by Karin Tabke
He would take a mate, and Rafe could only hope she lived long enough to conceive, for once she conceived, so, too, would the females of the pack, and the line would survive another generation.
He growled, frustrated and angry. Resentment for what he could not change ate at him, but when he laid the girl down on the linens, he did so carefully.
Her long body molded into the thick down comforter. In seconds, the pale yellow cotton was blood-soaked. She groaned in pain. When she moved her right leg, the groan became an excruciating cry. His anger softened. Human or not, she was innocent, and he wished no pain on innocents.
He didn’t understand her continued bleeding. The tourniquets had not worked. Why hadn’t her blood clotted? Swiping his hand across his face, Rafael could think of only one way to ease her pain and stop the bleeding.
His skin warmed at the thought. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, white-knuckled.
He didn’t want to heal her. Doing so would create a bond between them, one that Rafael wanted with no woman. But if he didn’t do it, she would die without giving him the information he needed. What choice did he have?
Rafael jerked off his leather duster and tossed it to the floor, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out to her, the heat of her fevered body causing him to recoil. Despite her grave state, a low buzz of energy radiated from her. He pressed his hands to her back, her skin burning him with the same intensity of the Eye of Fenrir.
He ripped her sweatshirt in half and hissed as he laid it to the sides of her pulpy back. Salene had done a number on her. Her flesh was peppered with gaping wounds, as if she’d been stabbed then burned. He rolled her gently to her left side and looked closer at the deep gash that ran from the middle of her rib cage up the bottom swell of her breast to her pink nipple.
Anger amplified. Viktor Salene was a fool. Rafael’s hatred for all Slayers ran as deep and as passionate as his love for his pack. Soon, soon it would come to a bloody end. Only one race could survive the Blood Moon rising. The Lycan nation had triumphed three hundred years ago with the coming of the first Blood Moon; they would triumph with the second rising as well!
Rafael lived for the honor of finally slaying the master of all Slayers, Balor Corbet, along with his entire bloodline. After nearly eight hundred years of bloody battle, Rafael would end the cursed killing of Lycans.
He looked down at the woman’s ashen face. His blood quickened as her body thrummed in his arms. She had a place in the rising; he knew it in his gut. He laid her back down. As easily as he had ripped the sweatshirt in half, he did the same to her baggy pants and pulled them from her. The leather boots took more effort, especially the one housing her swollen foot. Clumps of blood stuck to the inside of the leather. She cried out again, this time taking a swing at him.
“Shhh, I will not hurt you,” he soothed.
He was answered with a low moan. She lay completely naked, facedown on his bed. The sharp bones of her spine stuck up along her pale skin. The long curve of it reminded him of a sea creature just surfaced. He swept her long hair from her back and knelt down beside her.
He closed his eyes and hesitated. Once more, he considered letting her die, but intuitively he knew her death would not be in the pack’s best interest now. And—if he were honest with himself—he would grudgingly admit there was something about her that intrigued him on a very primal level.
He lowered his lips to the topmost wound, just at the base of her skull. Despite her injuries, her skin smelled fresh, sunny, and sensuous. Arousal flared. Blood warmed in his veins, and the beast within him stirred. He closed his eyes, wrestling with the power that grew within him even as her female essence called to him.
The beast growled. Valiantly Rafael wrestled it back to obedience.
Slowly, he pressed his lips to her mauled skin. His body swelled at the first taste of her. Her blood mingled with his saliva, the coppery taste ambrosia even as he licked the poison of the Slayer’s black magic from her flesh.
She moaned beneath him. He licked her more deeply, a moan escaping from his own lips. Confused by his immediate and voracious response to her scent and the taste of her blood, Rafe grabbed fistfuls of linen to keep from touching more of her. As alpha, he had the power to heal. So he would heal her, but their bond would begin and end there.
The beast growled again, clawing at his gut, restless for more than a healing bond. With honed discipline, Rafael pushed it away. Not completely out of him but far enough that he had the control and not the other way around.
