I am nothing but a fantasy to him. He left me each time and welcomed Cynthia into his arms.
The truth hurt. Reality often did.
Bjorn had told her he loved her. He’d told her he lived his life honorably. He’d told her he wanted to be a Huntsman so he too could protect the mortals.
He’d told her a bunch of lies.
Arawn had filled her in on the facts Bjorn had kept hidden from her. In order to become a rider in the Wild Hunt, Arawn had to touch Bjorn’s mind and soul to judge his integrity. Bjorn had failed the test. He had several consorts and dozens of children in various villages. He hadn’t loved Tegan nor had he wanted to avenge the humans. He’d wanted immortality.
He found death.
Ian is not Bjorn, and he’s already a rider, honorable and strong.
Tegan knew the facts. She understood that as a human, Ian wouldn’t have suspected she was more than his imagination. Her mind held the explanation at the forefront. Her heart didn’t want to believe it.
He’d worshipped her body and made her feel as if she were the only one who mattered. Like Bjorn, though, it’d been lust, not love.
Then lust is what he’ll get from me, nothing more. Love was a worthless emotion anyway. It didn’t guarantee anything, certainly not fidelity or even the return of her devotion.
She took a shaky breath and buried the longing for him deep. A Hunter had no room for the weakness love brought. Duty. That was all that mattered.
With her hand on the doorknob, she listened. Ian’s agitated groans had stopped, but his rough pants hadn’t. It was the same reaction he’d had the last time she’d visited. She waited for him to speak. Craved it. Minutes ticked by. He remained silent.
She pushed the door open. His scent hit her, and she swayed under its intensity. Cinnamon. She’d never cared for the fragrance before. Not until Ian walked into my dreams.
“Angel.”
The word came out garbled. It caressed her anyway. So too did the knowledge that he recognized her, that she could reach him when nobody else could. Happiness whipped through her and mixed with the desire she held for him.
Her skin tingled in awareness. Arousal flowed, soaking the thong she wore. She couldn’t stop the reaction if she tried. In the face of three long, sinful years on the receiving end of Ian’s seduction, her body reacted exactly as he’d trained it.
Would his?
She peered into the room. The dim light left his bed in shadows. From where she stood, she could see the outline of his large body restrained to the bed, but not the details that would captivate her upon first sight. She didn’t need them. She knew exactly what he looked like and what his body felt like under her palms.
“Come to torture me?”
His low, gravelly words hit her with the same force as a slap in the face. She peered in the direction of his voice and caught a glimpse of his hazel eyes. She turned away before the multitude of brown and green hues mesmerized her.
She closed the door without answering. The clank echoed in the rock-walled room.
He inhaled loud enough for her to hear. “You have. Don’t care. Come closer.”
Her feet moved of their own accord in response to his command. She locked her knees after a few steps. “Why? Do you plan on breaking my nose too?”
“Warned her”—he cleared his throat—“not to touch.”
The elation she’d experienced a moment ago fizzled. Jealousy replaced it over the fact that Sara had been able to reach him too.
“Maybe you didn’t phrase your warning clearly enough. The sex demons think of little else when they’re hungry.”
“I growled.”
The tightness in her chest eased with his answer. She grinned and approached his bed, careful to stay out of his line of sight.
He yanked on his bindings. The metal links on his cuffs rattled, and the bed frame groaned. He wouldn’t be able to escape. The cell he occupied had been created specifically for Arawn’s children. Ian wasn’t the first Huntsman to occupy it. After Bjorn died, she’d spent time inside its walls too.
Ian craned his neck to see her. She backed up. A low, rumbly sound crawled up his throat. “Don’t walk away. Come. Here.”
Unable to delay any longer, she went to him. At the head of his bed, she stopped and skimmed her gaze over him. The thick cock tenting his sleep shorts deserved her attention. She would’ve been happy to let the evidence of his desire captivate her, but the details she’d failed to notice the last time she’d peeked into his cell enraged her.
A sheen of sweat and grime covered his body.
Arawn hadn’t even bothered to send his servants in to tend to Ian before chaining him. She curled her fists and fought the primitive response choking her. She wanted to find her sire and let him know exactly what she thought of Ian’s treatment. It wouldn’t do any good. Her father wouldn’t see anything wrong with it. Linked to the power of the Hunt, Ian was immortal. A little dirt wouldn’t hurt him.
She let the other aspects of his body soothe her displeasure. It wasn’t hard using him to redirect her thoughts. Ian had the physique of a warrior or maybe a god. The muscle packed on his tall frame hinted at the power he held within. As a human, he would’ve bested his peers. With the strength of the Hunt behind him, he could take on any immortal, including Arawn.
As much as she hated to admit it, her father was right to be cautious where Ian was concerned. He could not remain tied to their Teulu if he couldn’t control himself. The risk to the humans outweighed the consequence of casting him out. She refused to allow it to come to that. Ian would not be forsaken, nor would he succumb to his rage again. She’d make sure of it.
She spun on her heel and strode across the room.
“Abandoning me again?”
She froze with her hand on a basin of water. “No.”
He snorted.
