Hell Hound's Redemption (Fae 0f The North Shore Book 2)

by A. S. Green

  Oh, shit. She was a complete idiot. All this time? Had he known this for two years and never told her? All this time wasted… How could she have missed the signs?

  “Your anamchara…” she said, her voice cracking. “She sounds pretty dense.”

  Declan's eyes got lazy, and he leaned in closer, whispering to her like he had a secret. “Actually…she’s brilliant.”

  Rowan couldn’t move. She sat there, frozen, like a startled deer, as Declan continued to lean in closer. She felt his gaze lock on her lips. His warm breath fanned across her face. His eyes flicked up to hers, and he smiled.

  “Relax,” he said. “I won’t bite.”

  Then he slipped his hand behind her neck… And he kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  ROWAN

  Rowan stretched out on the bed and reveled in the luxurious softness of the sheets, the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace, the soft blue rectangle of moonlight on the floor. This moment would be perfect, sheer bliss and better than anything she could have ever imagined in all the times she imagined spending the night in Declan’s house, except for one teeny, tiny insignificant detail. She was alone.

  Okay, not such an insignificant detail.

  It had been seven hours since Declan kissed her. Not too surprising, she’d immediately fallen into some kind of mind-numbing fog. It couldn’t have been helped.

  In fact, she’d fallen so hard and so deep that Declan had noticed. Which was highly embarrassing. He’d even chuckled and said, “Well, at least I haven’t lost it.”

  After that, everything Declan said, and everything he did made Rowan think the evening was going to go in a very happy direction. That is, right up until he brought that astonishingly beautiful moment to a screeching halt with words that slashed her heart in two: “Don’t worry. Ye may be my anamchara, but I’m not delusional. I know nothing more can come of it. I just wanted ye to know.”

  He just wanted her to know? If nothing more could come of it, she wished he’d held that secret for all eternity. What was she supposed to do now? He’d obviously released a huge weight off his chest, only to deposit it on her own. In fact, right now, she was finding it difficult to breathe.

  Declan kept talking, though she was only able to process half of it. He said something about how “it would never work” and how “it couldn’t be,” then she locked on to the words, “we’re too different.”

  “Cormac and Meghan are even more different,” she reasoned, “and they’re saying their vows right about now.”

  “Meghan doesn’t have a da who despises my kind.”

  Rowan’s stomach turned, remembering. That’s what this was about. Her fucking father.

  But she knew Declan was right. There was no way her father would ever give his blessing and, by sídhe law, she needed it. Even if that were not the case, she’d want it. She wanted both of her parents to see all the wonderful things she saw in Declan: how much he loved his family, how empathetic he was toward others’ pain, how noble, loyal…

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m used to things not working out. I don’t expect ye to respond in kind. I don’t expect anything from ye at all.”

  She swallowed down a huge lump of sadness and tossed back her hair. “Yes. Well. It would be completely unprofessional of me to have a relationship with a patient, so we best just stick to what we do best.”

  “Right.”

  And that seemed to be the end of it. They sat there, together, for what felt like a million years. The awkward silence drawing out between them. She needed to say something, but what

  Declan adjusted his glasses, and something finally came to her. “What happens when you shift into your hound?”

  Declan’s eyebrows drew together. “What do ye mean?”

  She shrugged. It was just something she’d wondered about. “I mean with your glasses. Is your hound nearsighted?”

  He stared at her for another long second, then he laughed. “No. When I shift, I see just fine. And another fun fact: the glasses are real. I can’t glamour them.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  His brow had furrowed at that. “It is?”

  “I mean the part about not needing them once you’ve shifted. Have you ever seen a dog in glasses?”

  Declan shook his head as if he found her highly amusing, or maybe even a little cute—both of which were better than him finding her ridiculous. He picked up his milkshake tonic. “What’s next in today’s regimen?”

  “Meditation,” she said, grateful to be back in a conversation she could control. “Then sleep. Then eat.”

