Meghan darted toward the water, to the lapping waves that ate at the shore. James shifted direction as the sound of an engine punctured the night. He’d been so caught up hiding his disgust, he hadn’t seen the small fishing vessel drifting close to the shore, nor detected the lycan who’d been waiting patiently along the bottom of the boat. Laughter filled his head as Meghan splashed through the water to reach the vessel. She leapt from the waves, landing neatly inside. Instantly the boat moved, slicing forward through the water toward the mainland.
James howled in frustration, loud and long, as the boat carried her away. He could not swim to catch her, not twelve miles, not through the deep ocean waters and thick currents. His only hope was to steal a boat of his own or catch a ferry to the mainland in the morning, as the last ferry he had debarked from this Friday evening had already left at 8:15. He knew, because he’d meticulously checked the schedules.
Before he could steal a boat, he had to dispose of the human woman’s body. A pang of sorrow filled him as he remembered her voice, how she’d fought to live. He couldn’t leave her with perfect puncture wounds on her neck, not if he hoped this attack would be blamed on some wild dog. Blood pumped in his veins, still raging from Meghan’s taunts. Though the lycan bitch could never tempt him, he hated himself for letting her think she had. He cursed her for attempting to penetrate him in such a way, trying to turn his inborn weaknesses against him—desire, blood, the moon and ocean. They were a heady combination any lycan male would fall for. She knew he could not let a mortal die, not when he could stop it. She knew she could force him to fuck her if he thought it would save a life—no matter how he loathed the very idea of it.
But he wasn’t just any lycan male. He was James O’Connell, prince of the O’Connell clan, hunter, defender of the laws. He could not afford to fail. Yet, he had. He’d fallen for the hope that he could stop her, could save this one human. And now Meghan had eluded him again. How many more humans would she kill because he’d tried to save one?
“Don’t be so noble, James,” he told himself, struggling to put the fire in his belly out. “Meghan was right, you are pathetic.”
As he turned to see what his failed attempt had awarded him, his gaze fell upon the unmoving figure on the ground. Like the others, she was pretty and slender, her skin pale from lack of blood. Long brown hair covered her face from view, tousled from the way she’d been dropped unceremoniously to the sand. The locks shone in soft, gentle curls, nearly gleaming in the moonlight. Her petite frame would hardly have given much of a fight to one as strong and determined as Meghan.
Blood stained her navy and light blue silk blouse, ruining the fine material. Drawstrings hung along her arms, winding like snakes over her still flesh. Though meant to be loose, the shirt clung to her curves. Too bad he had been too late.
Gently, even though he knew she could no longer feel it, he reached to scoop her into his arms. At his touch, the corpse gasped, shivering violently. Startled, James dropped his hold. The woman convulsed upon the ground as her body was racked with terrible pain. She cried out.
“No,” James shook his head, trying to will what was happening to stop. “Die, just die. Don’t fight death. The pain that awaits you will only last. Welcome the peace that comes. Don’t fight to live.”
The woman screamed again and he knew she wasn’t listening. Her body did what bodies instinctively did—it fought to survive. Only this was most likely to be a losing battle. James swore under his breath, glancing out at the ocean to where Meghan’s boat had disappeared. He couldn’t steal a boat and give chase, not now, not when there was a changing human he needed to take care of. There were no others on the island to leave her with.
Almost calculatingly, he again looked at the woman writhing in agony. Yet, if by some miracle she lived, she might be the key to stopping Meghan. Her tie to the treacherous bitch would be strong. Turned ones always sought those who killed them. It was a strange irony that they’d be drawn to the makers of their mortal deaths.
Having had more training with turned humans over the centuries than he’d like to admit, James cleared his throat and reached for the woman’s face. His fingers tangled in her soft hair before finding her sand-covered cheek. Emotions whirled inside him as he looked at the woman, compassion and pity, curiosity and a sense of duty and honor. Brushing the locks from her features, he revealed a pretty, little mouth and big, scared, dark eyes.
James took a deep breath, the words of comfort he planned on uttering leaving him completely as he stared. Her lips opened wide and she gasped for breath, but she no longer screamed. Ocean waves crashed near them, pulling and pushing his soul with each surging of the tide.
“You,” she whispered, almost accusatorily. “My ancestors whispered to me in my dreams that I would find you.” She closed her eyes tight and the strange spell between them dissipated as she again began to yell in pain. Her words made no sense and he knew the loss of blood had made her delirious.
“Easy, young one, I will care for you. Let the pain lead you into darkness. Once you pass out, it will be easier to bear.” James lifted her into his arms, scanning the beach to see if anyone was near. If she kept screaming, she’d draw attention and the last thing he wanted was some do-gooder coming to her rescue. Careful not to suffocate her, he smothered her face into his chest, letting the vibrations of her torment muffle against him. Her light body barely slowed down his steps as he jogged with her across the shore, back toward the small inn where he’d procured a suite earlier.
