by Moira Rogers
Good. For the time being, no one existed in his world but her. “You can have everything. I’ll give you that, Sabine.”
Her eyes flew open. “Even though you’re free now?”
“I’ve never been free. Not since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I don’t wish to be free.”
A feral spark of possession ignited in her gaze. “You wish to be mine.”
Such simple words to thrill him so. “I am yours, Sabine. Magic could not wipe you from my heart, even when it stole you from my memory.”
The first hint of a smile curved her lips. “I dreamed of this. Every moment of every day.”
“You believed in me.” The vast expanse of his bed beckoned. He hadn’t slept it in yet—he hadn’t spent a single day at the palace once he’d realized Sabine was missing. It was fitting that she be the first one to lie on the beautiful hand-stitched quilt. “As well you should, sweet Sabine. In case you’ve not yet heard, I’m a hero.”
“Mmm, yes, the High Lord who brought peace to the land,” she whispered.
“Who fought alongside lions to do so.” Ciar stretched out beside her and laid his hand over her chest, just above her heart. “Once things have settled here, perhaps I’ll take you to visit the High Lord of the Plains. Malrion is a decent sort…for a lion.”
“And I hope he says the same of you—that you’ll do as an ally, even if you are a wolf.” Sabine reached up and stroked her fingertips along the angle of his jaw. “This is real, isn’t it?”
“It’s real.” He turned his head and nipped at her fingertips as, for the first time, he let himself truly relax. His mate was safe. Alive. Nestled in his bed, from which he might allow her to rise—in a few days. “Choose me, Sabine. Mate with me. Rule the wolves, be the High Lady of the Forest. We can raise a dozen children together and they’ll never have to go to war.”
She didn’t hesitate, and no doubt clouded her expression. “Yes. A dozen. Two dozen.”
“Perhaps not two dozen…” He tasted her lips, licked them until they parted on a gasp. “I want some time alone with my mate.”
Her hands slid to his shoulders, clenched in his shirt. “Ciar…”
He must have spent too much time around lions, because the breathlessness of her voice made him want to purr. “Yes, Sabine?”
Her breathing hitched, and she arched under him. “Make love to me.”
“Now?” His cock stirred at the thought of it, but worry lingered. “Are you strong enough?”
“I feel fine. Whatever she did, I don’t think it was physical at all.”
“It still hurt you.” Ciar sank his fingers deep into her hair and fisted his hands in the loose strands. “Take me, Sabine. Mate me.”
She rolled him with a quick, playful growl. Her hair spilled down around them as she kissed him, soft at first and then deep. Needy.
Perfect.
They’d survived war and separation, had survived curses and magic. The day-to-day trials of life and love would be bitter and sweet in turn, but with her, they’d be everything.
She was everything. And she was his.
Forever.
Epilogue
Sabine tugged the heavy brocade curtain out of the way and peered out the coach window. “Are we almost there yet?”
“Almost.” Next to her, Ciar laughed. “We should have run.”
She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Somehow, I don’t think two wolves showing up on her doorstep would have had the same effect as a royal retinue.”
“But it would have kept you too busy to worry.” Ciar’s fingers found that stray lock of hair and tugged at it. “Are you having second thoughts?”
She should have been. The last time she’d seen her mother, she’d walked away heartbroken. Forgotten. But now… “Even if she doesn’t remember me, I’d like to tell her…something.” What, she didn’t know, and she never would have attempted it without the High Lord by her side. His authority alone would keep anyone from relegating her to the ranks of the ranting insane, no matter what she said.
She stopped short and laughed. She herself was the High Lady, and her word was law, just as Ciar’s was. “I keep forgetting we’re married now,” she admitted.
Another tug, and he wrapped the lock of hair around his finger and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “A mighty feat indeed, when your wedding day was the obsession of half the kingdom.”
And not only because of her own humble circumstances of birth. The First Warlord had wed the same day, taking as his bride the noblewoman who—it was rumored—had been meant for Ciar himself. “Perhaps, when we leave, we can travel to the eastern lands. I would like to visit Farran and Iloria.”
“All in good time.” His lips tickled the corner of her mouth. “Talk to me, Sabine. You can’t hide your heart from me, not anymore.”
“I’m worried,” she whispered. “My mother may not remember me still, and that will hurt, but at least her ignorance will shield her. She cannot miss me if she doesn’t know I exist, and I will survive, as long as I have you.” She bit her lip. “Your friend, however, will not have the comfort of blissful oblivion. I worry that his allegiance to you drove him to act rashly.”
Pulling back, Ciar lifted one hand to cup her cheek. “Farran is a miserable, lonely man whose allegiance to me begins and ends at the battlefield. If anything drove him to act rashly, it was desire and concern for Iloria.”
“Then I’ll put it out of my mind.” Though it was hard to forget the other woman’s stricken, shocked expression. What had transpired at the palace might not have put Farran in a difficult situation, but Iloria was quite another matter.
