by Lora Leigh
She sipped at the coffee again before replacing the cup on the table, her fingers playing absently with the handle as she stared into the cup's depths.
"I don't hate you," she finally said softly, her voice torn with confusion and pain. "I didn't mean that as it came out."
"Of course you did," he retorted lightly. "What you said, you said in anger, and in self-defense. You've likely never been more truthful."
"Don't put words or feelings into my mouth." She glared back at him as her lips tightened angrily. "Fine, I feel animosity, and a hell of a lot of anger where the Breeds are concerned. If Dad and James hadn't been so in love with their research and what they were creating, then they wouldn't have died and I wouldn't have been forced to run to live."
The pain in her voice struck at his heart, clenching his chest and his emotions. The pressure she had lived under for the past ten years had been incredible, and he didn't blame her for being angry. But the anger was misdirected.
"You wouldn't have been forced to run in order to live if you had come to us when you first escaped Omega," he informed her before taking another sip of the coffee and setting the cup aside.
He could feel the confrontation coming like a tingle of electricity over his flesh. Anger was the product of denied hunger, of cross-purposes and emotions without outlet. And if anyone needed to let emotions out, then it was Storme. She was like her name, raging inside, crashing like thunder in the heavens as the past and the present came in conflict with what she wanted, needed and denied herself for the future.
"Yeah, I really wanted to face a Breed then." The hard, bitter smile that crossed her face had nothing to do with amusement and everything to do with the pain raging inside her. "I was fourteen, Styx ..."
"And you're twenty-four now," he reminded her caustically. "Tell me, Storme, have you managed to grow up in anything but body?"
Storme rose slowly from the chair, feeling a shudder of intense emotion tear through her as she fought to hold back a sudden, wrenching sob.
His expression was stoic, his blue eyes almost darker, brighter.
"What do you want me to say?" she demanded, almost wincing at the harsh sound of her own voice. "What do you want from me, Styx?"
"Your safety," he snarled back at her, his canines flashing as his lips pulled back from his teeth. "I want that fucking data chip."
"For my safety?" Her words were suffused with bitter mockery. "And of course your motives are completely altruistic, aren't they, Styx? It has nothing to do with the fact that you fucked me to attain that damned chip, does it? That you and Jonas Wyatt would willingly throw me to the Council if it achieved your ends?"
Her pain swirled around him then.
"Is this what you think?" The growl that vibrated in his chest was deeper, harsher than he'd expected, as incredulity flared inside him. "You believe I took you to my bed to get that damned chip? That I would betray you in such a manner if I don't get it?"
"What else should I think? Orders to kill me if I escape and can't be recovered before the Council gets to me?" she sneered back at him. "I guess those orders come from love? From an overwhelming desire for me alone? Don't bother lying to me because I know better."
"And how do you know better?" This was it. Damn her, she was pushing him past reason, and holding back from her wasn't easy to begin with. The need to have her, to possess her, to imprint upon her body, her sensuality, the dominant possessiveness raging inside him was becoming quickly overwhelming. "Tell me, Storme, if the only reason I fucked you was for that chip, do you truly believe that's why I kept fucking you?"
"Why else?" Her arms opened wide in an indication of resignation. "Do you have the chip? If you kill me, you can't locate it. What other recourse is left but to fuck me and attempt to convince me there's some emotion involved. Tell me, Styx, do you love me?" she sneered mockingly.
Storme could feel the anger surging through her now; the aching, torn emotions that ripped through her were harder to define, but the anger was clearly recognizable.
As she stared back at him, seeing the seeming sincerity in his gaze, the urge for violence rose inside her like a dark, vicious cloud.
Fists clenched, she swung away from him, turned and tried to race from the kitchen, from the man, the Breed. She'd spent the past week hiding, running, avoiding this Breed that made her feel emotions and sensations she didn't want to feel.
He made her feel guilty, regretful, and he made her wish things were different, made her want to find reasons to trust him. And Storme knew there was no trusting a Breed.