  That conversation had been hours ago.

  Declan had made it through the Meditation, Relaxation, and Mindfulness session. It was an app on her phone, and it had worked like a charm. Too well, actually. Because once they were done, he’d gone up to bed and slept through dinnertime.

  She’d ended up cooking alone, and after that had been unable to wake him to eat. In fact, he was so out of it, she’d had a moment of panic and had to check for warm air moving past his lips.

  Relieved but frustrated, she’d gone downstairs to eat alone, then back to her own room to shower and get ready for bed. Her E-reader was loaded with a few hundred romance novels, and her current read was so steamy it made her body squirm.

  This was likely because her father had supervised her social life so intensely that she wouldn’t know the first thing about sex if she hadn’t been able to read about it. In fact, here she was—twenty-four years old—and Declan’s kiss had been her very first. She didn’t think he’d noticed. By Danu, she prayed he hadn’t noticed!

  She’d had absolutely no idea what she was doing. At first, she hadn’t even been able to move. Then she’d tried to copy what he was doing, but how could she hold her own against a mouth like that?

  She went back to her book. Jasmine pushed the straps of her négligée down over her shoulders then let the silk slide down her body. Horatio’s eyes darkened and burned as she slowly exposed her lush body to him.

  “Come here,” her lover demanded, and she walked toward him, drawing out his anticipation, as well as her own.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, still in his expensive designer suit. As she got closer, he laid back, keeping his feet on the floor. Understanding instinctively what he meant for her to do, Jasmine crawled over the top of him. Then, planting her knees on either side of his head, she lowered her pulsing cunt over his hungry mouth.

  A groan slipped involuntarily past Rowan’s lips. Did people really do things like that? How could Jasmine “understand instinctively” that Horatio meant for her to do that? She expected if she were ever in a similar situation, she wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do. And that scared her.

  What if her father finally got her married off and she messed up the whole wedding night? Would the groom give her back? Say he made a mistake?

  Then another thought came to her: if she was going to reveal her ignorance to anyone, she wished desperately that it could be Declan. He’d definitely give her shit about it—another reason she thought the kiss must not have gone too badly—but he wouldn’t kick her out of bed.

  Not only was he the only one she really wanted to share that kind of intimacy with, she trusted him, and there would be nothing to lose. He told her they had no future. If she was terrible at it, what would it matter? He couldn’t reject her if he’d never accepted her in the first place, and she was his anamchara, so he’d get something good out of it, too.

  The irony of their situation was so painful she had to squeeze her pillow against her chest until it passed. That pain, however, was her impetus. She wanted Declan. She wanted this night, with him. She wanted this one thing for herself and as potentially stupid and ego-destroying as it could be—Deep breath, Rowan—she was going to take it.

  Rowan winced when her foot hit a squeaky floorboard outside Declan’s room, then she quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open. Not knowing what to
do next, she stood there in the doorway, the only light coming from the lamp in the hall. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that, if Declan wasn’t so wiped, it might have woken him from his sleep.

  A second passed while she wondered if she could really go through with this. Then another, then Declan suddenly sucked in a lungful of air and jackknifed off the mattress. His head swiveled toward the window as if he’d heard something outside, then he turned slowly back toward the door.

  An expression of relief crossed his face, and this surprised her.

  “Did I scream again?” he asked.

  “No. Were you having another nightmare?”

  “No. There was so much wind, I thought a tornado was hitting the house, but I see now it was just you.”

  “Just me?”

  “There’s a rushing sound whenever a cú sídhe’s anamchara is close. It’s totally normal. Nothing to worry about, or treat. It’s medically untreatable.”

  Rowan swayed a little as the significance of his statement settled on her heart. Then she asked in a small voice, “May I come in?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I…” But she didn’t know what to say.

  Declan glamoured on a T-shirt, then he flipped the sheet back exposing a loose pair of basketball shorts, as well. He planted his feet on the floor. “Did I miss dinner?”