As he soothed each wound with his tongue, he traveled lower. When he pressed his lips to a deep slash just above what he knew would be a sexy ass with a little more meat on it, he hesitated. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled. Her female essence filled his nostrils. It wasn’t the first he’d smelled of her. He’d been ignoring it, but now, so close to her thighs, he no longer could. He pressed his palm against her right cheek, marveling that for one so thin she still maintained curves.
Unable to get enough of her sultry female scent, he closed his eyes and inhaled more of her. It wrapped around his head like a vise, circled his neck, caressed his chest, then slid past his belly to his groin. His cock thickened beneath his leathers, returning the call. The beast snarled, insisting on release. Its fangs slashed at his guts, and it demanded to be heard.
Confused by its determination to be free when it had never been so insistent, Rafael moved away from the girl.
Take her! the beast howled. Take her, mark her, do not let her go.
“No,” Rafe shouted. “She is a human. There can be no mixing of the blood!”
Do not deny it.
He tried, yet he could not deny that he had taken her blood into his own body to save her. And in doing so, recognized the call of her blood to his.
He shoved away from her and stalked across the room. Raking his fingers through his hair, Rafael denied it again. His equal, his chosen one would be Lycan, like himself. He would not, as his brother had been so willing to do, throw away the future of their race for a human!
“No!” he shouted at the form on his bed. “Never!”
The beast howled. Insistent. Mark her. Unrelenting. Mark her now before it is too late.
Rafael shook his head. “No! You cannot force me! Not with a human.”
He turned to leave the room, to let her die. To let her be taken from him and his people. She was not what his pack needed. If he succumbed, she—because he chose her—would be the downfall of not only his bloodline but all of the packs who barely survived.
He reached for the doorknob. The ring on his finger glowed hot. He looked down at it and cursed again. He tried to wrest it from his finger, but it would not budge. It burned hotter, so hot he could barely stand the pain of it. He reached for the knife sheathed in his belt. He’d cut the damn thing from him.
The ruby flared white-hot. The pain was intolerable. Rafael raised his hands to the heavens.
“Leave me!” he called out to the forces beyond his control. “Leave me!”
The ring seared his skin. Refusing to allow him. The stench of burning flesh assailed his nostrils. “Damn you, Fenrir! Damn you to hell!”
He stalked back toward the bed. With each step of his approach, the burn lessened. Incredulously, he looked from the dimming ruby to the woman who lay naked on his bed. Unwanted realization dawned. Was Fenrir insisting he mark her as well?
The eye flared.
“I’ll cut my finger off before I give you control over my destiny,” he said to the ring. But the beast within him snarled in protest, just as the ring heated again.
The constant burn on his finger finally penetrated his resistance.
The Blood Law could not be denied. An eye for an eye. It was time to pay.
Looking at the woman sprawled naked on his bed, Rafael accepted what he must do. He accepted only because she was human. And as such, he would never succumb to loving her. But still, she would be his mate. For how long he did not know.
“Son of a bitch!”
She would be his, and he would lose her.
Maybe this was best. She was human. She would be his, but he would never be hers. And when she died, she would take the stain of her humanity with her, easing his conscience in some small way. And when Lucien came to claim her, he would be free.
For his pack, he would do it. He had waited too long.
Resolved now, Rafael sat on the edge of the bed, reached out a tentative hand, and pressed it against the wounds he had just tended. They were merely smooth pink blotches on her creamy skin now. That skin, however, burned hot, with the same intensity as the ring. He crawled onto all fours, hovered over her, and carefully rolled her over, exposing the ugly slash along her belly and breast.
With a will of their own, his lips dropped to her breast. He hesitated before he licked the pale pink nipple that immediately stiffened beneath his touch. She moaned again. Rafael growled, clutching the sheets in his fists, twisting the fabric. When her hips slowly undulated beneath him, he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to want her. But he could not escape what the fates and his body demanded. With each slow undulation of her hips as he licked, hot blood filled his veins.
