Alphas After Dark (9 Book Bundle of Sexy Alpha Biker Bad Boys)

by Vivian Arend

  But just as she reached for it, the lights in the library flickered once, twice, and then out completely. Frowning, she turned to look. Hidden torches in the walls and tables sprang to life then, casting the room in a warm, golden glow.

  Stretching up on tiptoe, she made to grab one in particular about an Irish man and a woman who traveled back in time to meet him. She’d been surprised the first time she’d noticed Rumpel’s romance section. Amidst all the literary classics was a bookcase completely devoted to romance stories.

  “Do you know I can see every outline of your body in the glow of the candles?”

  Gasping and dropping the book she’d been reaching for, she twirled at the sound of Rumpel’s whiskey-drenched voice. And suddenly they were no longer in the library, but in another room altogether, the room she’d been brought to by Dalia all those weeks ago. The bronze bowl of water was gone, and there was nothing inside the room now but a chair that he currently occupied and a hearth full of flame.

  With fingers steepled in front of him and his legs spread wide, he looked like a booze-soaked god, and all the energy she’d released only this morning came thundering back to life. She swallowed hard.

  Tonight he wore black on black, and with his long disheveled blond hair, he was her every fantasy come to life. Her body was alight with desire so powerful it flooded through her veins.

  He twisted to the side, hoping that maybe the firelight wouldn’t play along her skin anymore, then shook his head and scratched his chin. “I can’t stop.”

  “What?” She asked with a voice grown tight. “Can’t stop what?”

  “Thinking about you. Wondering what you’d look like without any clothes on. I’ve tried, gods help me.” He chuckled, but the sound lacked humor.

  She clutched at her throat. “I haven’t been charming you. You’ve barely even been—”

  So fast he made her head spin, he was in front of her, leaning in and smelling wonderful. His finger hovered above her cheek.

  “Around.” She squeaked out the last bit.

  “Only because”—the gravel of his voice scraped her nerves raw—“I’ve been trying to forget you.”

  Her lips parted and her heart leapt into her throat when his gaze zoomed in on the motion. “Why?” she asked with an exhalation of breath.

  “Because I should.”

  She wet her lips, but even in this moment of desire, fear slithered in. The fear that he did this all the time, with every contestant he’d brought here. That he charmed and wined and dined and then once their guard was down, when they believed themselves not only in love, and he with them, that he’d take them. Own them. And then toss them aside once he was done.

  He traced her cheek and then hissed at the power transference. Her head swam with his potent flame, her body buzzed, and she knew he’d been affected too because he was trembling. Clamping one hand onto the mantel at her back, he growled.

  “You claim I play games with you, little siren.” He hissed. “But you’ve created a madness within me. Tell me to touch you.”

  His voice was a sharp command and she couldn’t speak as common sense warred with desire. The angel and the demon, the opposing voices of reason, and one was definitely growing louder than the other.

  She shook her head, clamping tight to her lip.

  His nose came within a hair’s breadth of her lip and he inhaled deeply. “You smell of roses, always of roses. So lovely, so deadly. You think I’ve done this with others.”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  He chuckled and the sound of it made a spiraling heat gather between her thighs.

  “Don’t deny it, Carrot. I can read you like a book. You’re unskilled, untrained at the art of seduction, and yet one whisper from you makes me want to do things that I…” He sucked in a sharp breath.

  She was turning to mush. Right here. Right now. Being liquefied from the inside out, soon she’d be nothing but a puddle of want at his feet. Biting onto her lower lip, she was horrified by the whimper that spilled from her throat.

  He hadn’t done this with others? Could it be true? Was it possible that he wasn’t lying? In the time she’d been with him, she’d not caught him in an untruth. What she’d read of the demone said they were masters at the art of deception but not out and out liars.

  “Oh gods,” she breathed. “You must stop.”

  His other hand seized the mantel as well, effectively caging her in his arms. The fact that no part of him touched her made the atmosphere between them charge like the sky before a storm.

