Naughty Cupid Trilogy

by Pillow Michelle M.

  “We were just having a bit of fun,” one of the men answered, his gray eyes casting down sheepishly. “He was bragging how he wasn’t afraid of the--”

  “So you challenged him to my door?” Ilar roared, incensed. “Do you think this is a game? He nearly got himself killed and he wanted to kill the woman!”

  The soldiers looked at their leader in disbelief, thinking him to be overly possessive of the female.

  “It’s just a human,” a blond one tried to defend.

  “Just a human?” Ilar barked, gently laying the wolf down at their feet. “You have no idea what this human is capable of. She’ll take your mind from you. Make you insane! She’s cursed and she will curse any who come near her. This is not a game.”

  “But, you--” one of the men began, skeptical.

  “You think me unharmed?” Ilar snarled. His eyes turned wildly at them and he balled his hands into fists. Instantly, they understood their mistake. Ilar wasn’t so unaffected as they had believed. “There is a prison full of your brethren that are as unharmed as I am!”

  “Yes, Commander,” they all mumbled, nodding at the reprimand. They looked despairingly at the fallen man.

  Ilar placed his hands on his naked hips. His eyes glared with molten gold as he stared them down. He knew they’d just been teasing each other, daring the youngest to prove himself. “Get him to the dungeons with the others and lock him away where he can do no harm. And so help me, the next one of you that comes to my door without being summoned will not be leaving it! Is that understood?”

  The men nodded, leaning over to pick up the unconscious wolf. Ilar growled at them, a truly bestial sound.

  “And stay out of this hall,” Ilar yelled to their departing backs. Spinning on his heels, he stopped, seeing Larus watching from the side passage. Ilar’s nostrils flared. Larus said nothing, turning away from him.

  Ilar took the tower steps two at a time. When he reached the door, he forced himself to slow. Taking a deep breath, he tried the latch. Rhiannon had obeyed him. The door was locked from within.

  Now that he was alone, he took another deep breath. He’d been worried when he first heard the young guard’s attack. He didn’t want to tell Larus, but there was bloodlust in the warrior’s eyes--the ancient curse of the lycan, one that wasn’t stirred too often. Ilar frowned. He’d felt it too, only he didn’t want to admit it. Even in his dreams he’d tasted the drop of blood he’d pierced from her mouth.

  Whatever the curse, it was getting stronger and harder to resist.

  Quietly, he knocked on the door, “Rhiannon, open the door.”

  He heard a small shuffle and then silence.

  “Rhian?” he called, trying to keep the raggedness out of his words, though he wanted nothing more than to plow through the wood and grab her to him, making sure she was safe. “It is I, Ilar. You are safe. He will not harm you.”

  “Ilar?” she called shakily. Suddenly, the door was unlatched and she moved to peek through the crack. Seeing that it was truly him, she sighed in heavy relief.

  Ilar pushed his way in, turning to lock the door behind him. Rhiannon blushed to see his tightly muscled body still without clothes.

  “Is he...?” she began. Biting at her lips, she moaned faintly. “Is he dead?”

  “No,” Ilar stated, studying her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she almost seemed relieved to hear it. “But he won’t be coming back here.”

  Rhiannon nodded. “Is it because he hates humans that he wants me dead?”

  Ilar frowned. He didn’t want to tell her the truth, or else she might find a way to turn her charm against them to escape. If she even tried to seduce them, she’d conquer them all. Her timid fear was the only defense they had against her.

  Rhiannon took his silence to mean that she was right in assuming so. There had been so much passion in the wolf. She had no idea they hated her so much.

  “Ilar,” she began, tears in her eyes. “I want to help you. I want to find who brought me here. I’ll tell you everything. Only, in return, I’ll have your promise that I’ll be brought home unharmed when this is over.”

  Ilar stood silent, studying her. Such a promise really wasn’t his to give. “I promise to protect you.”

  Rhiannon almost swooned with relief to hear it. She believed him. Her legs gave out and she sat on the bed. “Why do you hate humans so much?”

  “It is an old feud,” he murmured, not wanting to get into it. “Your kind tried to destroy mine. There was a battle and afterwards our worlds separated.”