FALON MOANED. PAIN mixed with an inexplicable pleasure slid sensuously across her skin, sinking into her muscles and bones, then deeper, to her womb. Moist heat trailed across her nipples then, painstakingly slowly, down her belly. Anticipation flared with a want so deep, so profound, she sobbed. Hot breath hovered just above her mons. The need for more took her over. Grabbing the sheets she lay upon, Falon twisted them tightly around her hands, afraid if she reached out, the sensations would evaporate. She craved this touch with every cell in her body. She had lived her entire life without it.
She wanted more. All of it.
Her thighs parted, her hips rose. Hot breath fanned the tender flesh there.
“God,” she moaned. “Make it stop.”
Possessive hands cupped her breasts.
“Ah,” she gasped, melting into the erotic pressure. “More,” she begged. The urgency in her blood demanded more. More pressure, more intensity. Penetration.
It was the most erotic dream she had ever had.
No longer did she feel the pain from that terrible attack. She shut out the horrible memories of Mr. D and the debacle that followed. It was a nightmare. But this . . . this was pure bliss . . .
Firm lips pressed between her thighs. Falon shuddered, the intense pleasure of the contact too much for her to bear. Releasing the sheets, she dug her fingers into the thick silken hair on the head between her thighs. An erotic rush coursed through her. She could feel the muscled jaw, open and moving as he . . .
“Oh, God,” she moaned as a thick wet tongue swirled across her hardened clitoris. “Oh, God,” she moaned again, her breath hard and forced. “Oh, God.” She couldn’t help herself. She dug her nails further into the thick hair, raking his scalp. A low masculine growl vibrated against her.
Lips gently suckled her labia as big hands fondled her breasts and fingertips plucked her nipples. Sensation shot through her nervous system, lighting her up. She arched her back, spreading herself wider, wanting all of the man who tortured her so.
She’d been alone so long. So cold. So hungry. This extraordinary feeling of being wanted felt too good to stop.
Magic hands and supple fingtertips caressed her skin, branding every inch of her. Falon writhed, barely able to control her body’s voracious response to this master’s touch. She held nothing back; every inhibition had fled at his first touch. It was a dream or she had been drugged. She didn’t care which, she only cared that it never stopped.
Strong hands grasped the cradle of her hips, lifting her drenched pussy more firmly to molten lips. “Please,” she begged. “Please.”
He growled, attacking her with the ferocity of a starved man. Fear shimmered through her at his rough handling. But her body wept for more. He caught her clit in his teeth and tugged, laving her to soften the intensity. The air around her simmered; she gasped, unable to breathe. He sunk a long, thick finger into her virgin body. Her liquid muscles hugged him in welcome. Falon’s eyes rolled back into her head as her body wracked with exquisite pleasure. Her lungs hurt in their desperation for air. Perspiration erupted along her flesh, slickening her eager hot body. Her hips bucked wildly, demanding more. He gave it to her.
He slid another finger into her wanton pussy, then in a slow, deliberate cadence, he fucked her as his lips clung possessively to her clit.
It was too much. Falon cried out in sensation overload, yet her fingers clutched and clawed at him, wanting him to go deeper.
He snarled. The tension in her body rose. Fingers dug into her ass. Her body thrashed. The fingers inside of her curled and tapped a sweet spot. Falon screamed. The tension snapped. Her body shattered. She didn’t know if she would live or die. She didn’t care.
“You are mine,” a rough voice growled against her trembling thighs. “Mine.”
“Yes,” Falon gasped.
Cold air spiraled across her body.
“No,” she gasped when she wanted to scream. Weep.
Her dream, her lovely, lovely dream, was ending.
The bed dipped on either side of her head as her dream lover planted his hands there. She was afraid to open her eyes, afraid if she did, her dream would be gone from her forever. Warm breath caressed her cheek. Warmer lips pressed to her neck. Her body liquified as the tension eased. He wasn’t leaving her.