“Sabine.” He tilted her head back. “Farran is not an easy man, but he is a good man. Once we’ve exhausted your mother’s patience, we’ll impose on them for a week or two, and you’ll see all is well. Iloria made her choice, after all—perhaps she has good reason to wish to be away from her family and the court.”
It made sense. “You’re right, as you usually are.”
The carriage lurched to a halt, and Ciar laughed as he swooped down to kiss her, clearly meaning to distract her from her nervousness. “I’ll remind you that you think so the next time I manage to enrage you, love.”
“We’re here?” Sabine’s heart jumped into her throat. Her protestations aside, she dreaded stepping out of the coach and seeing her mother only to find dazzled surprise on her face instead of recognition. “I’m not ready for this.”
“You are.” His large hand covered her heart, fingers spread wide. “The heart is stronger than any spell. We proved that. She will remember you.”
Sabine drew in a deep breath as the coachman opened the door. She could do this, like everything else in her life, because she had to. She would not shrink or hide. She was the High Lady of the Forest and, more, Ciar’s mate.
She could do anything.
She stepped out of the coach just as the cottage’s rough front door swung open. Her mother walked out into the afternoon sun, wiping her hands on her apron.
Her eyes widened as they took in Ciar’s fine carriage and Ciar himself, but when her gaze fell on Sabine, she gasped.
Ciar dropped his hand to the small of Sabine’s back and nudged her forward. “Go.”
Her knees would barely hold her, but she walked forward anyway. “Hello, Mother.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “Is it you, Sabine? Truly?”
Some final, hidden part of her opened to the sun, and she flew into her mother’s embrace. “It is—truly.”
“Oh, Sabine.” Her voice caught on a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Oh, my darling girl. Where have you been?”
The truth was unbelievable, and useless now. “It doesn’t matter.”
And it didn’t. She had her mother, and she had her husband. She had herself—which, in the end, had been the hardest thing of all to lose. It already seemed like a dream, like an oft-retold account of a long-ago tale, with one diffe
rence—no matter what, Sabine was sure now that she would never take her life or the people in it for granted.
Her mother pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Come in, both of you. Please.”
Sabine slipped her hand into Ciar’s, smiled up into his beautiful eyes, shining with love. “Yes, let’s.”
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn more about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com, or drop them an email at [email protected]. (Disclaimer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
Look for these titles by Moira Rogers
Now Available:
Red Rock Pass
Cry Sanctuary
Sanctuary Lost
Sanctuary’s Price
Sanctuary Unbound
Southern Arcana
Crux
Crossroads
Deadlock
Building Sanctuary
A Safe Harbor
Undertow
Wilder’s Mate
Coming Soon:
Kisri
Cipher
Hammer Down
Think a vampire-hunting bloodhound is dangerous? Try threatening his woman.
Wilder’s Mate
© 2011 Moira Rogers
Bloodhounds, Book 1
Wilder Harding is a bloodhound, created by the Guild to hunt down and kill vampires on America’s frontier. His enhanced abilities come with a high price: on the full moon, he becomes capable of savagery beyond telling, while the new moon brings a sexual hunger that borders on madness.
Rescuing a weapons inventor from undead kidnappers is just another assignment, though one with an added complication—keeping his hands off the man’s pretty young apprentice, who insists on tagging along.
At odds with polite society, Satira’s only constant has been the aging weapons inventor who treats her like a daughter. She isn’t going to trust Wilder with Nathaniel’s life, not when the Guild might decide the old man isn’t worth saving. Besides, if there's one thing she's learned, it's that brains are more important than brawn.
As the search stretches far longer than Wilder planned, he finds himself fighting against time. If Satira is still at his side when the new moon comes, nothing will stop him from claiming her. Worse, she seems all too willing. If their passion unlocks the beast inside, no one will be safe. Not even the man they’re fighting to save.
Warning: This book contains a crude, gun-slinging, vampire-hunting hero who howls at the full moon and a smart, stubborn heroine who invents mad-scientist weapons. Also included: wild frontier adventures, brothels, danger, betrayal and a good dose of wicked loving in an alternate Wild West.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wilder’s Mate:
He’d almost managed to get to sleep when a timid knock sounded on the door that led to Satira’s adjoining room. “Wilder?”
He fought the urge to slam a pillow over his face. “Yeah?”
She must have taken his reply as permission to enter, because the door inched open and she slipped through, a slight shadow wrapped in a blanket. The floorboards creaked as she took a step closer to the bed. “Do you mind…?”
She looked like she thought he’d growl at her until she ran screaming from the room. “Come on in.”
“I can’t sleep.” Her voice held more than a little shame at the confession. “If people are expecting you to bed me, it can’t hurt our disguise if we sleep in the same room, can it?”
Now he wanted to slam a pillow over his lap. “Can’t hurt our disguise.” It could only hurt him if he had to control himself around her. She grasped her blanket tight around her shoulders, but the gauzy fabric brushing the floor as she walked was sheer, flesh-colored silk.