  “I haven’t heard of such a battle,” Rhiannon said in disbelief.

  “It was nigh three hundred years ago,” Ilar answered. “In the human world, things have a way of becoming myths over such a time.”

  “How do you know it’s true? Perhaps it has become a myth in your world, as well,” she reasoned.

  Ilar gave a short, humorless laugh. “I was there.”

  Rhiannon’s eyes widened as she got his meaning. She licked her lips, somewhat glancing down his body before catching herself. All she managed was, “Oh.”

  Ilar noticed that she tried hard not to look at him. A slow smile came to his lips.

  “Does my nakedness bother you?” he asked boldly, his tone lowering into a seductive murmur. She was so easy to tease and he found himself enjoying making her blush. Lycan women were as aggressive sexually as the men. To see this timid human hiding from her desire amazed and fascinated him.

  Rhiannon shivered. Her mouth worked to answer. “I wasn’t going to say... anything, but you should cover that... yourself.”

  Her cheeks turned a bright, fiery red. Ilar’s body continued to stir now that the conflict was over. He took a step closer to her. She stiffened. He grinned.

  “It isn’t... ” Rhiannon moaned, making a weak sound in the back of her throat. She tried to stand as he neared. But as he stepped in her way, she was forced to sit back down. Completely aware that his hips were dangerously close to her face, she turned from him and leaned away. In a whisper, she finished ineffectually, “proper.”

  Ilar grinned. He knew she was trying hard to ignore his erection. He wasn’t as embarrassed about his body as she clearly was. His desire was a most natural occurrence--well, aside from the curse on her, it was natural. He couldn’t help it or himself, as he knew he just had to provoke her. His accent grew thick with need, as he inquired, “Do you want to touch me? Do you want to feel me?”

  Rhiannon gasped, turning her round eyes to his mirthful ones. Her lips pulled stiffly, as she obviously lied, “N-no!”

  Ilar took another step forward. Whispering down to her, he let his finger hover near her face without feeling her. “No one will know of it. Go ahead, touch my body.”

  Oh, but it was a tempting offer. Rhiannon swallowed nervously. It was an offer she wouldn’t dare to take. She glanced at him again, seeing his wide smile. He was teasing her!

  “Touch me,” he urged. His delightfully built arms pulled across his chest, challenging her, daring her to turn weakly away.

  “Fine,” she huffed. With a slap, she hit his naked stomach hard and shoved him back. Hissing under her breath, she said, “There, now go get dressed!”

  “Do you not wish to look at me?” he murmured, stepping once more before her, completely unharmed by her blow. He let his arms fall to the side, offering himself up for inspection. “Look your fill, Rhian. I don’t mind. I want you to look at me. I want to see what my body does to you.”

  “I-I...” Rhiannon’s throat went dry and she couldn’t stop herself from accepting his invitation. Her gaze met his dark, piercing eyes. A slow wolfish smile curved his lips, drawing her eyes to his delightfully wicked mouth. His long hair fell over his back and chest in gloriously long waves. He held still and her eyes drifted hesitantly lower. His formidable chest strained with muscles beneath the sun-bronzed flesh. She remembered too easily the feel of its hardness pressed to her skin.

  She swallowed, closing her eyes briefly before moving them dow
n. Ilar thought he would explode at the rate her gaze traveled, taking in every nuance of him. Rhiannon was tense, waiting for a laugh or a sneer that never came. The rippling movement of his stomach caught her attention, moving with each deep breath he drew. A trail of dark hair led her down from his navel to his most private of areas. His arousal was full, straining with little veins bulging down the smooth sides, embedded in fine soft hair. Two heavy globes hung underneath. They too appeared to strain. Her mouth opened and she was unable to draw her eyes away.

  “May I look at you?” he asked after a long moment, surprised and pleased that she didn’t back away from his challenge so far.

  Rhiannon’s eyes finally managed to seek something other than his thick arousal as they moved to his handsome face. His dark eyes shifted with gold flecks, glowing with what could have been humor or something much, much darker in purpose. Thinking he’d gone mad, she said, “You are looking at me.”

