by Morgan Rae
His eyes watched her and she could see the inner cogs of his mind spinning. Then he took her in his arms and lifted her up, like she weighed nothing, despite all her curves. He was still forceful, but there was a deliberate gentleness in his touch now and she hooked her legs around his hips as he carried her through the room. “I need stars,” he said, snagging the quilt off the couch as he went.
Holly hooked her arms around his neck and nodded. “Okay.” He carried her out the door, past the porch, and into the thick of the woods. It was a crisp summer night, and the breeze felt good on her skin. The woods were dark, thick with trees, and Holly could hear the sounds of owls and crickets over the crunch of Jacob’s boots. Normally, being in the woods at night like this would have scared her, but Jacob walked with such purpose that Holly felt at ease here. He’s the king of the woods, she thought to herself. And I’m the queen. There’s nothing to fear here.
They walked a little further until they got to a clearing. Holly could hear the bubble of a stream nearby though she couldn’t see it. She kept her head tucked against his shoulder and felt a strange peace seep into her bones, like she was in a dream and she just knew, somehow, that everything was going to be alright.
Jacob laid the quilt down on the grass and then eased Holly down on top of it. The trees broke here and she could see the sky clearly, dark above her. The moon was swollen—nearly full—and it hung heavy and bright in the sky, milky stars illuminating the shadows around them.
Jacob settled down on his back beside her and, for a moment, they both just watched the sky. Holly snuggled up with her head on his chest. She could hear his breath beside her, deep and easy, as though a lock around his lungs had finally unhinged.
“Shooting star,” she said after a moment. “Do you see it?”
“Make a wish,” he murmured.
They lapsed into silence again, though the trees seemed to talk enough for both of them—leaves whistling, nighttime animals humming and chirping.
“We’re going to be parents,” she said, like she couldn’t believe it.
He flashed her a grin. “You’re going to be a great mom.”
“You think so?”
“I know it.”
His lips covered hers then, in a soft, warm kiss. His eyes still shimmered with flecks of gold, but he felt less frantic against her now. More like marble, hard and smooth and dangerously beautiful.
Words caught in her throat and she nodded. When he kissed her again, his tongue swiped over hers and it felt as though he filled a void she hadn’t known was empty. She wanted to feel him everywhere, wanted him to fill all of her, and she made that apparent, wrapping her legs around his hips. Jacob didn’t need much more encouragement—he took off his clothes, then hers, peeling back each layer until they were naked underneath the blanket of moonlight. The quilt felt rough on her back, but Jacob was warm on top of her. She felt his wiry chest hair catch on her hard nipples, making them ache, and she felt completely intoxicated, drunk on this man on top of her and the nighttime that covered them both. It was like it had gotten inside her, somehow, and when Jacob’s calloused fingers pressed between her legs, opened her slit, and curled inside of her, it was warm moonlight that came pouring out.
Moonlust. She understood the term suddenly, so clearly, and she wrapped around Jacob with both her arms and legs as he buried himself deep inside of her. He was hot and hard and she arched into his hips to take more of his velvet cock. Her fingers dug into his skin, grabbed handfuls of his thick hair, and clung to him tightly as he moved on top of her in rolling waves. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to describe how she was feeling, this peaceful euphoria and maddening pleasure, so she dissolved into gasps and whimpers and moans as he mounted her. He was forceful and, when she grabbed at him, she could feel his strong arms working, the lean muscles in his back coiling and flexing as his hips drove repeatedly between her legs.
Already, Holly could feel the intense pleasure building to a peak inside of her. Her pussy clutched his cock as it pummeled her mercilessly, until she whimpered through the first waves of her orgasm, fluttering around his hard organ. But he didn’t stop there; he continued to push against her, his breath pattering against her sweat-soaked skin. Holly felt her body suck his, and her legs trembled, helpless underneath him. Her powerful man. Her beast of a man. Hers. Heat rose between them, unrelenting. She felt him shudder over her, his breath caught on a grunt, and he broke his steady, pounding rhythm as he lost control and shot—hot, thick—inside of her. The sensation brought another sharp throb from Holly and she thrashed, suddenly feeling just as animal as he was, as cried out, loudly, into the empty night as she came with him.
She tried to catch her breath, his solid, smothering-warm weight on top of her. Her hand rubbed up and down his back just to touch skin and she felt indentations where she’d left long nail marks in him. She kissed his shoulder, sweetly, and he matched her kiss with his lips.
“Better?” she asked.
“Very,” he grinned.
He pulled out with her and lay down beside her now, hooking an arm around her. Holly tangled her limbs up with his and listened to his heartbeat.
“You wanna go inside?” he asked.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
It felt like minutes later that Holly fell asleep, tucked up against her wild-blooded husband with the moon watching over them.
Chapter 59
Hungover or not, Brent was a morning person. Up with the sun. Like clockwork. Even when he wanted to sleep in, his body didn’t seem to let him. And now, with what felt like a skull full of nails and a pounding, swollen left eye, Brent could’ve used the extra hour of rest and relaxation. Instead, he folded up the sheets and extra blankets Cassidy had covered her couch with, threw his jacket over his shoulders, and (quietly) opened up the front door and slipped out before he woke anyone up.
