Normal? What is normal for a werewolf?
Regan pulled a face. She didn’t have a bloody clue. Not yet. But she would. Eventually.
She let her gaze move down his bare torso, forcing herself to focus, not on the lean perfection of his body, but on the freshly dressed wounds scattered over his frame and the stitched incision on his side. It had taken Rick about fifteen minutes to find the bullet embedded in Declan. Another twenty-five to remove it and clean up the lacerated mess it had left. The x-ray he’d taken of Declan’s mid-section before the operation had bleached his face of color and his normally laughing, brown eyes had turned almost cold. For a moment Regan thought he wasn’t going to help her, especially when she refused to explain what Rick most obviously saw—a skeletal and muscular structure not entirely human—but after a long look both regretful and irritated, he’d begun slicing into Declan’s flesh with steady hands. Doing what he did best—tending to an animal needing his care.
Regan released a sigh. Was it enough?
Rick wouldn’t tell her. But he’d agreed to take Declan back to his apartment after the surgery, depositing him on the clean, spare bed with gentle care. He’d said nothing to her before he left, just gave her another long sad look as he’d closed the door behind him, leaving her and the still-sedated Declan alone.
Regan sighed again, threading her fingers through Declan’s limp ones.
What next?
Ring Pete? Her parents?
If she did, was she putting them in danger too? Was her brother already in danger? What would she do if Declan didn’t survive? How would her heart handle it?
She closed her eyes. Too many questions and not enough answers.
A dry snort escaped her and she shook her head slightly. At least she now knew how Rick—
Declan’s fingers clamped down on hers and she snapped open her eyes. “Where’s my sister, you flea-ridden fucker?” he snarled, staring up at her with wild and glassy eyes.
“Declan.” She tried to remove her hand from his crushing grip, keeping her voice calm and her actions smooth. Her heart thumped. Bloody hell, he looked savage. And lost. “It’s Regan. You’re going to be okay.”
“Where’s Maggie?” he roared, body arcing as he tried to lunge upward. “What have you done with—”
He slumped backward abruptly, lids fluttering closed, body limp once again.
Regan sucked in a sharp breath, staring, waiting, her fingers free of Declan’s grip, her throat tight. Dear God. What should she do now?
* * * *
Peter slammed his cell to his ear, his heart leaping into frantic flight. “Thomas.”
He studied Yolanda from the corner of his eye. She sat silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing traffic, gnawing on her bottom lip as if the troubles of the whole world weighed down on her. Silence had stretched between them since they’d left the crash. She hadn’t uttered a sound. Hadn’t even looked at him.
“Peter?”
A familiar, male voice sounded down the phone. A worried, familiar, male voice.
Peter frowned, steering his car one-handed as he pressed his cell harder to his ear. “Rick? Is that you?”
“She’s here, mate,” the man on the other end almost whispered, thick worry rolling through each word. Peter’s blood ran cold. “At my apartment. Get your arse here. Now.”
“Is she okay?” Peter demanded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Yolanda shift in her seat, twisting to face him.
“Just get here as soon as you can,” Reggie’s long-time friend muttered, low and harried. “And bring your gun.”
The disconnect tone drilled into Peter’s ear, loud and cold. He lowered the phone and turned to Yolanda, pulse pounding, chest heavy. “I know where Reggie is.”
Yolanda stared at him, every muscle in her body tense, her fingers curling tighter around her own cell phone, eyes sharp. Eager. “Tell me.”
* * * *
His mouth felt dry. Like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Opening his eyes slowly, he peered into the darkness around him. He was in a room and on a bed. Better than the last time he’d regained consciousness, at least. No prickly straw scratching at his neck this time.
He shifted his wrists slightly, waiting for the sound of chains. None came and he smiled.
“Rick offered to cage you.” Regan’s husky voice caressed his ear and he turned his head, finding her standing beside by the bed. “But I said no.”
