by Michele Ryan
“If such a time occurs, you have my permission to turn me,” she replied.
He nodded and his look of worry receded; his smile reached his eyes.
“It is dead out here tonight,” he stated and she laughed at his wording. “Would you like to do something else?”
“Like?”
“I am hungry,” he admitted, pushing her back against the tree.
“You fed when you woke.”
“Not that kind of hungry, Beloved.” To prove his point, he pushed his groin against her hip. She felt his hard ridge of his cock glide across her. “I want to fuck.”
“I could be persuaded.” She groaned, rubbing her aching pussy against his thigh.
Jonah picked her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips as he moved them behind the tree and away from prying eyes, should anyone dare walk down the dark path.
“Here?” she inquired when he removed her leather vest, dropping it on the leaf covered area.
“Yes, here. You are safe,” he answered her as he reached for her blouse and ripped it off her. His gaze feasted on her full, aching breasts. “I will also make sure you get back to the house without being seen.”
“Touch me, Jonah,” she begged.
“Impatient,” he groused, leaning down to remove her boots and tight leather pants. “I can smell your need. So sweet.” Kneeling before her, he nuzzled her mound with his chin as his fingers slipped between the lips of her sex.
She shivered, not from the cold, but from the need she felt coursing through her body. She placed her hands on his head to steady herself, as he gently lapped at her swollen clit.
“So wet.” He used his tongue to lap slowly on and around the sensitive bundle of nerves betwixt her thighs, pushing her toward her release. She sobbed, loudly. “Quiet, Beloved, we wouldn’t want to bring someone down here to investigate. It could lead to some issues.”
Yes, it could.
The biggest being she was naked with a vampire between her legs. Not something someone would see every day.
“Jonah, please, I am so close,” she cried when he pushed two fingers into her cunny. Her toes curled in the leaves as she climaxed.
“Lovely,” he murmured against her still quaking thighs. “I love how responsive you are to my touch.” He nipped at her flesh before he stood, pulling his cock out with his free hand.
“Are you planning on removing your clothes?” she questioned when he stepped between her legs and effortlessly lifted her, situating himself.
“No,” he replied, placing one hand on her arse and the other above her head on the tree trunk. “Guide me home, to the sweetest pussy in the world,” he said against her lips.
Reaching between their bodies, he groaned the moment her hand wrapped around his hard, throbbing length. She moved her hand up and down twice before she brought him to her body.
“Fuck me, Jonah,” she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders.
“As you wish, my Beloved.”
With one hard thrust, he sank himself completely into her, pausing to allow her body to accept him.
“I know I already fed from you, but can I—”
He was always so polite, asking to feed from her, even in moments like this.
“Yes, Jonah, please,” she panted, rolling her hips to get him to move.
“Patience, hunter,” he admonished her as his canines grazed her neck and she clenched around him. “I love you and would waste away to nothing. Become a shell of a man without your support, love and most importantly your acceptance of me.”
He laved at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, teasing her. Bastard. He had learned her body in the last two weeks and knew she almost always found her release on the first pinpricks of his teeth sinking into her skin. He also knew, if he timed it right, she would continue to orgasm the entire time he fed from her.
“Jonah,” she whimpered. “I swear if you do not fuck me this instant…”
His teeth sank into her neck at the same time as he rocked his hips, rubbing his groin against her swollen clit. It was all that it took for her to release. Her womb clenched as he timed his thrusts to the gentle sucking at her neck. He grunted, increasing his thrusts when her nails raked down his shoulders.
He was killing her with the most intense pleasure. Every time they came together it got better and better. Ignoring the roughness of the tree against her back, she concentrated on the delicious feeling of his thrusts. He was so hard, so deep inside her she could not tell where she ended and he began.
She shrieked when he moved his hand from above hers, to cup her arse cheeks before he turned and rested his back against the tree. The sound of his body slamming into her filled the little alcove where he had tucked them and she prayed, not for the first time, no one walked down the path.