Morning sun turned everything orange outside and his boots crunched gravel. He made a point to keep his gaze straight ahead. Don’t look left. Hurt too much. Firstly, his eye was sore. Secondly, his old home sat that way, abandoned. That was a threshold he couldn’t cross anymore. And it was all his fault.
Forget it. Swallow it back. Brent walked around the burnt black embers of the fire pit and kicked around it. His Stetson hat had fallen off somewhere in the scuffle and he’d gotten so drunk afterwards he’d completely forgot about it until now. “Know you’re here somewhere, you sonuvabitch,” he muttered to himself as he crouched over, hunting for the hat.
“Looking for this?” Brent looked up and, sure enough, there was his hat. A little bent out of shape, but not a complete lost cause. Only he went still when he realized it was perched in Jacob Westmore’s hand. Jacob wore loose pants, his button-up shirt undone, all dark hair, muscle, and dominance.
Brent stood, though he kept his gaze lowered. He’d acted out last night, but here, now, he remembered his place. He was a clan-less bear, lowest of the low, and he’d show some respect face-to-face with the Alpha of Red Moon Ranch. Tradition. That was always important to Brent. Couldn’t figure out now how he’d gotten so sidetracked, so twisted up in the cougar to forget that.
“Thanks,” he said and swiped the hat, took a couple steps backwards, and hid his head underneath its wide brim. “Don’t worry—I’ll be on my way out. It was wrong of me t’ come here, I know that now,” Brent’s voice drawled, low and slow.
“I didn’t come here to chase you off,” Jacob said. “I want you back in the clan, brother.”
Now Brent looked up, surprise making his jaw hang open. But there was no lie in Jacob’s eyes, no taunting—just steady, open truth.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Jacob said after they’d languished a couple seconds in silence.
“I…yeah. Yes, boss. Of course.” Brent couldn’t contain the desperation in his voice now, and it all came tumbling out in a flood of emotion. “There ain’t nothing I want more than to be a part of the clan again.”
Brent nodded like a bobblehead. He swallowed, hard, on a knot in his throat. “Yeah…you got it.”
Jacob’s cold demeanor shifted then. He exhaled and the fight went out of him. Instead, he clasped the back of Brent’s neck and gave a squeeze. “I can’t do this without you, brother,” he said firmly.
Brent nodded and—dammit to hell—it cost everything in him to keep strong. So he pulled a crooked grin and said, “Thank God for that, ’cause the only people who responded to my ad looking for a bear roommate were a bunch a’ queers.”
They laughed, dry chuckles that broke the tension.
“Listen,” Jacob said finally. “There’s something I’m gonna need you to do for me before you come back, though. Call it proof of change.”
Brent nodded. “Lay it on me.”
“You still talking to Miranda?”
“No…I mean, not really.” Brent scuffled his feet on the ground. “Guess I can’t really look her in the eyes after everything that went down.” He looked up and squinted. “Why d’you ask?”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“I rarely do, with you.”
Chapter 60
The doorbell was too small under Brent’s large hands and he had to jam his finger against it a couple times before it made any sound. He could hear the melodic ring echo throughout the caverns of the white old-world mansion on Stoneridge Cliffs.
Damn, he thought, more puzzled than impressed by the architectural snobbery of the place. Who needed a house that big? Ever? Could fit a family of twenty, easily. He preferred doors without doorbells. Small, cozy doors with well-worn hinges that were left unlocked night and day, open, inviting.
When Miranda finally opened the door, she did so with a frown, like he was interrupting something important. She was dressed all in white (girl must hate Labor Day, Brent thought), with a soft camisole draped over her and a low-cut top.
“What do you want?” she said curtly. She pulled her camisole a little tighter over her shoulders (as though he hadn’t already seen everything underneath).
Brent drew a small, idiot grin. “Y’look nice,” he said.
Miranda’s perfectly groomed eyebrows lifted. “And you look like warmed-over shit. What happened to you?”
“Ah, this just…y’know…” He fumbled for words and took his hat off his head, revealing the black-and-blue bruise over his eye. “Got in a fight. Jacob.”
Miranda let out a breath—a bored half-sigh—but Brent caught the unmistakable flicker in her eye. The huntress smelled blood and it excited her. If the two brothers were fighting, vying for the title of Alpha, that was good news for her. Got her closer to whatever castle in the sand her power-hungry brain had conjured up.
She stepped back just enough to let him through the door. “Come in.”
Brent took a step inside. The foyer gave the impression it was swallowing its guests whole with tall ceilings, a yawning double winder staircase, and framed landscapes that focused on small, faraway objects in the distance. The place smelled mainly of cleaning products, disinfectant, and Miranda’s Dark Sin perfume, but under all the layers Brent’s acute senses could still taste the other animal that lived here—Cayden.
“I ain’t interrupting anything, am I?” he asked.
“Cayden is out,” she said with a vague flick of her wrist before she started down the hall, bare feet soundless on the tile. “I was just about to take a shower.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said as he started after her.