A long, lean, blistering body pressed against hers. Power washed off him in waves. Even if she wanted to run, he would never allow it. His possession was final. She knew it intuitively.
Falon held her breath for one long moment as she steeled herself. Anticipating . . . His cock pressed against her belly. She moaned as he dragged its heavy thickness downward, stopping between her thighs. He grabbed it with his hand and rubbed the wide head up and down along her drenched lips. She moaned, wanting all of him but suddenly afraid. She stiffened.
He growled and nudged against her slick opening. Unbelievably, despite how much she knew her body wanted it, she felt its instinctive resistance.
“Accept me,” his harsh, husky voice demanded above her.
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t hurt me.”
He growled, the sound not threatening but indignant.
His long fingers dug into her hair. His warm breath caressed her cheek. She dared to open her eyes. Her heart stopped. Deep ocean blue eyes glittered like molten jewels above her. Wide-eyed, she could not look away.
“Accept me,” he said again roughly, nudging her.
Like quicksilver, excitement thrummed through her veins. Her breath rushed from her lungs as her heart restarted. She would not deny him. In doing so, she would deny herself. She closed her eyes as every part of her loosened. Finally, she would know how it felt to have a man inside her.
In answer, she undulated beneath his hardness as it pressed for entry.
He put his lips to her ear. “Say the words: I accept you.”
She gasped at the raw passion of his words, the tone possessive and commanding.
“Say it!” he hissed. His body coiled above hers, like a serpent ready to strike.
“I-I accept you,” she breathed.
He growled low, then in a quick move that startled her, he flipped her over onto her belly and pulled her up to all fours.
A long, muscular arm snaked around her belly as his knees widened the chasm of her thighs. His other hand tipped her hips upward. She was so sensitive; she shivered as cool air swept across her swollen pussy. Falon’s need for him was so acute, she reached behind her and grabbed his heavy cock. She nearly let go, so shocked by the heat and the satiny feel of him. The throb of his heartbeat pulsed through him. Fascinated by his passion, she rubbed her thumb across the dewy head. He swelled in her hand, then he groaned, bucking against her palm.
Her grip tightened, his muscles stiffened. “You’re so hard and
warm,” she whispered.
He responded by pressing a thick finger against her anus. Falon gasped, grasping his cock tighter in her hand. Her hips tipped upward, then back in a slow undulation. Her hand around his cock moved in the same slow cadence. She felt him fighting his need to let go with her with his determination to stay in control. She wanted control. But he was having none of it. He pulled his cock from her hand at the same moment he sank his finger slowly into her. “Ah . . .” she breathed, sucking in her belly, unable to process the sensation overload. Every nerve in her body fired up, burning, on the fringe of complete incineration.
Falon’s knees and elbows shook. His strong hand slid along her back and around to her chest, where he splayed his fingers across her breasts, maintaining her balance for her. She would need it. When, in a slow in and out motion, his finger moved inside of her, Falon’s body jelled.
Hewn thighs pressed against the back of hers as his big body hovered above her. His breath was as ragged as her own. The slick sounds of her juices as his finger moved rhythmically in and out turned her on. Wildly her hips pumped against his hand. She rose higher than a kite, warm and cold and hot all at once. Every sense flared more acute than ever.
He bent low over her and nipped at her shoulder blade. The action was, in many ways, more intimate than his finger inside her.
Desolation engulfed her when he withdrew. She cried out, but his large hand stayed her hips. He was not leaving her. Hard, thick heat pressed against her wetness. She pressed back into him, her need for his cock driving her mad. She felt drugged, out of control, and more wanton than she ever thought herself capable of being. He nuzzled the back of her neck, his breath warm, his lips warmer, his tongue searing. Teeth pressed against her jugular.
He nudged into her. She held her breath.
Wild sensations swirled in exciting disarray inside of her body—sensations she’d never dreamed existed. His teeth pressed more firmly against her skin just as he moved deeper inside her.