She stopped next to the bed. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll understand.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.” She stared at the floor. “Men have needs, but you’re not interested in complicating our already difficult situation by giving in to them.”
If he was a snake… “Did you come over here for sex, or because you’d sleep better if you weren’t alone?”
“The latter.” She shivered and clutched at the blanket as it began to slip. “I know you could get to my room quickly enough if anything happened, but the way some of those men were watching me…”
She was scared, and he felt even worse about his lust as he patted the blanket beside him. “Climb up. You don’t have to be alone, and you don’t have to worry about me.”
“Thank you.” The blanket gaped open as she scrambled onto the bed, revealing that the damn flimsy nightgown Juliet had packed for her was transparent all over. She shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Wilder shook his head. “That scrap of nothing isn’t warm enough.”
Satira choked on a laugh, a little hysterical but genuine. “I know. If it gets much colder tonight you’ll have to kick me out of your bed to keep me from cuddling as close as I can.”
The laughter was better than the way she’d looked at him before, hesitant and wary and almost ashamed of her fear. “If you put your cold feet on me, I’ll scream like a little girl.”
Icy toes poked at his leg, and he laughed and shoved her away.
She squirmed right back, and this time he got an entire foot pressed against his knee. Her breathless laughter cut short on a little moan of pleasure. “You’re so warm.”
“Won’t be for long.” He affected a growl, one he ruined by laughing again. “Jesus, woman. What were you doing, hanging your legs out the window?”
Satira huffed, but it didn’t stop her from tucking her other foot against his shin. “My feet get cold.”
“You’re a walking icebox.”
She echoed his words back, laced with drowsy contentment. “Won’t be for long.”
Quick as a rattlesnake bite, his protective shell of humor faded, leaving him in bed with a sleepy, scantily clad woman whose body made his knees weak. “Then it’ll be my turn to freeze.”
One small hand crept back across the covers until her fingers brushed his. “I’d keep you warm.”
His balls ached. “Better watch what you promise, sweetheart. I’m not a noble man, no matter what you think.”
Satira twisted until she faced him, eyes wide but unafraid. “It’s been eleven months since a man took me to bed. I don’t want noble.”
His first thought was to turn her over his knee and spank her. That led directly to his second thought, a mental image of her bent over in front of him, her pale ass red from his hand, her cunt glistening and wet. “Satira.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and went still, her slightly ragged breaths and too-quick heartbeat the only sounds for long moments. Then she breathed out a tiny sigh. “You make me feel like such a fool, throwing myself at a man who doesn’t want to have me. Over and over again, and I’m supposed to be intelligent.”
He urged one of the thin straps of the nightgown from her shoulder. “You worry too much.”
“I know.” With her eyes still shut she missed his mouth the first time, her open-mouthed kiss landing on his cheek.
His cock jerked like she’d licked him, and he turned his head far enough to meet her second kiss head-on, opening his mouth under hers. He swallowed her tiny little moan, and for a moment she seemed shy. Her tongue darted along his lower lip, then returned to stroke deeper, teasing against his.
He moved before he realized it, rolling them both and pinning her to the bed. “I’m not a boy. You know that, right?”
A short, jerky nod, and she wet her lips. “You’re not just a man, either. I know that too.”
No fear, and he trembled at the thought of being able to let go. Really let go. “No, not a man, either.”
She craned her head up and kis
sed his chin, then the corner of his lips. “I will enjoy your attentions. Even if you wish to bind me, or order me to my knees, or take me across yours.”
“Shh.” Right now, there was only one thing he wanted to do. He slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back, opening her mouth wider so he could kiss her deeply.
There was nothing quiet about her moan this time. Her fingers found the back of his head, clutching at him as if she could pull him closer. She reacted more quickly than he thought she would, melting under him.
He trailed his mouth to her neck and collarbone. “What if I do something else entirely? Will you like that?”
“I won’t know until you do it.” Her fingers stroked down to his shoulder, exploring with unabashed curiosity. “I like an adventure. And learning new things.”
“If what I have planned for you is new, you’ve been bedding the wrong men.”
Her bare shoulder lifted in a shrug, but her voice held a soft vulnerability. “They found me pleasant enough to tumble. Perhaps I didn’t inspire them. None of them had seen me in my fancy hair and expensive dress, after all.”
“Like I said…” He skimmed one hand down her side and gathered her sheer gown high on her leg. “You’ve been bedding the wrong men.”
She laughed and bent one knee, sliding her foot along his calf. “Perhaps. So how do you intend to prove that you’re the right man?”
“I could.” His fingertips tickled over the top of her thigh. “Spread your legs.”
No hesitation at all. She opened for him with a quiet, eager noise, her hips lifting toward his hand. “And here I was, certain you’d want to see my breasts first. You seem so fond of them.”
“I know how to take my time.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you going to take me?”
Wilder slipped his hand under her gown, between her legs. “You mean am I going to fuck you?”