When he saw a group of people walking and laughing along the shoreline, a strained smile came to his lips and he gripped the woman in his arms tighter to silence her cries. He veered away from the group, hoping the meager distance would afford him safe passage. Their attention turned briefly to them and he smiled, trying to force all the charm and ease his tight, stressed body could manage. One of the men, a yuppie in white slacks and a blue polo shirt, waved.
“I see someone has had too much to drink,” a woman exclaimed merrily. The others laughed, resuming their conversation. The woman in his arms pushed hard against him and managed to free her head. She opened her mouth, ready to yell. James crushed his lips down on hers, taking her would-be scream into his mouth. The woman jolted, her mouth jerking against him, more from the writhing in her body than any measured response. Still, the kiss startled him with the intense lust it conjured. James gripped her tighter, pried his mouth away before he delved his tongue again into the warm depths. He sighed in mild relief when he made it past the group of humans. He pressed her face to his chest once more.
By small degrees, the woman’s cries lessened, as did her struggling. His rented quarters were right off the beach, reached by a small, worn trail in the surrounding narrow strip of tall grasses. The company had called it a suite but it was really more like a private building isolated from other guests. It was the only lodging available on the island due to tourist season and he was suddenly glad that luck had afforded him privacy and two bedrooms—not that they would be staying there long.
As he carried the woman up the narrow, wooden stairs to the deck, the sound of faraway music from a dockside restaurant penetrated his thoughts. In any other situation, carrying a woman to his ocean-side bedroom, surrounded by soft music and moonlight, would have been highly romantic. Finally reaching the sliding glass door, he set the woman’s feet on the ground. Her head lulled back and she whimpered.
Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and once more picked her up to carry her inside. A queen-size bed, television and small chair were the only amenities in the bedroom besides the faux-oak dressers. Laying her gingerly on the bed, he moved to shut the door in case she began screaming again. Moonlight streamed through the room and he quickly pulled the curtains shut, blocking it out. The darkness didn’t bother him as he navigated the room with ease. Walking to the large bathroom adjoining his room, he flipped on the light. A soft glow illuminated the bed, as if framing her for his perusal.
A moan filtered past his lips as he instinctively leaned closer. Drawing his tongue along her throat, he licked, stroking long and slow over her flesh. A thready pulse caught up in his ears as the taste of her essence filled him. The memory of the forced kiss on the beach made his lips tingle. Unable to help himself, he did it again, moving his mouth to her still one. It had been decades since he’d tasted human blood and the salty tang was just as sweet and pleasurable as he remembered. His lips slid back to her throat, tasting her. The beast inside him howled in ecstasy until James too gave a light howl of approval. His lust hit him hard.
The woman jerked, her hand weakly hitting his head. “No,” she whimpered, as if that was all the fight she had left in her.
The word penetrated his passion-hazed mind and he drew back, panting hard and heavy. He’d only had the smallest taste of her and already his cock was nearly exploding in his pants. He needed release, wanted to find it in her delicate body, but he knew he could never act like such a monster. He began to speak but her mouth stopped him. She moaned softly, turning her lips to his as if searching for his kiss. This time, she moved them, opening her mouth as if to receive him.
James jerked violently as he tried to resist, but even as he braced his arms to pull back, he found his tongue pushing forward, testing the wet resolve of her mouth as his cock wished to test her pussy. He drew his tongue in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, slipping by her lips each time she tried to close around him in a kiss. The feel was pure, agonizing torment.
“I want to fuck you,” he whispered into her mouth, without thought or reason. “I want to sink my cock deep inside you and ride you until you can’t stand.”
“Ah,” she whimpered.
James drew back, realizing what he’d said to her. He sobered. This wasn’t some kind of seduction where he was supposed to talk dirty to arouse his partner. No, this was a human turning into one of his kind. What was wrong with him? Had Meghan’s words aroused him to the point of insanity? Or was it this female? Her scent? Her blood? The soft, silk-covered breast that had somehow worked its way beneath his strong fingers?
With a low sound of torment, he pushed himself from the bed, turning toward the light in an effort to put distance between them. But the door to the bathroom made a poor barrier as he slammed it shut. Catching himself in the mirror, he met his reflected gaze. Yellow glinted in his dark brown eyes, framed by the wild mess of his chin-length brown hair. Parting his lips, he saw his fangs protruding from his gums.
Almost desperately, he gripped the knobs of the shower, turning it on. He clawed at his black t-shirt, tearing it from his muscled chest. His long nails sliced into his skin, but the tiny bit of pain only added to his lustful state. Finally free of the shirt, he threw it at the big tub on a platform on the far side of the bathroom. Steam flooded the room from the running water. James gingerly unbuttoned his tight pants, wanting to scream at the sensitive pain each bump of his hard cock caused him. The taut flesh nearly throbbed for attention and he found himself stepping into the scalding-hot shower before his pants even fell from his hips. The blood from his chest washed away as the wounds he’d made healed.
Water soaked into his sneakers and weighed the denim as he pushed it down, off his thighs. Leaning against the wall, unfazed by the extreme heat of the water, he took himself in hand. Groaning, he stroked his long cock with the aid of the water, letting his fist slide up and down. With each stroke, he squeezed, still tasting the stranger’s blood in his mouth. Even as his hand brought pleasure, he wanted more, he wanted lips sucking, he wanted a tight pussy clamping down on him, he wanted to taste more blood.