His hold on her neck eased, and he removed his teeth from her. Then he licked at the tiny red wounds to heal them. Her entire body shook, from the loss of blood and from the pleasure.
“Come, my love,” she encouraged him.
His fingers dug into her hips. His head fell back, smacking into the tree as he grunted. The warmth of his seed filled her. “I love you.”
“As I do you, Beloved,” he cooed.
Hours later when she lay in his bed, his still, placid form beside her, she contemplated what her life might be like as a vampire. Would she truly fit the role of such? Would she be accepted? She continued to stare up at his form. Did it matter?
The answer had been simple. No. It didn’t.
A soft knock at the door drew her attention to Omer. He glided toward her. “You slept well?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I have my answer for you and Jonah.”
“Excellent,” he replied.
“If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to wait till he is awake.” She squeezed Jonah’s hand. “He should be the first to know.”
Omer inclined his head. “As you wish.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at the man. In a month’s time, she would become a nightwalker like her Beloved. Annabelle realized the idea might bother some of her team, but they’d have to accustom themselves.
If a near-death experience taught her anything, it had been to live life to the fullest and to not let anyone tell you otherwise.
“Good day, Miss Craig.”
“Good day, Mr. Cause,” she replied.
“I suppose welcome to the family is also in order.” He winked at her.
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
What’s up next in the Dreadfuls series...
Chapter One
London 1887, six months after the horde invasion...
Ezra Blakely stared out over the mansion garden as Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy clipped fresh blooming flowers from the blossoming orchard while the sun began to set along the horizon. The full moon would rise in less than a week’s time. The thought of going back to the pack had a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. If he wanted to go anywhere, it was upstairs to where the little witch, Miss Fitzpatrick—Clara, lay napping in her bed.
Her scent was everywhere. Coconut oil and something decadent. Sweet like summer heat kissed by honeysuckle and night blooming jasmine. It drove him to the brink. Most days, he stayed away from the house, but Omer asked for him to be there at nightfall, after spending more time with his wolf pack than when his team needed him. Ezra assured Omer, after the horde had been destroyed, he’d be there. Every time, however lately, it seemed more taxing, than a reprieve. Miss Fitzpatrick consumed his every waking thought most days. When he stayed at the mansion with the team, it took sheer will-power to keep himself in check and not pounce on the woman. It’d gotten so bad; his mouth watered every time he caught the hint of honeysuckle or consumed a confection containing coconut.
Ezra raised the dainty tea cup to his lips and grumbled. What he wouldn’t give for his Army issued tin cup right about now. Every inch of the kitchen along with the library had small touches of Clara. She, along
with the other women of the house, plus the fiend, found joy in drinking from their fine china. He figured it had to be a class thing. They were refined. Ezra was a bit rougher around the edges. American through and through.
Thirteen years ago, he hadn’t thought he’d be in London long. The dreary atmosphere settled over his adventurous disposition like a dirty, wet rag, suffocating him. Unfortunately, a bitch of a werewolf, bit him, changing his life forever. No way he could return home to his old life with his old acquaintances. How could one explain lycanthropy to men who dealt in science and evidence? If he even uttered the word werewolf, he’d be committed to one of the asylums near Los Angeles, or worse—Bellevue Hospital.
So, he stuck around and had been given a second chance at life, even though, in the beginning, he didn’t deserve it.
He lived in the mansion with Jonah and the aptly named Dreadfuls, which also included the Misfits—Annabelle’s ragtag gang of supernatural hunters. Kind of ironic them working together. However, after the zombie horde raised by a man named Lucian Wright, better known as the Summoner—man who could manipulate things undead, dead and magical, it only seemed appropriate, they did. Without his quest for power and destruction, Ezra would’ve never met the enchanting Miss Clara.
