Naughty Cupid Trilogy

by Pillow Michelle M.

  She didn’t need to look behind her to know what the gigantic bed looked like. The fairies had changed the bedding, taking away the covers dirtied by her body. Already its soft depths and rich texture were burned shamefully into memory. What exactly was Ilar doing to her when she woke up? She was sure there was no need for his lips to be where they were or for his battering ram to be next to her womanly area. Rhiannon gulped, barely able to even think the words. Though, strange as it seemed, the feel of him hadn’t been entirely disagreeable.

  Rhiannon balked. What was she thinking! It wasn’t pleasant to have a stranger, and a nieten at that, touch her. It was horrible--horrible and wrong and shameful and wet. Yeah, wet was bad--really, really bad. Wasn’t it?

  “Oh, Rhian, you are a shameful, wicked, evil, wretched girl!” Her words were heated, as she pressed her palm against the offending breast that refused to stop aching. As if her upper body wasn’t bad enough with its thoughts and feeling, her lower body wasn’t to be outdone. It throbbed and heated in what she could only surmise was a strange excitement.

  Reluctantly standing from the warmth of the tub as a self-punishment for her impious thoughts, Rhiannon began the long task of wringing out her waist length hair. Spying what looked like a thick comb on the fireplace mantel, she reached for it, still standing in the filthy water.

  The comb had tangles of dark brown hair trapped in the tines. Wrapping an end around her finger, she slowly pulled the strand up for view in the firelight. It drifted, sticking intimately to her breast and stomach, the long, dark trail contrasting her paler skin. Shivering, Rhiannon shook her head and said to herself, “Wicked, wicked girl!”

  * * * *

  Ilar should have knocked before opening his bedchamber door. He knew it even before he reached for the thick oak. On the other hand, it was his bedchamber. Why should he knock before going into his own chamber?

  Scheming did have its privileges.

  Ilar grinned as he was rewarded for his lack of propriety with an ample view of his naked prisoner’s luscious backside. A glorious abundance of drying blonde curls showered over her shoulders, gliding in sinful tantalization down her narrow back to brush atop her waist. Covered in mud, he hadn’t expected her skin to be the color of fresh cream. Nor did he expect it to be so damnably smooth. He instantly wanted to lick her skin, tasting the whole length of it.

  Ilar could see firelight glowing golden between her thighs, thighs that were parted ever so naturally. Smelling the perfume of her enchantment, he groaned. His eyes found and held to her backside. His mouth opened, wanting to just take a little bite of that adorable, supple, ever so round...

  “What do you think you are doing?” Rhiannon screeched. Instantly, she dove for cover behind the bed and crawled over the floor to the far side. “So much for being treated as a lady! Though I suppose I should hardly expect you to have manners.”

  Ilar sighed in loud disappointment. He hadn’t been done looking. Even though he had taken care of his needs after leaving her by stroking himself to release, he was again aroused to the point of aching.

  “Do all beasts lack manners or just you?” she insisted, angry. Her head popped out from behind the bed as she glared at him. The red staining her cheeks was more from self-consciousness than anything else.

  Ilar’s throat went dry. Her blue eyes were wide, soulful. Even in their anger, they had an alluring call to them. Her lips were full--made for kissing. Her nose was straight, proud. Her cheekbones were carved high in her oval face. She lifted herself up to stretch across the bed and grabbed at a gown the fairies had left for her. For a moment, he watched her breasts drag over his bed before she hid once more from view. From where he stood, he could see she tried to dress from her place on the floor.

  “This is my bedchamber,” he answered belatedly.

  “A gentleman would knock first!” she fumed, jerking her arms into soft sleeves. “You knew I was here. You ordered the bath.”

  The green material fitted tightly to her skin and she struggled as it stuck to her damp body. Truthfully, his possessive look excited her. She’d been staring at the dark strand of his hair when he’d walked in. It was adhered to her flesh, so she could see what it looked like circling around her breast. Reaching beneath her skirt, she found the strand and pulled it off of her stomach. Standing once she was decently covered, she jerked her hair off her back to lie over the gown. “You are fortunate I will not demand to have you reprimanded!”