  “May I look at all of you?” he persisted, coming closer. His eyes were a little dazed and his features pulled strangely. Before she knew what was happening, he had his lips gently to hers and was pushing her back on the bed with brushing kisses to her lips and jaw. Groaning against her, he inquired, “May I taste you, Rhian? May I taste all of you?”

  Rhiannon jolted in surprise, whimpering lightly. Ilar dipped his tongue to hers, massaging her mouth at great length without pressing his lips deeply to hers. She shivered, gasped, moaned. Only his mouth felt her. He tried to burn his passion into her body through her swollen lips.

  Rhiannon fell back on the bed and away from his kiss, too weak to remain up. His eyes raged as they pierced down into her. He was so handsome, so breathtaking. Her heart sped in wicked excitement. Even though she knew it was wrong, she didn’t want him to stop.

  Slowly, his head tilted and he looked down over her side. He fitted his hands lightly to her hip, trailing over her leg. He inched her skirt up, baring her calves. Her hair spilled forth over her shoulders, haloing around her head. Her body looked so soft, so warm and inviting.

  “May I feel you, Rhian?” he asked, his eyes smoldering into her in their seriousness. He moved his fingers to start a haphazard journey up her inner leg, reaching to the bend of her knee before falling flat to her skin. His caresses became deeper as he massaged his way to the awaiting apex of her thighs. “Tell me you want me, Rhian. Tell me you want me to come to you.”

  “Ilar,” she gasped. “Oh, you mustn’t--ah!”

  He inched his fingers higher, watching, smelling her response to him. Her body arched slightly as he intimately stroked into her. Her fists tightened along her sides as if she would keep them from reaching to him.

  “Shhh,” he said quietly, drawing closer. He worked his hand along the joining of her leg and hip, teasing her nether hair as he moved. He watched her, his eyes hot. He swallowed, his nostrils flaring with his deep breaths as he fought for control. “I just want to feel you, Rhian. I just want to touch you.”

  As he said the words, his finger slipped to her slit. To his masculine pleasure, she was hot and wet without having to be coaxed. Slowly, he traced the delicate lips, parting her folds so he could feel the hidden silk of her body.

  Rhiannon delicately jerked at the feel of his strong hand. She beckoned him down to her, reaching her hands to him, wanting to explore him. She was mindless to anything but the hand that moved against her, stirring a terrible ache that was so pleasurable in its torment.

  “Ilar,” she moaned. She found his neck and lodged her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, seeking his heat. Offering her breasts, she arched her back only to rub her hips up into him. She drew him to her. His lips found her throat, kissing beneath her ear, biting the tip. He inched his finger to delve deep inside her.

  Ilar groaned. Her thighs stiffened along his hand, trying to stop him. She was no match for his strength. Slowly, he pushed forward, all the time licking and kissing at her throat and jaw, nearly consuming her with his passion for her. He let her hear his ragged breath as it fell hot against her flesh. He eased his finger to stroke her, liking the way her muscles gripped it tightly. She clutched at his shoulders, pulling and pushing in confusion.

  “Ah,” he sighed, liking the feel of her very much. “Relax yourself to me, Rhian. I want to feel deeper. Let my finger glide in the cream your body has made for me.”

  Rhiannon tried to obey. It was a glorious agony his finger wrought. Her breath caught as he coaxed himself within her, his finger beginning to move, withdrawing.

  “Oh, Ilar, please,” she begged, not knowing what she asked for. She drew over his shoulders and arms, urging him to her, gripping his flesh.

  Ilar grunted. His body pulled taut. When he again delved inside, he used two fingers breaking her even more to him. “Ah, you’re so tight. I want to stretch you.”

  “Ilar,” she trembled against the fullness, becoming aware. He stroked her, pulling and pushing with agonizing slowness. The fingers inside her curled and moved. His thumb was circling her top arch, flicking at the sensitive clit. “We... you can’t do this. You have to stop.”

  She was right, of course.

  “Ugh,” he grumbled, pulling back. Her cream was on his fingers, sliding easily on his flesh. He took his mouth from her neck. Harsh from denial, he looked down into her impassioned features and agreed, “Fine.”