“Gee, thanks.” He rose up into a sitting position and studied her, frustrated at the shadows of the room hiding the expression on her face. Was she angry? Worried? He couldn’t sense anything. He pulled a quick breath and her soft, delicate scent filled his being like ambrosia. His heartbeat tripled and he swallowed. Had he thought his mouth dry before? “Are you okay, love?”
She placed a gentle hand on his jaw and leant forward, her green eyes hidden in the darkness. “Haven’t I already told you not to call me love?” she whispered, before brushing her lips over his.
Electricity surged through him. Cut through his body like a charge. He reached up and tangled his hands in her hair, holding her to the kiss. Praise Mary, he was never going to let her go. He flicked at her lips with his tongue and she opened to him willingly, her mouth a sweet, warm well that gave him life.
A life so much more now she was in it.
He broke the kiss, pulling away from her a little to stare into her eyes. “God forgive me, Regan. I never meant for you…for McCoy…” He stumbled over the name, chest clenching, jaw bunched.
Regan gave him a small, warm smile. “I know.” She kissed him again, her lips velvet-soft. Forgiving. “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Never.” He smoothed his hands from her hair to cup her face, holding her gaze with his. “Which is why you have to stay here when I leave.”
She cocked an eyebrow, her smile turning sardonic. “You going somewhere?”
“Yes. Nathan Epoc’s private residence.”
She rolled her eyes, stepping backward. “Not this again.”
Pulling the sheet free of his limbs, Declan swung his legs around and placed his feet on the floor, ignoring the slight stab in his side. He’d find out what the vet did to him later. After he got this sorted out once and for all. “Yes, this again. Do you really think I’m going to let you come with me after what happened?”
She folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “And do you really think I’m going to let you out of my sight after working so hard to keep you alive?”
He stood up, wrapping his fingers around her arms, holding her still. Her heat seeped into his hands, up his arms into his body and he dragged in a deep breath. “Don’t you get it?” he growled. “I couldn’t survive if something happened to you, something I could have prevented. Losing you would mean losing myself. Losing who I am, who I’ve become because of you. It would mean the death of my human soul and if that happened I’d become the monster Hollywood so loves to portray—an ancient creature more savage and wild and deadly than any on this earth. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk you. Not after losing Maggie. I can’t.”
Regan regarded him silently for a still moment, her eyes unreadable in the dark room, before the corners of her lips curled gently. “What was I doing when we first met? I mean, as wolf and human?”
Declan frowned. “Trying to save the animals in Epoc’s lab. Why?”
“You were one of those animals, Paddy. I wanted to save you—help you—then and I want to help you now.”
His frown deepened. “It’s not the same, love. Breaking into science labs is a bit different to storming a psychotic werewolf’s personal territory. And if I remember rightly, your rescue mission went belly-up.”
Her smile stretched wider. Grew almost predatory. “There are five things I know about you, Declan O’Connell. You’re Irish. You’re a werewolf. Your sister was murdered, you hate Nathan Epoc and you’re ruled by your emotions.”
He opened his mouth
to argue, but she shook her head, cutting him short. “Let me finish. There are three things you should know about me. I’m stubborn, I hate being cornered and in just under a day I’ve fallen irretrievably, madly and completely in love with you. And if you think I’m going to let you face Epoc and his mongrel alone, that I’m going to risk losing you, you really are monumentally stupid!”
Declan gazed at her, mouth open, heart hammering. Did she say what he thought she said? Did she just say…
“Yes. I did. Now shut up and kiss me. I’ve been sitting here watching you recover for almost half an hour. I think it’s time the attention was reversed after everything you’ve put me through.”
A growl rumbled in Declan’s chest and he yanked her to his body, crushing her mouth with his. Her tongue plunged past his lips immediately, mating with his in untamed strokes and flicks. He met it with equal passion, sucking it into his mouth as he grabbed her ass, pulling her hips harder to his. His cock—rigid and throbbing with desire so blistering hot he could barely breathe—ground against the smooth curve of her mons and she moaned, the raw sound tickling his lips and igniting his lust.