Omer called her a mate. Ezra snorted at the idea. The wolf physiology demanded his mate smell like him, wore a mark showing she’d been claimed by him, yet Ezra couldn’t ever mark Clara—the downside to his personal contract with the immortal being. They all had one, each one specifically tailored to the individual. So, he sat back and waited. He watched Miss Clara like a hawk sometimes, especially after the stupid stuff she’d done to help Jonah.
When they returned to the manor after destroying the horde, all of them a bit battered and broken, he curled up on the bed beside Clara and slept. The thought of her being hurt after everything she provided for the company of dreadful misfits, he couldn’t leave her alone. Ezra worried about her. And, yet, even though he did what he could to protect her most days, since her arrival, she still rebuffed him.
Ezra finished his coffee, then stepped away from the window overlooking the garden. The newest friendship between Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy, he wouldn’t call it a relationship yet, developed like the flowers in the garden. With time, nurturing, and attention on all their parts, he could see Miss Jemmy being quite happy with Mr. Nealy.
“Good evening, Mr. Blakely,” Miss Jemmy murmured, stepping into the kitchen. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “Evenin’, Mr. Nealy.”
“Ezra,” the man rasped. “I will speak with you later, Miss Jemmy.” Lawson Nealy gave a quick bow before exiting the space.
Ezra and Miss Jemmy had an interesting relationship. He gave her plenty of room and never broached the subject of her mother. She also didn’t talk about her mother while around him nor did she treat him like a horrible monster. It worked, for now, he supposed.
“If you like Miss Clara, you should bring her flowers.” Miss Jemmy handed him the small bouquet she’d made while outside with Lawson. “It’s customary after all.” She gave him a small smile.
Little imp.
“Thank you kindly, Miss Jemmy. I appreciate it. However, I don’t believe the little witch wants an old mutt like me.” He winked.
She laughed. “You’re not so old.”
“So, I’m a mutt, then?”
Miss Jemmy laughed hard. “Not even close.”
“Well, what is all this chatter?” Clara’s scent smacked him square in the chest and groin. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight. Damn the vixen for tempting him to madness.
Tonight, she wore a yellow and brown pinstripe corset over a white billowy shirt which clung to her shoulders and a floor length skirt. Her pewter arm gleamed in the rapidly dwindling light. She’d also pulled back her hair in a red cotton wrap, allowing some of the springy curls to frame her face. All the hard edges of her skirt were softened by her pert nose, full lips and doe eyes. Seeing so much of her soft mocha-colored flesh, drove his wolf insane. The hound dog had an itch Ezra couldn’t scratch without a willing partner like Miss Clara.
Miss Jemmy curtsied. “Good evening, Miss. We were speaking about the gardens and how well the flowers are growing. So nice to see after all the snow of the winter.”
Miss Clara nodded. “I agree.” She rubbed her mechanical arm taking care not to hit the cogs and pressure relief gears as they spun, and steam released from the control vent. “It brings a unique chill to the bones.”
“Aye, it does,” Miss Jemmy agreed. “If you’ll excuse me.” She exited the kitchen leaving Ezra to stare after her.
“These are for you.” He shoved the bundle of wild flowers into Miss Clara’s good hand, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Jemmy thought you could use them.”
She smiled. “They actually perfect. I can use these. I’ll have to thank her later.” Miss Clara took a step toward Ezra. “Thank you as well, for delivering them.” She touched his hand.
“You’re welcome.” A bit of him warmed at her appreciation. “Would you like to accompany me to—”
“Good evening everyone,” Annabelle stated as she glided into the kitchen followed by Jonah, who appeared a bit uncomfortable. His shirt tails were untucked in front and his tie sat askew. He also had a hint of pink in his cheeks. What had his Beloved done to him before entering the kitchen? “Did you all have a productive day?” She gave Clara a pointed look before settling at the table.
“Yes, very much so,” Miss Clara answered, placing the kettle onto the stove to heat. “I believe I have figured out why Lucian Wright affected me so.”