  She took him in: his wild auburn hair, his neatly trimmed beard, his smooth full lips pulled back in a curious smile, the long, sinewy muscles in his arms, his bare feet… Then she realized he was in the exact same posture as Horatio had been when Jasmine followed her instincts.

  Taking a breath to calm her nerves, Rowan reached up and slipped the straps of her silk nightie down her shoulders.

  Declan’s eyes grew round. “Rowan. Sweetheart. What are ye doing?”

  She didn’t respond. She let her nightie fall to her waist, exposing her breasts, and she watched—fascinated—as Declan’s eyes darkened hungrily. His heated gaze followed the scrap of silk as it clung to her slim hips for a second, then fell away completely.

  “Love,” he said, his voice sounding pained. “Ye shouldn’t…”

  Declan’s response wasn’t as assuring as Horatio’s demanding, “Come here,” but somehow—Instinctively?—Rowan knew it meant the same.

  Heart pounding, she walked on stiff legs slowly toward him. As she got closer, he spread his knees and she moved into the space between them. He placed his hands on her hips and held her there, staring up into her face.

  “Ye smell amazing,” he said.

  She meant to say, So do you, but—unable to find her voice—she merely nodded.

  Declan chuckled softly then shocked the hell out of her by suddenly lapping at one nipple then the other. His hands came around and gripped her backside.

  Okay. It was on. She could do this. And to prove it to herself, Rowan took Declan’s face in her hands, and kissed him.

  He groaned and that sound fueled her confidence. It felt so amazing to take control, and it felt amazing that he would let her. Without deciding to do it, her hips pressed forward against his body. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, and traced it with her tongue.

  Declan moaned and gripped her harder. She pulled away just so she could look at him and what she saw weakened her knees.

  There, burning in his eyes, was a desperate hunger the likes of which she had never seen. Declan did nothing to hide his blatant desire for her, and his unflinching honesty made her feel powerful. He didn't just want her as some kind of prize—a daoine princess. She was his anamachara. Not a prize to be won, but the one female he would always prize above all others.

  Declan's gaze skimmed over her face as if he could hardly believe she was real. All the while, he radiated his own raw sexual energy that made Rowan question her own sense of reality. His mouth curled into a smile, then he pulled her back to him. His lips met hers.

  The kiss wasn't like the exploring, curious kisses they'd shared downstairs. His lips moved hungrily across her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Then, with a gentle tug of his thumb at her chin, she opened for him. His tongue slid inside, hot and insistent, rubbing hers with an expertise that had her gripping his suddenly bare shoulders.

  Declan changed the angle, kissing her deeper, until her senses narrowed down, down, down until all she knew was the feel of his mouth on hers, the powerful roar of certainty coursing through her body, and the mindless desire to somehow get more of his taste, more of his dark animal scent.

  Her fingers dug into his hard muscle, as if she could somehow merge their two bodies into one. She wanted more—needed more—of the clawing desperation to take all that was rightfully hers, now while she still had the chance.

  “Lie back,” she said, her voice coming out low and throaty.

  Declan chuckled. “‘Lie back,’ she says. And then what?”

  “I want to try something.”

  “Try anything ye like,” he said, then he did as she instructed and lay back.

  Rowan did as Jasmine had done; she crawled over him, moving up, up his bare chest…

  “Holy shit,” he murmured, then he gripped her hips to stop her progress. “That’s a big jump forward from just a kiss. We don’t—”

  “Hush, Declan. I want you to kiss me there.”

  His eyes locked on hers, and he must have heard her unspoken plea because his lips curled up in a soft smile. “As ye wish, love.”

  “Good,” she said, but then all the air rushed out of her as he suddenly scooped his hands under her and jerked her forward. “Declan!”

  “Now you hush,” he said. “You wanted this. Now you’re going to get it.” And with that, he pulled her to his mouth and lapped at her clit.