He tumbled backward onto the bed, taking her with him. Her weight pressed upon him, light and hot, an intoxicating force he was now incapable of living without. He raked his hands up her back, snaring the hem of her tank top as he did so, pulling it from her body. Her breasts flattened to his chest, soft and full and exquisite, her pinched, rock-hard nipples rubbing against his. “Christ, I want you so fucking much,” he growled against her lips, thrusting his hips upward, pushing his cock closer to her sex. His lungs felt bereft of air, his blood on fire. He dragged his hands around her rib cage, cupped the glorious swell of her breasts in each, rolling her nipples between his fingers.
She moaned, bending her knees up beside his body, spreading her legs wider, moving her sex up and down the length of his cock in slow strokes. “The feeling’s entirely mutual,” she answered, voice low and shallow.
She touched his chest, hands sliding over his skin, fingernails tracing little circles around his rock-hard nipples. A sigh slipped past her lips, the sound intensely erotic in the silence of the room, the feel of her breath on his skin more so. She dropped her head, flicked at his left nipple with the tip of her tongue. He sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed her hips, holding her still as he moved his hips backward and forward, fucking her sex without penetration, his balls and cock swollen with molten desire.
“I should be petrified,” she whispered, rising slightly to gaze down at him. “After…” Her eyes gleamed in the darkness and she dropped her head, her hair cascading forward, hiding her face. She smoothed her hands over his chest, her right stopping over his heart, pressing to its pounding beat. “But I know you’ll never hurt me.” She lifted her head again. “No matter what you are.”
Declan stared up at her, his blood thick. “Regan,” he breathed, wanting her to hear the tension in his voice. To hear his pain at her memory, as well as his desire for her touch. “I will never do anything but love you.”
She moved, rising up to her knees. For a moment he wondered what she was doing, and a stab of fear shot into his chest. Was she going away? The sound of material rasping against skin made his pulse quicken. His throat grew tight with relieved anticipation and he watched her remove her shorts, sliding them over her hips and down her thighs, shucking them free of her legs.
His stare fell to her exposed pussy and his breath caught. Oh, Sweet Mother of Jesus.
She straddled him again, gazing down into his face for a long moment, the darkness of the room shrouding her in shadows. “Let me love you first,” she murmured as she repositioned herself, her limbs brushing against his hot flesh. She turned around, slick skin against slick skin, presenting him the divine line of her spine.
He reached up, encountering the smooth, firm curve of her ass, the delicate angle of her hips before moving around to the flat plane of her stomach. His heartbeat tripled. She was facing away from him on all fours, her body suspended above his. “Regan,” he said again, hearing the tremble in his voice.
She dipped her head, something silky feathering over his bare hip and across his thigh. He sucked in a ragged breath, realizing it was her hair. Fingers played along his legs, traveling down and up their length in slowly delicious lines drawing closer and closer to his rigid shaft with each journey, tangling ever so briefly in the tight thatch of his pubic hair before beginning their trip anew. And all this while, as her hands set fire to his blood, her hair tickled his burning flesh and her breath fanned his throbbing cock.
“Jesus, Regan. What are you doing to me?”
She didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. Her breath grew hotter on his cock, her fingers cupped his balls and her tongue flicked over the tiny slit at the end of his shaft.
Pure pleasure crashed through him. Intense and consuming. He arched beneath her, driving his head into the mattress, digging his fingers into the softness of her belly. “Oh, yes!”
Her tongue left his cock, replaced by a cool stream of air he knew blew gently past her lips. It sent ribbons of rapture through his body. Made his pulse quicken, his blood roar. Christ, he was drowning. Before he even touched her.
Touch her. Taste her.
He smoothed his hands over her hips, her ass, her skin like satin under his palms and dipped his fingers into her wet slit.