“Can we not speak of him?” Ezra growled. “He almost cost all of us everything.” Just the thought of the man made his blood boil and his hackles rise.
“Agreed,” Jonah said. “I believe these two have been dreaming of the whys and hows of a situation even we don’t comprehend.”
Ezra scrubbed his chin. “He is dead, and dead he should stay.”
“Oh, come now, he was too pretty to die,” Mr. Andres Dunn said, entering the kitchen. He ran his fingertip along Miss Clara’s arm. “Kitten.”
Ezra fisted his hands at his side. If the asshole touched her again, he’d kill Andres. “Don’t push me.”
“Down puppy,” Mr. Dunn teased. “I meant no harm. Besides, I’ve set my sights on another.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Who is your latest victim?”
“We should take pity on them,” Ezra added.
The man gave them a coy smile. “A lover doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Can we not talk about our intimate proclivities, please.” Emmitt lumbered in and joined Miss Clara at the stove totally oblivious to the way Andres stared after the reanimated man.
“I’m sorry, should we talk about yours?” Andres propped his chin on his hand resting on the back of his chair.
Emmitt shook his head. “No. Let’s not. There are ladies present and it’s not proper.”
Annabelle giggled. “Surely, you’ve heard us, Mr. Enright.”
He huffed a breath. “Can we not?”
“I say we do,” Mr. Dunn replied, standing. “Tell me, Mr. Enright, have you found the spot yet?” He came up behind Emmitt. “I’m dying to know.”
“Mr. Dunn, I expect more from you,” Mr. Omer Cause said, apparating into the room.
“Well at least one of us does.” The dandy man nodded at the ancient being. “So, what is this case you have for us?”
“This is better suited for two of you. Mr. Blakely and Miss Fitzpatrick.” Omer glanced between them.
When Omer had called upon him the night before, it’d been a momentary whisper through his mind. A trick Omer had told them about when he saved them. Part of the pact Omer made with them to be sure they’d stay in line and they could find him if something should happen.
“Would you like us to leave?” Jonah glanced at the exit.
Omer shook his head. “I think it bes
t you all be here while I explain the situation.”
“Good thing I’ve been here,” Mr. Jack O’Keefe, better known as The Spector, stated from some corner of the room.
“For God sakes man, put some clothes on,” Ezra grumbled. “Do you enjoy being naked because we can’t see you?”
The disembodied voice laughed. “Yes. I hear everything this way. Including Jonah and Miss Craig’s dalliances. Good show, ‘ol man.”
Jonah rolled his eyes. “Can we stay on task?”
“Yes,” Omer muttered. “Miss Clara, the rest of your team?”
“Miss Norah, Mr. Donovan and Dr. Cantrel are out for the evening doing what is required of them,” Miss Clara stated.
“Very good and the machination, Charlie?”
“Here, sir.” Charlie ambled forward. “How may I be of service?”
“In good time, automaton. First, this issue.” Omer snapped his fingers and a map appeared on the table. “Two nights ago, strange energy moved through the area of Hyde Park.”
The hairs on Ezra’s neck stood on end. “What?”
“It’s nothing like Mr. Wright,” Omer assured them. “This is darker. Far darker than I have experienced in many a century, which disturbs me more.”
Clara stepped forward. “What is it?”
“I’d like you and Ezra to find out.” Omer pointed to the map once more and a circle appeared around the area where the disturbance occurred.
“My pack lands?” How had Ezra not known?
Omer inclined his chin. “I’m sorry, friend. I hadn’t realized keeping you here with us would cause such turmoil within your ranks. Someone there is being a bit reckless.”
He knew of a few females who’d be stupid enough to be heedless. Ezra clenched his fists. “It’s not your fault. Things have been a little discombobulated.” He’d been falling for the little witch living down the hall from him. The one who stood beside him now, hanging on every word Omer said. “What do you make of it, Miss Clara?”
She scrubbed her forehead. “I won’t know until I am in the area. See the markings. Smell the magic used.”