She ignored his disbelief and retrieved a washrag. Both items she carried to the bed. She set them on the floor, dipped the cloth and wrung it out.
“Look at me.”
The roughness of his voice had eased. Relief swept over her. She was glad he could focus on her and not his rage, but she knew better than to think he’d regained control. Then again, he didn’t know how to keep his anger in check. Calan had dropped him into the role of Hunter without any guidance. If she hadn’t known the circumstances surrounding her elder brother’s decision to make Ian a Huntsman, she’d be livid with her leader.
Calan had needed his siblings’ help, but they’d all been confined to the fairy prison. Ian had stepped into the position of Hunter and fought to protect the mortals with everything he had, even to the point of killing the love of his life. His fiancée, Cynthia, had been turned into a sluagh, a servant of the fairies and a walking corpse. Ian had freed her soul by taking her head. Minutes later, however, he’d given in to the all-consuming rage that had landed him in Hell.
She pushed thoughts of the pretty blonde human out before the jealousy that had kept her in the living room of the Huntsmen’s estate kicked in. The truth she’d come to terms with was one she couldn’t ignore. The connection Tegan and Ian shared hadn’t meant the same to him as it had to her. He’d had a life outside of their occasional encounters. She’d been a fantasy to him. Nothing more. Dammit, she couldn’t blame him. It didn’t mean the knowledge hurt any less.
She knelt on the bed next to his bare feet. A metal cuff locked each ankle to the corners of the footboard. Although tempted to release one leg, she resisted. He appeared to be in control. It didn’t mean he’d stay that way. He could slip back into the madness within seconds. She didn’t want to be the one to restrain him if he did.
“I said, look at me.”
And get lost in his eyes? Not happening.
She shook her head and dragged the wet rag over his calf. He sucked in a rough breath. She smiled. “Looking at yo
u isn’t necessary, human. I’m here to tend to your needs, nothing more.”
“That so?”
Lust made his voice thick, rich and tempting. She swallowed past the surge of desire. “Yes.”
“Then I need you to look at me.”
She forced herself to continuing cleaning his legs. “Why?”
“To convince myself I’m not dreaming. That you’re really here.”
She worked her way to his sleep shorts. The dark blue material looked good against his tanned skin. He’d look even better with them off. The idea took hold. The opportunity to finally see the cock she’d stroked countless times quickened her pulse. They’d never been able to remove their clothes or bring each other to release. Their visits had been a tease only.
No longer were they restricted to a fantasy encounter. She could touch him. The compulsion became one she couldn’t ignore. Not even the sadness that had grown over the past week dimmed it. She slid her hand under the edge of his shorts. His erection stood taller, pushing up the fabric.
“Oh, I can convince you of that easily.” She inched her fingers closer to his groin.
“Stop.”
She did and barely kept herself from cringing. Had she misread everything?
No. No, he wanted her. Even Rhys had noticed his interest. Was it for her, though? Or simply the fact that she was an aroused woman and Ian was acting on his baser needs? She bit the inside of her cheek to stop her groan of frustration.
Don’t go there. Focus on helping him. It’s all that matters at the moment.
She brushed her thumb over the edge of his shorts. “We both know this is what you need, a distraction. Something to focus on instead of your anger.”
“You’re damn right it is, but—”
“Good.” She cut him off before he could tack on a qualifier that cut at her heart, then stroked along the root of his erection. “Then let me give it to you.”
She yanked her hand back and grabbed the waistband of his shorts.
“Name.” He panted. “Tell me.”
Fingers curled around the elastic, she stared at his thick thighs. She thought about denying him. What was the point? He’d find out soon.
“Tegan.”
“Tegan,” he repeated.
Her name spoken in his deep voice sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes and let herself pretend for just a moment they were in her bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Look at me.”
His command one she couldn’t resist, she glanced into his face. His hazel eyes captured hers. Hunger and longing shone in them. They ensnared and mesmerized her. Her heartbeat raced, and she felt herself fall into the promise they offered—uncontained passion and devotion, everything she’d always wanted but could never find. She couldn’t have broken his focused gaze if she tried. It was as if he knew what she desired most and would give it to her.
“Am I dreaming, Tegan?”
He recognized her.
Does that mean he’ll want…? She cut off the thought before it could form. Her visit wasn’t about her. Ian. It’s about Ian. Helping him regain his footing.
She forced herself to turn away. It took more effort than she’d like to admit. “No, not dreaming.”
He let out a shaky breath. She ignored the sound and refocused on her task. Carefully, she tugged down his shorts. The way his legs were spread prevented her from taking them off. The waistband ended up below his balls. No matter, his cock sprang free. It was all she needed.
His shaft stood tall and straight, begging for her attention. She gave it to him, lovingly cleaning his erection with the moistened rag. His groans encouraged her. She slowed her gentle swipes and massaged his balls.
“Tegan.”
Awe. That was what she heard in his voice. It fueled her and pushed her hungers higher. She glanced at his face, needing the confirmation in his expression. He didn’t hide his reverence. His gaze mapped her face with a mixture of longing and desire.
“Fist my cock, Tegan.”