How many had taught her that lesson, beginning the night her father and brother had died.
"By God, I'm sick of you running from me." Before she reached the door, his arm latched around her waist and she found herself pulled flush against his chest, his hold firm, possessive, as she felt his heart thundering at her back.
"And I'm sick of being locked up and made a prisoner," she cried out furiously. "I'm sick of being used by you and I'm sick of being lied to."
She was turned before she could fight. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulled her head back, and his lips covered hers as she parted them to scream.
At least, she told herself she meant to scream. Instead her tongue met his, licked and stroked until she tempted it inside, where her mouth enclosed it and she suckled it with sharp, demanding movements of her lips.
A harsh growl echoed around her as her hands moved over his chest, his shoulders, pulling at the dark gray shirt that had complemented the long red hair and vivid blue eyes. She wanted it off his body. She wanted to feel him against her, the warmth and the strength she craved wrapped around her.
She tasted the softest hint of cinnamon before it was gone. The taste drew at her senses and had her reaching for more of him, the kiss growing deeper, stronger as she pulled at the edge of the shirt.
Her fingers fumbled as she tried to unbutton it. A ragged groan tore from her throat as she tried to pull the hem of the shirt from his pants.
Storme gave a groan herself as he pulled back, nipping his lips in retaliation as she tried to draw him to her.
There was something desperate, something ecstatic about being in his arms, feeling his touch, touching him and relishing the excitement that began to surge through her.
As his lips moved along her jaw and down her neck, Storme found her head tipping back in invitation. The thought of pain never entered her mind. Only pleasure could come from his touch there.
And only pleasure came. The rake of his teeth, the lick of his tongue, the feel of his lips smoothing along the column pulled a desperate mewl of pleasure from her lips.
"Come here." The demand was followed by his arm hooking beneath her knees as he lifted her against him, turned and strode through the living room and into the bedroom. To the bed.
Storme felt her back meet the mattress as Styx came over her, his hands going instantly to the edges of the shirt she had borrowed from him, to rip the buttons from their moorings with a quick jerk.
She tried to follow suit, but his lips returned to hers, kissing her mindless as she felt him moving. His shirt was gone, giving the bare expanse of his flesh to her eager touch.
His fingers were at her jeans, tearing at the metal buttons, pushing the denim down her hips as her legs lifted and moved, her hips shifting, helping him undress her as their lips and tongues mated and dueled with a hunger that flared hotter, brighter than ever before.
Within minutes she was naked, then crying out hoarsely as he jerked back from her.
Moving to the edge of the bed, he yanked his boots from his feet, rose and stripped off his jeans, then turned back to her.
Storme felt the breath leave her chest at the sight of his cock, so thick and hard, the crest flushed nearly purple as it throbbed in lust, a sheen of pre-cum glistening on the tip as he hovered over her.
Her thighs parted for him, but he didn't fit his hips between them. Instead, before her astounded gaze, his head lowered and
his tongue swiped through the hot, slick folds of flesh that ached in fiery need for his touch.
Storme shuddered as pleasure whipped through her. His tongue licked and stroked, flickered around her clit and ignored the desperate arch and shudder in her thighs.
"Styx, oh God, I can't stand it," she cried out, her voice hoarse as the need burned like wildfire through her sex.
Storme could feel her juices gathering inside before rushing to meet his licking tongue. His fingers parted the swollen slips as his tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh before circling her clit with fiery hunger.
"So good," she panted, unable to keep her silence, unable to hold back the pleasure she was feeling. "Oh God, Styx. It's so good. So hot."
His tongue flicked around her clit in a lash of fiery sensation and incredible pleasure.
A hungry growl met the words, speeding up her heart rate and spurring her arousal.
Her knees bent, her thighs parting farther as her hips arched to lift closer.
"Styx." Desperation began to fill her at the ache centered in her pussy, the clenching, heated hunger that radiated from the very heart of her femininity.