  A wolfish grin crept onto his face at her last comment. In a low tone that sent shivers racking her already frail body, he said, “You soon forget, my lady. You have no power here.”

  “Surely even you can recognize the rules of propriety.” She put her hands on her hips. “Or is your land so barbaric you cannot act as a gentleman?”

  “Even you, mortal, can recognize that I am your only friend in this barbaric land,” he easily returned. The dress the fairies had found for her was stunning in its simplicity. It hugged dangerously tight to her curves, outlining her body to the point his imagination had to do little to see it. Good thing it modestly covered her cleavage, or else he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from ripping it off her.

  Rhiannon frowned. He really had to quit looking at her like that, licking his lips as if she were a pastry. It was doing strange things to her limbs.

  “What will it take to negotiate my freedom?” she asked carefully. Fighting with him would get her nowhere. She’d just have to remember he was half animal and make allowances for his lack of manners. She was a lady and she would teach this mutt to heel if it were the last thing she ever did. His arrogance was not acceptable.

  “You don’t have the power to negotiate, nor are you in the position.” He strolled past her to sit on one of the high backed chairs, eyeing her with forced dispassion. “It has been decided that I’m your master until the reason for your presence here is discovered. Do you have anything you would like to tell me to help expedite your departure?”

  “I wish you would go to the devil,” she snapped, not liking his highhanded tone one bit.

  “Do you have anything you would like to tell me about how you came to be here?” he clarified, steepling his fingers lazily under his chin as he studied her. His tone was condescending, as if he dealt with an unruly child.

  If she had a knife, she’d cut his hair. The overlong length really was a distraction. He’d braided the sides back and up to keep them from his devilishly handsome face. Rhiannon’s cheeks flamed an angry red.

  “If I knew how I got here,” she said through clenched teeth, “then I would know how to get home, wouldn’t I? And we would not be having this aggravating conversation.”

  His eyes narrowed in warning at her tone. This interrogation wasn’t going as easily as he’d hoped.

  “For all I know, you kidnapped me,” she charged.

  “So you were kidnapped,” he said. Now we might be getting somewhere.

  “Obviously,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. Her face hardened as she glowered at him.

  Or not, he mused.

  “And the mud?” Ilar asked. He rubbed his finger along his lower lip. “Are you always that... unclean?”

  Her jaw dropped open in affront. He grinned.

  “You have to be the rudest... thing I have ever met!” Her fists found her waist as she stared him down.

  Thing? Ilar shot to his feet. He could not tolerate these insults. It was time she learned to curb her ignorance in his presence. Charging forward, he grabbed onto her arms and shook violently. “Do not forget that this thing is all that keeps you from harm. Should I decide you are not worthy of my charity, I’ll throw you to the wolves, so to speak. Let you fend off their advances. The smell of your fear leaks from you and they will tear you apart before you even take two steps.”

  Rhiannon’s mouth dropped slightly, her eyes rounding in instant horror. Ilar didn’t know why, but he was sorry to see it. It would seem she really had no liking for his kind. Her prejudice was like a slap
in the face.

  “Please, my lord,” she said, staring up at him, pleading with her troubled gaze. “Don’t do that. I will not forget that it is you who keeps me from the wolves.”

  Ilar frowned, not liking the effect her soft words had on his brain. The erotic scent of her curse eased its way into him, tantalizing his senses. His already taut body grew even more so to see her vulnerability.

  “I have done nothing wrong,” she rushed. She didn’t move to touch him and his hands grew almost tender as he kept hold. She didn’t pull away. His magnetic eyes trapped her. “Please, Lord Ilar, I just want to go home now. My father will be worried about me. I don’t know anything about this. I just woke up and I was here in your world. Won’t it be better for everyone if I just left? It’s not like anyone from my home would believe me if I said where I had been.”

  “You cannot be permitted to leave,” Ilar said, his tone hard, final. A part of him didn’t wish to see her go. He was sure the feeling was the spell’s doing. Nevertheless, it felt very real. Softly, he added, “Not until we discover what and who brought you here and why.”