  Rowan about hit the ceiling. Hell, she could have climbed the walls. But Declan held her in place and kept at her until the initial shock wore off and she settled into the strange new sensations he was masterfully creating.

  A delicious flutter ran through her body as Declan kissed and licked, sucked and swirled his tongue over her clit. The sounds coming out of her were scandalous, and she would have been embarrassed had Declan not reciprocated with hungry growls and grunts of his own satisfaction.

  The sweet torture went on forever. She’d never experienced anything like it and, sweet Danu, she swore she was getting high. She could get addicted to it—this out-of-body experience his hot mouth was delivering.

  The heat of Declan’s body intensified under her. The mattress vibrated with the shudders that wracked his body, just as her own body tightened into a coil of energy, drawing tighter, tighter, tighter.

  This was it. Sweet Danu, she was going to come. She wasn’t ready! She didn’t want this to end. She wanted to ride the edge of her orgasm forever, but Declan wasn’t letting up. She heard a howl of exaltation and felt the barest scrape of teeth. Her clit gave one hard pulse and she fell over the edge of her orgasm—the spasms burning through her in wave after delicious wave. She was coming so hard she swore she was flying!

  Except that she was flying. She was literally airborne. Declan had flung her across the mattress.

  She landed on the pillows at the head of the bed, then scrambled around to find Declan now standing on the floor, panting, shoulders hunched forward and looking like some crazed creature from hell.

  “Declan, are you—?”

  He clenched his lengthening teeth, threw back his head, and stretched his jaw. His face distorted, and his back rounded. Russet-colored wiry hair sprung from his skin, then Rowan was staring into the blazing red eyes of a living, breathing cú sídhe in his natural state.

  The hound’s fiery eyes locked on hers as she raised a shaking hand to cover the scream that was stuck in her throat. His chest expanded and released in deep huffing breaths of barely controlled energy. Then he sprang for the bed, taking up nearly the entire mattress.

  Rowan shrieked and dodged out of the way. She’d really stepped in it this time. What was she thinking, provoking a cú s�
�dhe? And in his own home, too.

  But the hound surprised her.

  Instead of mauling her to death, he turned in a tight circle, sniffing at the sheets and trying to keep his massive body from falling off the edge. Then he lay beside her and rested his head across her abdomen, whimpering like a remorseful pup who’d stolen a pie off the kitchen table.

  Okay… Okay… Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Deep breath, Rowan… Not knowing what else to do, she stroked his head.

  “Thatta boy,” she said, staring up at the ceiling and feeling slightly ridiculous. The cú sídhe were ferocious fighters, not labradoodles. Unfortunately, none of her nursing training had taught her what to do when a hell hound’s trigger got tripped.

  “Who’s the good boy?” she asked. “That’s right. You are, aren’t you.” She didn’t dare move, other than to drag her fingers gently back and forth against the groove in his skull. The hound lifted a large paw—the size of a catcher’s mitt—and laid it over her thigh.

  “That’s right. It’s all right.” Rowan kept stroking his head, but she couldn’t look down at him. If she did, she’d probably pee herself. “You’re not going to kill me now, are you.”

  The heavy head lifted just a bit, then she heard a low, gravelly human-sounding voice. “I thought it was you who was trying to kill me.”

  The sound was so startling that she shrieked and scrambled away, moving even further up the headboard. “Holy shit. Holy shit! When did you—?”

  Declan looked like Declan again. Handsome. Steely gray eyes. Dark auburn hair more mussed than before. Damn, he was fast. Shifting with that kind of speed had to hurt.

  Declan reached toward her, placing a warm hand on her thigh. “Relax, love. Everything’s all right.”

  “Oh.” She blinked twice. Just seconds ago, that hand had been a large rough paw.

  “I didn’t expect to lose control like that, or I would have taken greater precautions. Was that the first time you’ve seen a fully manifested cú sídhe?”