Storme felt his fingers moving as though he sensed the need, two pressing at the greedy entrance as his lips surrounded the bud of her clit and began to suckle it with tempting, firm pressure.
Her fingers fisted in the comforter beneath her. As her head whirled with sensation, the need to find something to hold on to became overwhelming.
As his lips and tongue tormented and tortured her clit, his fingers worked slowly inside her pussy, parting the tender tissue, stretching it as burning flares of impending orgasm began to race through her.
This wasn't love, she thought desperately. This was just pleasure, it was just hunger. She could still walk away without regrets, she was convinced of it.
That thought was distant though, without conviction, and shrouded with such intense pleasure she was on the verge of screaming.
Strong, masculine fingers moved inside her, stroking, caressing tender tissue and ultrasensitive nerve endings. Thrusting her hips upward, she wedged his fingers in deeper, a cry falling from her lips as he chose that moment to cover the tender bundle of nerves with his lips.
Her clit, throbbing and swollen, lifted to the damp heat of his mouth. Fire and ice seemed to wash through her system, tear across her nerve endings, and pleasure stormed her senses with hard bursts of electric sensation.
Her hips jerked against the impalements, the sliding of his fingers inside her, the retreat, the sudden fullness of the inner thrust that sent fiery waves of pleasure rushing through her womb.
Shaking, trembling from the excess pleasure, Storme lifted her hands from the comforter and tangled her fingers in the long, coarse strands of his hair. Bunching in the heavy warmth, she held his head in place, her hips rising and falling, forcing his fingers harder, deeper inside her as ragged cries began to tear from her throat.
She could feel the force of the impending ecstasy beginning to burn inside her. Felt the sensations multiply, racing across her nerve endings and screaming through her senses.
"Styx!" She moaned his name desperately. "Harder." Her hips churned on his fingers. "Oh God, fuck me harder, Styx. Harder ..."
The pace of his fingers quickened, moving inside the slick recesses of her pussy as she felt that tight, burning ball of need explode in her clit, her womb, and throw her into rapture.
A muffled, weak scream tore from her lips as her hips jerked up, her thighs shaking, her clit radiating with a wildfire of pleasure as her orgasm overtook her and threw her into a brilliant fire burst of light, color and screaming pleasure.
Styx was desperate. An agony of hunger and lust throbbed through his entire body. His cock was harder than he could ever remember it being. It throbbed and pulsed, pre-cum dampening the crest and slickening the bulging flesh as he came to his knees and positioned himself between her thighs.
The bare flesh of the folds of her pussy flowered open, glistening and shimmering slick and wet as he gripped the shaft of this thick flesh and placed the head at the heated entrance.
The shock of pleasure clenched his teeth as he stared down at the swollen, silken folds as he began to press inside.
"Styx." Her thighs parted farther as she whispered his name, her voice hoarse, drawing his gaze.
Her face was awash with ecstasy, her green eyes gleaming like living emeralds as she stared back at him.
He felt the snug entrance begin to stretch over the flared crest of his dick. The heated, slick flesh sent sharp shards of dark pleasure racing through him.
"Sweet Storme," he groaned, his voice rougher, more of a growl than before as he grimaced, feeling the ultratight flesh stretching around his cock.
"So good," she moaned, her neck arching, perspiration dampening the fragile column of her neck as her lips parted and her drowsy gaze locked with his. "It's so good, Styx."
It was so good. It was like heaven and hell. The most exquisite ecstasy he had ever known. The pleasure was white hot, brilliant, as close to pain as pleasure could get, as the tight muscles of her pussy gripped and rippled over the flared head of his dick.
A rumbling growl echoed in his chest as he worked the swollen, heavy flesh into the slick recesses of her pussy. The ripple of her inner flesh over the sensitive crest was like electric rapture. The surging sensations raced over his body and sizzled up his spine as he surged those last inches and buried himself to the hilt inside her.
"Ah God!" He couldn't hold back the growl. "Fuck, Sugar. So sweet and fucking hot."