She gasped, sharp and shallow. The noise excited him and he delved deeper, wriggling one finger, another and another into the gripping slickness of her pussy. She arched her back, pushing her sex onto his hand, her own fingers wrapping around his cock in a hold both harsh and exquisite, stroking and pumping up and down its length until his balls felt ready to burst.
He sucked in a steadying breath and the musky scent of Regan’s pleasure filled his nose. It was too much. He pulled his fingers from her and replaced them with his tongue, flicking and teasing at the hot folds of her sex. Seeking the small nub of her clit.
She bucked against his mouth, fingers squeezing his cock. “Yes!”
He lapped at her, the taste of her cream on his tongue a sensation he could not comprehend. There was power in it. Power and existence and intoxicating rapture. He drove his tongue deeper into her sex, wanting to feel the centre of her heat. Wanting to bring her to the pinnacle of desire with him. Where she should be.
Just when he thought he couldn’t wait any longer, that the pulsing strokes of her hand on his cock were going to push him over the edge, she took him into her mouth. Her tongue slid over its eager head, her lips wrapped around his solid length completely and she sucked.
He drove his head back into the mattress again, clenching at her hips as he bucked against her mouth. “Jesus Christ!”
She sucked at his cock, drew her mouth up and down, flicked at the sensitive web of skin just below its head with such savage need he cried out, sinking his nails into her flesh. Her tongue wrapped around his turgid length before she plunged lower again, lips pressing to the swollen sac of his balls, fingers squeezing his ass cheeks.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
The words tumbled through his head, a fevered echo growing louder and louder with each sucking force Regan’s mouth bestowed on his cock. He was going to come. He couldn’t stop it. No more than he could stop loving the woman driving him rapidly to release. He couldn’t stop it, but he could take her with him. Wanted to take her with him. Wanted her to feel what he was feeling. Wanted her to tumble over the precipice with him.
He raked his hands up the curve of Regan waist and over her rib cage, seeking out the heavy swell of her breasts, teasing her tight nipples with his fingers as he returned his lips and tongue to their lavish attention of her sex. Flicking at her clit, drawing it into his mouth and biting on its tiny formation.
She pushed her sex harder to his face and moaned around his cock. The soft vibrations on his shaft sent ripples of concentrated bliss into his balls, ass and spine. Liquid heat erupted. He rammed his hips upward, thru
sting deeper into Regan’s mouth, feeling like his life-force pumped through him, from him. Rendering him utterly weak and totally invincible at once as it left him in explosive, surging spurts.
She took it all, swallowing his seed, feeding the scorching pleasure consuming him body and soul, her hands cupping and massaging his balls every time he bucked, her mouth milking him until he dropped back to the mattress, drained and slicked with sweat.
His breath burst past his lips in short, ragged pants and he closed his eyes, struggling to bring his heart under control. His wolf lingered below the surface, its heightened senses thrumming, its desire so powerful his cock continued to throb.
“Finish me, Declan,” Regan murmured against his groin. Her lips, moments ago having rendered him spent, began to explore his hips, the inner-flesh of his thigh, her tongue leaving a wicked, hot trail over his skin. “I’m so goddamn close…”
He felt himself stiffen, felt his still-turgid shaft spasm with eager want as Regan’s wet, masterful tongue investigated his testicles. His breath caught in his raw throat and his hands flattening against her ass, her waist.
“Regan,” he choked, stunned at how quickly she had returned him to the edge. Werewolf or no. “Regan, I want to be inside you. I need…”
She raised her head, the night air cool where her wet mouth had been. She moved, straddling his hips, her breasts brushing his face as she slid down his body, nudging the straining head of his cock with the moist lips of her pussy. “…to make me reel,” she finished, gazing into his face.
He nodded, nostrils flaring. “Yes.”
She planted her hands on either side of his torso, shifted her weight ever so slightly and impaled herself on his cock. He heard her sigh his name as he filled her, a moan in her voice. She gripped him with muscles that felt like hot fingers, and tangled her hands in his hair.
Savage Retribution Page 17