Gripping his shaft with both hands, he began working himself hard, almost painfully thrusting his fists up and down, up and down. His balls ached but he didn’t have a hand to spare for them as he tried to milk the cum from the mushroomed tip of his dick.
“Come on, come on,” he growled, unmindful of how loud the words might be. Suddenly he smelled her—the woman in his bed. His senses were sharp, heightened in his aroused state. The memory pushed him on and he frantically rocked his hips. He remembered the softness of her silk-covered breast, wishing he could have torn the shirt just a little to get a peek at her nipples. Just the idea of seeing her naked was enough to finally push him over the edge. The climax hit him hard as a thick stream of cum jetted onto the shower wall. “Ah-ahha.”
A sharp intake of breath assaulted his ears and he stiffened. Reaching for the curtain, he pulled it aside. The woman stood in his bathroom, her brown eyes wide as she stared at him. The steam from the shower dampened her shirt, causing it to cling to her breasts and stomach until he could see every lacy detail of the bra underneath. Her gaze traveled down to where one of his hands still wrapped his somewhat limber cock.
His words hoarse, he demanded, “How come you are awake? It’s impossible. You shouldn’t be able to move for weeks.”
Chapter Two
Claudia trembled, her body weak and her mind hazy. She wasn’t sure what had awoken her from her burning, pain-filled dreams, but she was drawn to the door next to the bed. Steam rolled through the gap and light showed from the other side. When she opened the door, there was a blast of heat but the low groans she heard made her stiffen to her spot on the floor.
Then, suddenly, the curtain was pulled away and the most handsome man she’d ever seen stood before her, pants around his ankles, cock firmly in hand. There was something familiar about him. He reminded her of a hazy premonition she’d received but couldn’t understand. Her grandmother had been a psychic, so had her mother, but Claudia’s gifts had never fully developed despite her family’s early efforts to train her. All she got were impressions, images and feelings—like the one that had made her change her vacation plans mid-drive, taking her to Block Island instead of Maine. The particular premonition that included this man had come in the form of a dream and was about as clear as standing nose to canvas in front of an Impressionist painting, fuzzy and lacking the subtle details of the bigger picture. It was more of a feeling, an idea, an innate knowledge that would someday be made clear.
Stunned, she swallowed, noticing how the motion only made the pain in her throat worse. Her memory of the night was a cloudy haze and she tried to grasp for details. She knew she couldn’t be drunk, because she didn’t drink, and she couldn’t be drugged, because she didn’t do drugs and the only dinner she’d had was off a salad bar.
“How come you are awake? It’s impossible. You shouldn’t be able to move for weeks,” he said. The words, low and dark and so very final, made her shiver in apprehension.
“I don’t feel well. What’s happening to me?” Her gaze moved back to his face, though it was hard to pry her attention from the enormous shaft in his hands. She silently pleaded for answers with her eyes, unsure as to what she wanted.
“You’ve been attacked and bitten in the neck. I’ve brought you to someplace safe. You have nothing to fear from me.”
The low tone of his raspy voice drew her forward. Her eyes narrowed as she saw his hand grip tightly around his still semi-erect cock. The bathroom smelled of sex. Her pussy clenched at the thought and she stepped forward as if led by a powerful will outside her own. Hot water hit his skin and the fist around his cock pumped slowly at her advance.
“You should go lie down.” Though he said the words, they didn’t sound convincing. Her mind disregarded them. The lust pouring through her was more powerful than a
nything she’d ever felt, adding a strange energy and strength that should not have been there. It filled her with euphoria and made her feel as if she could jump off a balcony and fly. Her clit ached, a suddenly tight mass of nerves screaming for attention.
A dream, her mind whispered, easily accepting the explanation. This has to be a dream.
“What are you doing?” he asked, studying her face.
Claudia couldn’t help the small smile as her primal instincts took over. She pulled at her silk shirt, hearing it rip as she tossed it aside. Her bra was next, followed by her shoes, pants and panties. The man in the shower began to stroke himself to full force, his eyes appearing to glow as he looked at her naked chest.
When she stepped into the shower, the hot water hit her skin, burning as she got used to the heat. Her nipples puckered and she breathed heavily as if she’d run for miles only to end up naked in this man’s shower. He continued to stroke his cock and she reached forward, wondering if he’d disappear once she touched him. Her hand met thick, turgid flesh and he nearly howled. She mimicked his movements, gripping him tight as she explored his length. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or felt, the kind of weapon made for fucking.
Her pussy flooded with cream and the man’s nostrils flared. Visions of being pounded into submission against the shower wall flooded her mind. The shower curtain was still open and water sprinkled out onto the floor to create a messy puddle.
Her throat ached and her mouth was dry so she opened her lips wide. Without thought, she sunk to her knees before him to drink the water from his cock. Heat met her lips and she began to suck the liquid, swallowing it as she did so.
Call of the Lycan Trilogy Bundle Page 16