He was in agony the pleasure was so brilliant. Seated fully inside her, he lingered for seconds, a lifetime, feeling the clench of her stretched flesh around his cock, feeling the liquid heat of her arousal.
In the center of the shaft that agonizing throb began to pulse, the Wolf Breed knot flexing as he began to move, to thrust inside her as he worked in and out, stroking the pleasure higher, hotter.
One hand gripped her hip as he set the opposite elbow on the mattress at her shoulder and rose over her. His lips touched hers, the need for breath holding back the kiss they both longed for.
A growl surged from his chest again as he felt her hips elevate, her legs wrap around his hips as she took him impossibly deeper.
God, she was tight. So fucking tight he could feel every ripple of response, every little throb of pulsing need that shuddered through her hot little pussy.
Fucking her was incredible. It was living, breathing ecstasy. It was being surrounded by pure sensation and drowning in the slick heat of each thrust inside the velvety depths of her sex.
Never had he known pleasure so brilliantly hot. It was the most pleasure any man could ever know and survive.
Holding her close, Styx rose farther over her, his lips moving to the bend of her shoulder, close to her neck, instinct and need combining as his tongue licked over the tender flesh there.
The glands beneath his tongue itched with a torturous irritation. His body became sensitive, each cell atuned to each stroke of her hands as they clenched on his back, her little nails digging into his flesh.
Hunger surged with incredible force inside them both. The scent of her need filled his senses as the silken perspiration on her damp flesh stroked against his. His hand clenched on her hip, his teeth gripped the flesh between shoulder blade and neck, and as he felt her explode beneath him, Styx gave in to the need clawing up his back.
As the heated, tight muscles of her pussy clenched further and began to flex, to throb as she cried out below him, Styx moved harder against her, fucking into her with heavy thrusts until he felt the fiery heat of release began to explode in his tortured balls.
The snarling growl that tore from his chest was accompanied by his teeth locking into her shoulder, his hand pressing her hips closer, and Storme's ragged cry and second orgasm exploding around him.
She cried out his name, lifted and shuddered in hard, deep tremors as Styx jerked his head back,
locked his teeth together and rode the fierce, desperate waves of a release that tore through him.
The mating knot flexed beneath the shaft of his dick, heated, and as the hard pulses of semen spurted from the tip of his cock, it once again retreated without swelling, without locking him inside her or marking her as his mate.
Collapsing over her, Styx rested his head on the pillow beside hers, his forehead pressing into the cool material as the ache of regret ripped at his soul.
She was his mate. He knew it. She belonged to him, yet something kept her from him, whether her inability to fight past her fear, as he believed, or his lack of trust, as Navarro believed, he didn't know. What he knew was that something had to give. One way or the other, this problem had to be resolved.
He had only six weeks, if he was lucky, to prove she was his mate, or to mark her as such. There was no way to prove the bonding without a full mating. Without it, there would be no way to save her from Jonas's plans unless she gave up the data chip.
He didn't worry about proving shit if the mating happened. Mating didn't happen without love. It didn't happen without the most vital elements of that emotional bonding. If the mating occurred, then there was no doubt in his mind that she would trust him with the secrets she hid and, in turn, trust Jonas with them.
"Styx?" she whispered, her voice sated and drowsy as he brushed his lips over the edge of her shoulder.
"Yes, love?" What more could he give her? What would it take to convince her wary heart to trust him?
"You taste like chocolate," she said with a sigh, a hint of amusement in her voice. "A woman wouldn't have to gain weight to get her fix, all she would have to do is kiss you."
Styx closed his eyes as bitterness threatened to overwhelm him. If only it was something other than chocolate that she tasted. Each Breed had a distinctive "taste" to the mating hormone. A taste their mate craved, a kiss as addictive as it was pleasurable.
"Perhaps you should kiss me often then," he finally whispered as he lifted himself from her, grimacing as his sensitive cock eased from the tight depths of her pussy.
