by N. D. Jones
“Or-Ori-Ori-an-a.”
Marrok stumbled forward, falling onto his mud-encrusted knees and into Oriana’s waiting arms.
He smelled awful but felt so good. “I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you.”
As with Kalinda and Zev, Oriana hadn’t been able to bring herself to kill Marrok. She’d shot to disable only. Oriana then had to decide what to do with the muraco Marrok had become. For all intents and purposes, the real Marrok was dead. Even the man she held wasn’t her Marrok.
Marrok hadn’t suddenly become a black werewolf again because he’d been left to heal and run wild in the safest place Oriana could think to leave him.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to return.” By the time she had, he’d kept his distance, his white fur a spot of color she’d glimpsed on the other side of the lake. Marrok had been close enough to see, but not near enough to touch the way she held him now.
“D-don’t care. H-h-ere now. Don’t leave.”
“I won’t ever leave you again.”
Marrok had said he would rather die than be imprisoned. Life as a muraco was a prison without a steel wall. One way or another, Marrok, Cyrus of Steelcross, would be set free. He would either be reborn as a black werewolf or Oriana would grant him a true death so his soul could join mother sun and father moon.
Oriana pulled back, her neck wet from Marrok’s tears and her cheeks moist from her own. “I’d like to kiss you. May I?”
Dry, cracked lips parted, and eyes lowered. “I’m d-disgusting. Stinky. Dirty.” Marrok punched himself in the head with the side of his fist. “My brain isn’t working right. It’s telling me to do awful things to you. You shouldn’t even be—"
Oriana kissed him. Yes, Marrok was all those things, but Oriana couldn’t care less. He’d lived like an animal for months—hunting game and drinking from the lake. But he’d come to her as a man, in the same clearing where they’d pledged themselves to each other.
Her tongue opened his mouth for her magic. Marrok gagged. Oriana’s magic was more potent than what she had fed him in the past. Marrok tried to pull away, but Oriana’s firm hand to his nape kept him right where she needed him.
She wasn’t completely iron free. But the transfusions had significantly reduced the amount of metal flowing through her veins and mixing with her magic. Oriana disliked having to use witches on the cusp of puberty as blood donors, but they were her only source of untainted witch blood. Perhaps it would help that Marrok’s bloodlust wasn’t as great as other muracos because he hadn’t consumed the blood of a witch. If his bloodlust had been out of control, when in her presence his hunger would’ve supplanted every other desire.
“Relax and swallow my magic, Marrok. I need you to let me feed your hunger.”
“But, but …”
Oriana kissed him again, anxious to give him what his body needed, reminding herself to feed him small, digestible portions. In Marrok’s fragile physical and mental state, too much magic could overload his system and kill him.
She settled them on the blanket, her hand over his heart and her mouth fused to his. Wisps of red magic swirled from their lips. In time, and with more practice, she would be able to generate a safe amount of magic from her hands, making the transfer a simple touching of skin.
Helen had had many hypotheses about ‘soul magic,’ as she’d called the transfer. Her death, unfortunately, had left them unproven.
“Oriana?” Marrok’s hand pushed strands of her hair from his face and behind her ears. “What is happening? I feel … I feel funny. Different.”
Oriana rolled onto her back, grinning up at the red moon.
“My stomach is cramping but it doesn’t hurt. It’s a really weird sensation.”
She laughed. “You’re the king of understatements, my love.” She laughed again because it felt so good. But then she sobered, afraid her celebration was premature. She learned over Marrok, scrutinizing every inch of him.
“I know I look bad. You don’t have to stare at me.”
“Bad? That’s how you think you look?” Oriana snorted. “Not bad, Marrok. You look downright dreadful.”
And yet, she wanted to kiss him again. And again. For research purposes, of course. She had to make sure the experiment worked. Helen had used the words reliable and valid.
Oriana kissed Marrok again. Bad breath had never tasted like . . . okay, bad breath was bad breath. No amount of love and relief changed that nasty fact. But Oriana kissed her consort anyway, pushing a little more soul magic into him.
It might take a generation before Earth Rift would have enough metal-free mature witches to fully integrate soul magic into their society. That would give Oriana time to work on the hearts and minds of resistant witches. She’d already begun rebuilding Janus Nether. For now, most of those residents lived in Bronze Ward. Not exactly Helen’s vision of the city, but she hoped, from their place among the stars, that Helen and Tuncay could rest in peace, knowing their life’s work and sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.
“I want to go home.” Marrok turned his face away from Oriana, weeping softly. “But I remember what I did to you and Keira. I remember … I remember I wanted to … to …”
Oriana wrapped her arms around Marrok, spooning his naked body the way she had Keira’s the first few nights after the attack.
“If you recall everything, then you know you protected our daughter. She’s only here because you were the black werewolf she needed you to be. You shielded Keira the only way you could—by pushing past your rage disrupter.” Oriana turned Marrok toward her so he could see her when she said, “Thank you for saving our daughter. I thanked you that night, and I’m repeating it now. Thank you, Marrok. I love you so much.”
“You must love me because I smell like shit.”
“Finally.” Oriana clapped. “Not an understatement. Let’s go home, Marrok. You need a shower, a shave, and a real meal. In the morning, you can see our daughter. Keira has missed you as much as I have.”
“Sounds like every dream I’ve had since being here.”
Oriana stood, and Marrok followed her up, wrapping the blanket, like a toga, around himself.
“What did I miss while I was gone?”
“Nothing you want to know, but I’ll tell you everything. There’s a lot.”
“Yeah, I assumed as much. What about sex?”
“What about it?”
“That wasn’t on your list of things I need.”
Oriana’s gaze raked over Marrok’s body. She would have to fatten him up, but a shower and shave did wonders for a man’s appearance. She winked at him. “We’ll see.”
“What do you mean we—”
Oriana cast an extraction spell, yanking a shocked and cursing Marrok through the ether of space.
The red moon had returned her consort to her and, with more soul magic feedings, her Marrok would, once more, be his glorious black werewolf self.
They fell in a heap on their bed. Marrok glanced around the renovated suite. “Finally, you got it right.”
Not yet. But Oriana would.
Go slow to go fast. Words to lead by.
THE END
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About N.D. Jones
N. D. Jones is a USA Today bestselling author who lives in Maryland with her husband and two children. A desire to see more novels with positive, sexy, and three-dimensional African American characters as soul mates, friends, and lovers, inspired the author to take on the challenge of penning such romantic reads. She is the author of two paranormal romance series: Winged Warriors and Death and Destiny. She's also embarked on a science fiction romance series, Forever Yours. N.D. likes to read historical and paranormal romance novels, as well as comics and manga.
You can connect with the author by going to any of the links below.
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Other Books by N.D.
Winged Warriors Novella Series (Angels and Demons)
Fire, Fury, Faith (Book 1)
Heat, Hunt, Hope (Book 2)
Death and Destiny Trilogy (Witches and Were-Cat Shifters)
Of Fear and Faith (Book 1)
Of Beasts and Bonds (Book 2)
Of Deception and Divinity (Book 3)
Forever Yours Series (Fantasy Romance)
Bound Souls (Book 1)
Dragon Shifter Romance (Standalone Novels)
Stones of Dracontias: The Bloodstone Dragon
Dragon Lore and Love: Isis and Osiris
The Styles of Love Trilogy (Contemporary Romance)
The Perks of Higher Ed (Book 1)
The Wish of Xmas Present (Book 2)
The Gift of Second Chances (Book 3)
Sins of the Sister (Dark Fantasy Short Story)
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