  “Tell me.” He enunciated each word. “To touch you.”

  Her chest heaved, gods… was she living her own bodice ripper? Did she want him to take her, violently, explosively, against the wall, the floor, wherever?

  The tremoring of her body said yes. “I won’t.” She clung to the last vestige of her sanity. Deep down she knew that if she let him, if he could in fact touch her without activating the curse, she might never survive him.

  Rumpel was frightening because he was a great mystery still, a great unknown. She’d always imagined her first time would be with a sweet lover, a gentle and caring man. Someone bashful and playful.

  But Rumpel was a predator. A stalking lion seeking to destroy her, and gods, she wanted him to. She wanted to be consumed, owned, and possessed.

  “Say it!” he commanded.

  And she was helpless to deny him anymore. “Touch me, Rumpelstiltskin.”

  Shoving away from the mantel, his smile was wide and vicious, all teeth and fangs, and for a moment she thought he’d been playing yet another game and her palm itched to slap him.

  But then he growled, “Close your eyes.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  Clenching his own shut, he pinched his nose, and that’s when she noticed his hand was trembling. It was a shock to discover that he was just as affected as she was.

  “Do it now and do not look.”

  Desperate to know his touch, curious as to what he meant to do, she squeezed them tightly shut.

  The faint scent of sulfur, not at all unpleasant as it was mingled with his unique odor of whisky and cloves and smoky cherries, permeated her senses. Then a warm hand framed her face and the touch did not spark with power, but it burned anyway.

  Moaning, she drooped into it, seeking more. Wanting more, because she’d never known this before. A touch that did not hurt, did not demand, but made her body ache and want and need.

  “You’ve bewitched me, siren.” His voice was deeper, fuller, and moved deep inside of her.

  Words failed her in that moment, but they weren’t needed. Lips crashed into hers and then the hands that’d framed her so tenderly were now clamping tight to her waist and he was repositioning her, shoving her against the wall, but he moved one hand behind her head so that she did not bang her skull. And the compulsion to open her eyes, to see what he truly was, seized her. Was he more beautiful in his demone form? Or hideous? Did he look like the others?

  “Do not open your eyes,” he said, as if knowing where her thoughts led, and then his lips were claiming her again.

  He wasn’t kissing her; Rumpel was owning her. His tongue shoved into her mouth, demanding she wrap her own around his, and she did, desperate for more. He tasted tart and rich, like smoked cherry, and she moaned, clawing at the front of him.

  Depriving herself of one sense made the others flare to life even sharper. The rumbling growls that tore from his throat, the rustle of her nightshift as his hot hand shoved it upward, the strength and dexterity of his fingers as they crept along her inner thigh, each sensation was distinct.

  “Oh gods,” she moaned, scratching so hard at his shirt that she tore it. The rending of fabric was like gunshot in her ears.

  With a hiss, he clamped onto the shell of her ear with his sharp teeth. “Touch me, Carrot. Anywhere, everywhere. Touch me.”

  Wild now, drowning in sensations, she thrust her hands beneath the tatters of his shirt and dragged her nails
down his rock-hard stomach. Moaning, he leaned farther into her, pressing something hard and hot and thick into her thigh.

  “Oh… oh.” It was all she could say; she prattled that one word over and over, walking a tightrope of desire so sharp it bordered on pain. Her body was alive, like a living flame, and his touch was inciting her to that same level of madness he’d claimed. Darkness clawed at her vision and demanded she open her eyes, especially as his fingers began a dangerous circuit upon the inside of her thigh.

  “Tell me to touch you there.” His hot voice was in her ear and she banged her head against the wall.

  She was a creature of duality, hot and cold, frenzied and yet completely rational. She wanted this, wanted him. As insane as this was, as much as she knew she shouldn’t do this, she could deny him nothing. Parting her legs, she wrapped one tightly around his thigh and moaned a heated “Touch me.”