"Perhaps I should." She was soft now, sweet. Satiation filled her body and mind, stole the suspicion from her gaze and left her relaxed and lazy in his arms as he lay beside her and pulled her against his chest.
The wealth of black hair that flowed to the middle of her back spread over her shoulder and his arm. It glistened like a raven's wing, a blue black, silky and lustrous.
He rubbed the silky stuff between his thumb and forefinger, marveling at the softness and thickness of it.
"Everything's very quiet here," she murmured as she continued to lie against him, warm and naked, one leg layed over his. "I didn't think Haven would be so quiet."
"What did ye expect then, lass?" he murmured. "Revelry and orgies?" He laughed at that. The latest stories in the tabloids never failed to amuse him.
"Gunfire. Howls. Maybe screams." There was no fear coming from her, but there was an edge of confusion. The scent of her was distressed, as though a conflict waged inside her. He hoped that conflict involved emotions for him that she couldn't deny.
He could sense the emotions there, but he also sensed the battle against them.
"Gunfire, howls and screams?" He almost laughed, but he held the response back. "Storme, we've shadowed you for years and never attacked. What made you believe there would be such things here?"
She breathed out heavily. "I knew I was being shadowed. I believed it was my father's friends doing it."
Storme knew she should move. She knew she should force herself to get out of the bed, to dress, to put some distance between then. She couldn't make herself do it though. She was comfortable, she was warm. Lying there naked against him, there was a feeling she didn't know or understand. A feeling that held her in place, that kept her against him and refused to allow her to move.
"Council scientists?" he snorted.
"No." She frowned, remembering the past ten years, knowing Styx was telling her the truth. It wasn't her father's friends who had protected her, as she had believed, but it was the Breeds. She knew it was, and the sense of bitterness that welled inside her was like a dark cloud over the contentment of moments past.
"Who then, lass?" His fingers stroked down her spine, calloused and warm, easing the tension from her before it really had a chance to take hold.
"Friends." She breathed out roughly. "Dad told me someone would find me, and protect me. That he hadn't left me alone. I guess I always hoped that was who it was, and that they would reveal themselves when it was safe enough. I thought perhaps they couldn't risk the Council recognizing or identifying them."
She'd lived in a dreamworld for so many years. For so long she had believed someone would truly come for her to claim the data chip and wipe away the danger she faced.
As she lay there, she realized that there was no white knight. There was no one to ride to her rescue. But she realized that there never had been, and she had managed to stay alive anyway.
But how much longer would she have managed that?
"Your da did send someone for you," he stated heavily, causing her to lift from the warm comfort she had found, to stare back at him in suspicion.
"Lass." He shook his head. "The suspicion in your gaze breaks my heart. Jonas was part of the team that rescued the Breeds at the Omega lab. He was racing to your da's small home, but he arrived too late. You were to await him at an abandoned mountain cottage where your da had hidden a vehicle whose engine Jonas had provided in case of emergency. But he arrived there too late as well. You had already run."
"So you're telling me Jonas was the person my father meant to meet me?" She held back her mockery and disbelief.
"The one he meant to have the data chip," he clarified. "And that's no lie, lass, no matter your suspicions."
And her suspicions were great, but she didn't totally disbelieve it. She found herself wanting to believe though, and that terrified her.
"Dad said he would come to me and tell me." Forcing herself from the bed, she wrapped the sheet around her and stared back at him, as a sense of betrayal pricked at her heart.
He had to be lying to her. If Jonas was the man her father had wanted to have that information, then her father would have given her some indication, or at the very least Jonas would have told her. The man was not lacking in daring.
"Jonas didn't know the importance of the information," he revealed, as though he regretted that fact. "You were eighteen before he found you, and by then you were already outspoken against the Breeds. He wanted you to come to us willingly. To trust us. He didn't want to make your distrust worse. So he sent Enforcers to shadow you, to protect you, hoping you would see that you could trust us with the information your da gave you."
"How convenient," she murmured as she fought back the anger, the fear that he would lie to her so easily and make her want to believe it so desperately.