  Until they knew the nature of her curse, they couldn’t risk sending her back. If the spell was strong enough, the others might be tempted to follow her to the mortal realm. Such a thing would be disastrous. It would be their realm’s undoing. He wouldn’t see more bloodshed. Three hundred years had not been enough to erase the memory of the carnage the last time their two races had battled. He doubted humans would ever be ready to accept the lycans into their midst.

  “Please, Ilar,” Rhiannon asserted, knowing before the words came out that he wouldn’t be swayed on this point. She lifted her hand, lightly letting it rest atop his chest. His heart beat firmly under her palm and she shivered as the soft length of his hair stirred near her fingers.

  Drawing her hand back, she swallowed nervously. He was too close to her. His masculine smell affected her reasoning. She looked almost dreamily at his lips and her eyelids dipped slightly.

  “Maybe, my coming to be here was a mistake, an accident,” she said. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything is wrong. I don’t have the power to do any harm to you, assuredly you must see that.”

  Oh, but she was wrong. Ilar saw the way her eyes melted and dipped with a soft teasing light. It called to him, beckoned him, as did the scent of her body. He heard the howling in his head, not lessened by distance or time. Already she had wreaked more havoc on his world than he’d seen in a long, long time.

  Communication was down between the lycans. The men were at odds, ready to kill each other off just to be rid of competition for her hand--brothers, best friends, old men, it didn’t matter. Only the mated were unaffected. Unfortunately, mated lycans were rare these days. If she even tried to wield her power over his kind, she would be successful. She could call the entire Lycan Guard to her control and they wouldn’t question her. She was more dangerous to his kind than she realized.

  Naturally being a creature of strong sensuality, Ilar couldn’t resist the pout on her lips nor the look in her lovely eyes. With a groan, he grabbed her up. Pulling her to him, he instantly opened his mouth wide, forcing a hot kiss to her mouth.

  Rhiannon gasped in surprise at the suddenness of his passion. She hadn’t expected it. She shook as his tongue tried to pry her lips apart. His teeth dug into her tender flesh when she didn’t readily give him entrance, demanding she open up to him.

  A sharp tooth nicked her lip. Ilar groaned in approval as he tasted the blood from the cut. It called his primal nature to the forefront. He sucked her lip between his, sipping the wine of her body. His kiss deepened, consuming, claiming, taking no prisoners, as his hot tongue conquered and massaged every last inch of her mouth.

  Rhiannon was frightened. She tried to strike his arm, but it was as if he didn’t feel her. His mouth was having a dizzying effect on her head, weakening her will to resist him. He sucked ferociously at her tongue until it slipped into his hot mouth. Her fist hit lighter and lighter until it stopped altogether. She gripped her fingers into his draping tunic. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart thundered, calling out to him.

  Ilar’s hands were on her back, holding her to his chest. She burned, eager to discover what it was he’d been doing to her body when she awoke with him between her legs. His mouth stole her air until she thought she might pass out. Tentatively, she tried to return his kiss, but his mouth was too much in control to let her take the lead.

  Just when she was sure her world would darken from lack of air, his lips let her go. His eyes filled with liquid gold, promising things she didn’t understand. His nostrils flared. Unfamiliar sensations swirled in her blood. She tasted her blood on her lips, salty and strange.

  Ilar growled, pressing her back until she hit the wall. He dug his hands at her gown, lifting it, baring her smooth legs to his touch. Drawn to feel her heat, he slipped his fingers between her thighs, rubbing insistent and strong over her mound of hair. She was wet and oh so ready for him. He smelled it, felt it, needed it. He moved to lift the bottom of his draping tunic, his arousal ready to push inside her warm body as his mouth had her lips.

  Rhiannon gasped at his forceful ways. He dipped to her neck and, as his lips parted, she saw fangs. Thinking he meant to bite her neck as he had her lips, she screamed. “Stop! Help!”