  Rhiannon jolted in surprise. He wasn’t actually supposed to stop! Now he decided to listen to her?

  Ilar pulled back from her. The look on her face was almost worth the agonizing pain in his gut. Almost. But it wasn’t like he could finish this little game like he wanted to.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, breathless. She watched his naked body cross over to his trunk. With a toss of his arms, he was dressed in dark blue and pinning a circular brooch at his shoulder. Rhiannon quickly covered her legs, wondering at the spasm of anger in her womb.

  When he turned to her, he said, “I go to check on the fallen soldier.”

  In truth, he was going to get away from her. He was a man of infinite control, but even his willpower wore thin when he was around her. One more torturous second within her sweet, tight passage and he would have taken her--willing or no.

  * * * *

  Cupid watched Ilar coming down from the tower. The troll glared hotly at the lycan as he rubbed the tip of his bruised nose. He crouched down and hid behind the leg of a table as he waited for the Commander to pass by.

  All the affected men had been locked away so there was no fun to be had outside, no fighting or combat. Ilar proved himself immune to the woman, or else he’d have mated to her already. The potion’s effect should not have taken so long. The only way Ilar could have resisted was if he and the ugly human were soul mated, but even then he should have been mindless with passion. Cupid laughed. Now, that would be funny. Not that he wished to have a hand in finding Ilar a soul mate.

  Waddling across the empty hall, he looked up at the tower stairs. Pulling on the back of his breeches, he vigorously scratched his inflamed backside. When the itch wouldn’t be tamed, he reached beneath the dirty material with his tiny, gnarled hand and began dancing in circles to get the job done. His feet kicked as high as they could go as he hopped about the clean stone floor.

  When he’d finished, Cupid frowned, rubbing his beady eye. He had no desire to see the ugly mortal again, but it looked as if he had no choice. Lord Ilar kept her locked away tighter than the leprechauns locked up their precious gold--and Cupid should know, he’d tried to steal some once.

  Chapter Five

  Rhiannon paced the floor of Ilar’s bedchamber, trying to get control of her emotions. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered what his body felt like against hers. She could still taste his kiss on her lips and, though she told herself she hated every wet minute of it, she wanted to try more. Oh, and how she wished his hand hadn’t stopped!

  Halting in her frantic movements, she stared defiantly at the firelight. Did she actually just think that? Did she actually
wish to have the nieten touch her? To her horror, she knew the answer was yes, she did. It was so wrong, but she liked his frightening power. She liked that he wasn’t like the men of her world. There was a raw power to him, as if passion boiled beneath a refined surface. Though refined wasn’t exactly the right word either. She saw the gentleman in him, but wondered how much of it was real and how much an illusion to hide the creature he carried within. Rhiannon liked the bold way he stared at her with liquid dark eyes that swam with golden swirls. Her father would be horrified if he ever discovered what she’d allowed to happen. He’d turn her from the castle, from her family.

  “Ah, so sad, little sparrow caught in her cage, cannot fly away. Poor, poor sparrow.”

  Rhiannon froze, not making any sudden movements. She knew that taunting, rolling voice. It pricked at her memory.

  “Trapped in her cage, wings broken by a beast.”

  “Who are you?” Rhiannon asked, cautious. She kept her eye steadily on the flames, trying to reach out with her senses for movement or sound. There was only the continued grating of the voice.

  “A friend,” the irritable resonance answered, nearing a cackle at the words. “A friend come to take you from your cage, broken sparrow.”

  “Show yourself if you are truly my friend,” Rhiannon demanded. Her heart pounded. She tried not to think of Ilar or the pain she suddenly felt at leaving him.

  “Turn around and you will see,” the callous voice said, “and I will take you home.”

  Rhiannon slowly obeyed, her eyes gliding over the chamber to the bed. She gasped, pulling back in horror. Lounging on the bed, his grubby feet kicked out, was a squat, little, wrinkly creature unlike any she’d ever seen. Her nose curled as she caught a horrific scent wafting from him.

  “What are you?” she asked, her brow furrowed in disgust.

  “I’ve come to free you from your prison, sparrow,” the repulsive creature said.