Spoken in the barest of whispers, his command slammed into her. Denial wasn’t an option. She tossed the wet cloth and focused on his cock. Precome slickened the tip. Her mouth watered for a taste of him. She stroked him, root to head. The silken-steel rod slid through her loose grip. She tightened her hold on his penis and pumped him once, then twice more.
“Aw fuck,” he grunted. More of his essence welled at the slit. She bent closer, craving the salty, rich taste of him on her tongue.
“That’s it. Suck it.”
She brushed her closed mouth along his length. The head of his cock pushed against her lips. His scent, his taste and the smoothness of his skin entranced her. She flicked her tongue out and captured a drop of heaven.
“More, Tegan.”
She wanted the same. Everything he could give her. She licked his veined length, circling the ridge of his erection with the tip of her tongue.
He lifted his ass, pushing his cock closer. His manacles clanked against the bed frame. The reminder of their positions hit her. Ian was chained to the bed.
Aroused and at her mercy.
Desire gripped her. Her womb clenched with the possibilities of what that implied. She could straddle him, push her thong to the side and take his cock inside her achy body. Ride him. Tease him. Fuck him hard until he exploded.
Her breath escaped in a rush. Wetness flooded her core. She wanted to make her fantasy a reality. If he’d willingly allowed her to restrain him, she would’ve impaled herself on him in a heartbeat. He hadn’t, though. He’d been chained because he couldn’t control his rage.
He’s coherent now. He wants this.
As if to prove it, he raised his hips, pushing his hardened length through the circle her hands provided. “Swallow my dick. Make me come.”
She wanted the same. She opened her mouth. Another rattle of metal on metal reached her ears. She turned her head away. This is wrong.
She rested her cheek against his stomach and breathed through the desire.
“Don’t stop.”
His voice wrapped around her. She peered into his face. Lust darkened his eyes. She loved seeing it reflected in his hazel depths, but she yanked his shorts back in place, hiding his tempting cock. “You’re not in a position to demand anything, Ian.”
“You know my name.”
She glanced at his face. Confusion and—if she didn’t know better, hurt—showed in his expression. “Yes.”
“How?”
She retrieved the washrag and dragged it over his abs in an effort to delay the inevitable. In their encounters, he’d always appeared bare-chested in shorts, while she’d worn the pants and shirt she’d had on when she’d been imprisoned. The first few times, his confusion over her outfit had been visible on his face. It had faded when he’d learned to use the roughness of the material to his advantage, stimulating her until she hovered on the brink.
“Answer me.”
He whispered the words. The demand in them remained the same. So was her compulsion to answer him. She didn’t fight it.
“I know much about you, Ian Callahan.” She dipped the rag in the basin of water, cleaned the arm nearest her, then leaned over his body to wipe his other arm.
His muttered curse pulled her attention back to his face. She found his hungry gaze locked on her cleavage. The reaction pleased her. She turned slightly to give him a better view and continued wiping his muscled bicep.
“Holy fuck.”
The trembling in his voice froze her hand. She glanced at him. No longer centered on her breasts, his gaze focused on her Huntsman’s mark. The black hound’s red eye peeked from the gap of her leather top. She silently berated herself for her carelessness and climbed off the bed. The washcloth fell from her limp hand. It plopped into the bowl, spraying her boots with water.
“You’re a Hunter?” he asked.
The shock in his voice snuffed out the last of her desire. Wariness replaced it. She wiped her hands on her thighs and faced him. A quick peek at his flaccid cock told her everything she needed to know. His interest had been for the woman, not the Hunter. The knowledge cut at her heart. She shoved the weakness deep and drew on the assertive mask she wore for her siblings, all but Rhys anyway.
“Yes. I’m also third in command of the Hunt, and as soon as we leave this cell, you’ll have to obey me”—she stepped next to the bed and stroked her fingertips along his jaw, needing to touch him one last time—“in all things.”
Chapter Three
Ian couldn’t believe his eyes. His fantasy lover was a rider in the Wild Hunt. She’d always appeared fuzzy in his dreams. The imaginary girl he’d become obsessed with paled in comparison to the real woman standing next to him.
Her dark brown hair and eyes looked damn good against her tanned skin. He could easily picture her in a bikini, lounging poolside at the estate. Naked in his bedroom worked too. He could envision her in any number of scenarios. Not one included her in the form of a beast from Hell.
“You’re Calan’s sister?”
She slid her fingers to the column of his neck. “Half sister, yes. All the riders of the Hunt were fathered by Arawn.” She grinned, showing off straight white teeth. “Besides you, of course.”
He swallowed hard. The mention of the Lord of the Underworld put a whole new spin on Tegan’s heritage. “You’re a demigod.”
Not just any lesser god either. She’d been fathered by the black-skinned, winged creature he’d seen when he joined the Hunt. Arawn’s image had appeared inside his head, much like Tegan’s had over the years they’d visited each other. The sight of him hadn’t bothered Ian. Knowing his dream lover carried Arawn’s genes did.
“Yes, I—”
“You knew me before I joined the Hunt, didn’t you?” He had to be sure she’d participated in his dreams, that it wasn’t only his imagination.
Hunter Forsaken: Wild Hunt, Book 2 Page 3