  Ilar pulled back. Her cry echoed in his head. He wasn’t the only one who had heard her plea. The mind link jumped with a feverish rampage as the soldiers grunted and growled in an effort to answer her call. They became furious, screaming in his head, howling viciously, snarling and snapping, threatening him--their Commander--with insults and warnings.

  Ilar dropped his hands from her and took a shaky step back. It wasn’t enough. He could still smell her, sense her, taste her blood. His loins throbbed, aching, needing, seeking fulfillment, brimming painfully with a desire only her body could sate. This time stroking himself wouldn’t be enough. She was in his blood and there was no getting her out. It was beyond obsession. It was beyond reason. Never should a man be made to feel such longing, such burning insanity. He shook his head, nearly storming to the door to get away from her.

  His eyes shot golden fire as he turned around to look at her. He was tortured, confused. The howling wouldn’t stop. Even now, his body urged him to go and finish his claiming by any means necessary. He moved toward her, only to hold back in an effort of great restraint. Seeing the blood staining her trembling lips, he said hoarsely, “I will have food delivered.”

  Ilar moved as if to leave, only to pause, taking great breaths of air. Rhiannon shivered. She wanted to reach for him but kept back. Her limbs felt cold. She didn’t understand what happened inside her body when he was near. All she knew was that she wanted the man-beast to continue what he’d been doing before she panicked.

  “Ilar?” She finally moved as if to touch his rigid shoulder, eager to draw him back into her arms, eager to feel him as he had her. He was breathing heavily, as if in pain. A shudder moved over his spine at her word. He refused to look at her. His body fascinated her, aroused her curiosity beyond measure. Curse her feminine outcries away!

  “No!” The gruff sound made her recoil in fear. The beast was in that voice. She backed away from him. Without further comment, he slammed out the door, locking her inside.

  Rhiannon felt her wet lips, stained with crimson, swollen from his kisses. She sank wearily to her knees. What was that all about? Was she being punished? If so, it was the best punishment she’d ever had. Shaking, she swallowed and licked at her lips, still panting as she tried to still her racing heart. In the future, she would much rather he just beat her.

  * * * *

  Ilar’s body was stiff from denial. He resented every aching, torturous throb of it. If he thought it would help, he would have tried to ease himself from the pain. But, he knew there was no use. He could self-pleasure himself a million times and with one thought of Lady Rhiannon, he would rise anew. He didn’t like his will being taken away from him like this
. He didn’t like attacking women without thought. He wasn’t a monster! But he had acted like one.

  Closing his eyes, he still felt her, smelled her, heard her. He tasted her blood on his lips, flavored with a tingle of hesitant longing. She wasn’t immune to him. She might be terrified, but she wasn’t immune. It didn’t please him to know that if he wanted, he could seduce her to his bed. It made the temptation to do so that much worse.

  “How is your prisoner?” Larus chuckled darkly, seeing his Commander’s flaring nostrils and blood tinged eyes. By the howling in his head, he knew nothing had happened--well, at least nothing had finished--between the human prisoner and her lycan keeper.

  “We should lock the men in the prisons,” Ilar stated gruffly. It was a bold suggestion. His eyes swam with gold and he didn’t bother to control it. He didn’t have the energy left in him.

  Larus lifted a brow. He uncrossed his legs and moved to stand. The main hall was quiet. He had banished all men from that half of the castle to separate them from the siren. It hadn’t helped. Their cries grew each passing hour. “Do you think you overreact?”

  “She’s too potent. The cries get worse,” Ilar said, tortured. He pressed his hands into his temples, trying to drown out the sounds. The only time he had any peace from the screaming was when he touched Rhiannon, and that only brought a worse torture to him. “You have not smelled her so you cannot understand. The curse grows, strengthens. We need to imprison the guards who have been affected by her, if only to protect them from themselves. Their minds grow obsessed with her at each passing moment.”

  “And you?” Larus asked, eyeing Ilar’s rigid body and pumping fists, as they clenched and unclenched in growing agitation. The Commander jerked as he moved. He fought hard for his control. “Do you need to be imprisoned?”