t there the last time we were naked together.

  “What’s this?” I frown as I study the scar that mars his skin. “It looks like a gun shot, but I thought you were able to heal from bullet wounds.”

  “Not if they’re made of silver.”

  “Ah, I see. Ouch.”

  My lips curve into a smile as we curl into each other. Naturally. Completely. I gasp as an arousing tongue of magic whispers across my heated flesh. Skin-to-skin contact with this powerful pack alpha takes my breath away.

  The fact he’s Stafford, a man I genuinely care for, makes everything perfect.

  “Oh,” I cry out.

  “Too good.” His voice is low, rough with lust.

  “Stafford…” I want to say I’m desperate—I can’t wait. I ache to have him inside of me right now. Too bad I’ve forgotten how to speak.

  “Mmm.” He pressed his mouth back to mine, urgent now. Passionate and more than ready. This kiss is different. Determined. Possessive. It’s as though he’s trying to brand me as his with the force of it.

  Stafford’s potent masculine scent surrounds me, intoxicating me further, while his solid body pushes deliciously firm against mine.

  How can giving in to temptation feel so good? I shouldn’t be doing this. We’ll both pay for this stolen pleasure for years to come. Neither of us can stop now. It’s as though the future has already been written.

  Meant to be.

  Stafford picks me up, lays me down on the bed. I give a throaty moan as his weight presses between my thighs. Hot, rock-hard, and ready, he rolls his hips against me. When he discovers how drenched I am, he mutters a passionate, approving oath.

  His curse is like sweet music.

  Stafford’s mouth is on mine. Scorching hot. Hard. We feed on each other’s heat and power. My breasts are tight peaks. As his chest rubs roughly across my sensitive nipples, I squirm, and moan in delight.

  Capturing my hands in his, fingers interlaced, he holds them down on either side of my head. He’s in a commanding position that demonstrates his dominance. Large and heavy, he pins me down. The weight of his body upon mine is concentrated, intense. It feels right.