“Take off your shoes,” Miranda said sharply. Brent glanced down—his muddied boots had already made a mess of her entranceway. Pale grey floor tiles, now that was just asking for trouble, in his opinion.
As he kicked off his shoes, she tossed over her shoulder, casually, “You can take off your pants, too, if you plan on staying.”
Miranda’s camisole dropped from her shoulders and puddled in the hallway. Her skirt went next, then her shirt, making a trail into the bathroom.
Mother of God…
Brent felt an all-too-familiar swell against the seam of his jeans.
No. Down boy. This is how we got in this big ol’ mess in the first place.
He heard the hiss of running water as her shower flickered on. Brent lingered outside the bathroom door and called in, “Y’want some wine?”
“Yeah. Please.” Her voice, though muffled by the water, still rang out clear and sharp. “There’s a bottle of Elkborne in the fridge.”
Brent tore himself away and moved down the hall. He was on a mission, after all. Miranda’s bedroom stood open between the bathroom and the kitchen and he chanced a glance down the hall—all clear—before taking the opportunity to steal away into her bedroom. Mostly gunmetal grey in here, with accents of deep crimson red. He didn’t have time to waste—five minutes, maybe, before she got suspicious—and he immediately dove at her cabinets. He opened up the drawers and started sifting through her jewelry. She kept it in basketfuls, which didn’t make this any easier. Like searching for a needle in a haystack. Or, in his case, searching for a very specific talisman, a necklace with a six-pointed star and a gem of some sort stuck in the middle.
Brent rummaged through drawers and baskets. One minute went by. Two. The shower was still running, steadily, uninterrupted. He examined handfuls of necklaces, searching—
His fingers fumbled and he upended a jar of rings. Brent swore under his breath and bent down to hastily scoop them up.
But as soon as he so much as leaned forward, he felt a sharpness dig into his throat. Brent’s bones froze in place when he glanced in the vanity mirror and saw Miranda standing behind him. Mostly Miranda. Her arm had snaked around his shoulder and now her long, black cougar claws were pressed against the soft skin of his throat.
“Bad boy,” Miranda hissed in his ear as a vicious smirk curled over her lips.
“Where is it, Miranda?” he growled. He could feel his own bear ready to charge. That is, if he could transform before she slit his throat clean open. He took deep breaths, tried not to let her smell his fear.
“Where’s what?”
“Y’know. The…necklace. The one from the hunter. With the star.”
“Wow,” she purred. She was dripping on him, still wet from the shower. “Look who suddenly got a brain. So you finally realized the charm holds Jacob’s curse. Honestly, I’m impressed. I’ve been holding on to that thing for years. I thought you and your idiot clan would never figure it out.”
He smelled wet cat and felt her tail snake out and coil around his leg, trapping him in place. “Look,” he said, “just give us the necklace and we’ll be outta your hair.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, sweetie,” Miranda said and her nails flexed little pinpoints against his neck, making his Adam’s apple bob nervously. “I’ve hidden it somewhere they’ll never find it. And you know what?” A purr rumbled through her throat and sent shivers down Brent’s spine. “I think I’m growing to like having everything Jacob wants.”
Claimed by the Claws
(Part 5)
Chapter 61
He kissed her like he wanted to rip her head off. His lips tasted practiced and experienced and the tip of his tongue flicked against hers in just the right way that sent shivers down her spine. Still, she felt him holding back, each move deliberate. He was, after all, an animal all too used to playing with humans.
“You’re not going to break me, you know,” Trish said when she took a small break to catch her breath.
Cayden smiled against her lips. A cat’s smirk. “How can you
be so sure?”
“Because I’m tougher than what you’re used to.” He dipped his head and his tongue traced patterns along the crook of her neck. Trish gasped lightly as the sensation hummed through her. Necking on a bench on campus grounds should have felt wrong, but between her legs was a throbbing battle cry for more, more, more. “Nothing can break me,” she told him as her head dropped back to give him better access, loving the way his lips butterflied.
“Almost nothing,” he reminded.
“You mean the necklace?”
“No,” he smirked and she felt it against her neck. “I meant my cock.”
“But the necklace too, right?”
He lifted his head and she could see his pressed his lips together, a thin line of frustration. “It’s a talisman, not something you find at Tiffany’s. And, yes. It could rip your sanity right out from your paws. Curses are a bitch like that.” His head dropped again and she felt his fingers toy with her shirt, thumb unsheathing one button, then another.
Never say Cayden wasn’t a man who knew exactly what he wanted. The touch of his deliberate fingers sent an ache through her core. Her heart fluttered; she was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was about to be the only non-family member who had ever seen her tits. “How bad are they? Curses? I mean…can they be…broken?” she asked, breathless, and her fingers caught onto her shirt, keeping it closed protectively.
Finally, Cayden pulled back. His eyebrows hiked up his forehead. “Is this a game of twenty questions?”
Trish curled her legs up and made herself vertical. “I’m sorry,” she said and tucked her frizzy hair behind her ear. “I’ve just got…a lot on my mind.”
She must have looked pretty hangdog, because Cayden seemed to deflate at that. He sank back into his bones, looked like he was rolling his next words carefully around in his mouth, and then said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