  Like a caged beast let loose, he had her pinned, every inch of her touching him, and then his hands slipped inside her and she groaned, intrinsically knowing to shove herself down onto him, taking him in deeper.

  “Carrot,” he moaned, “you smell sweeter than the morning dew.”

  Burying her face in his neck, she inhaled him. He flooded her. There was no her in that moment, just Rumpel. His body, the up-and-down motion of his fingers, the pain mingled with pleasure, and she needed so much more than this.

  Whimpering, not sure what she needed, she clawed at him. There was something building deep inside her, a blunt, heavy feeling centering right where his fingers moved. Like a spiral, the energy gathered and built and she cried out, clutching his back, feeling as though she was going to die.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I… can’t.”

  “Ssh, love,” he murmured, and then his fingers were out of her and that was even worse.

  Because the magic, the power, it was all gone, but her body was still buzzing and she dug her nails into his arms. “No, don’t.”

  Chuckling, his heady breaths feathered the side of her neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” Then there was a rustling sound, like he was sliding his shirt off.

  And she knew she was right when he pressed against her and she felt his naked flesh. She had shoved her hands down, ready to fling her own garment off when he grabbed hold of her. Her scent was strong on him and made her blush with a sudden bout of embarrassment.

  “Not this time, Carrot. This one is just for you.”

  But the moment his hand slipped back inside her, the shame was replaced by the wanton and heady nature of a siren. Crying out in relief, she bit her lip.

  “Bite me,” he whispered into her ear.

  “What?” She almost opened her eyes, but he slammed a palm over them.

  “No looking or this ends.”

  “Why can’t I see you? I’ve seen your servants; I am not bothered by your form.”

  His breathing was hard and when he whispered, it was full of grit. “I will show you passion and feed your siren, but never look upon me in this form, Shayera. Swear it.”

  Curiosity burned inside her, but her need was brighter. “I vow it. I swear.”

  His cheek pressed to her own. The touch was so intimate, so gentle compared to what they’d been doing, that for a moment it was easy to believe he was the tender lover she’d always imagined.

  “Then bite me,” he ordered again, and this time she did not deny him.

  Opening her mouth wide, she latched on to the curve of his neck and bit down onto the throbbing vein.

  Grunting, he shoved his fingers up and down again, and the salty sweetness of his flesh beneath her tongue mingled with his touch, lighting her up like a firework. The spiraling became so tight, so potent, that she could either die or let it shatter her completely.

  With a final lick of his flesh, she howled with release. Rumpel pumped her harder, milking every last drop of pleasure, and as he did so, he thrust his hips upon her. In a moment, a roar sprang from his lips, thundering to the heavens, and their muscles twitched together in the afterglow.

  Languid in his arms, breathless and feeling as though she’d run a marathon, she laughed, hiding her face in his chest.

  He tipped her chin up and kissed her lips, and she felt the movement of a smile. Then he was out of her arms and the sulfur was back.

  “Open your eyes.”

  And when she did so, he was as he’d been. Aloof and cold, and haughtily beautiful. His amber eyes literally glowed like the red behind them wasn’t quite yet contained. The smile was nowhere to be seen.

  “Be well tomorrow, siren.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Do you think she is the one?” Giles asked as they watched her through the two-way mirror.

  Rumpel hadn’t slept at all last night, not after what he and Shayera had done. What he’d done to her. Her scent had saturated his senses, and the desire he’d hoped to quench had only worsened the moment he closed his eyes and remembered her breathy moans, the way her pale skin almost seemed to glow.

  The witch’s curse had been nullified by his true demone form, but her charms had been raw and potent, priming him to a level of near delirium. He’d wanted to ruck her skirt up, drop to his knees, and suckle from between her thighs.

  He’d known the instant he’d left that he’d have her again. He took no joy in her trial this day.

  Rather than walk about the room this time, Shayera knelt and appeared as though she were praying; her fingers were clasped tight and she was murmuring something.

  “I do not know, Giles.”

  Giles looked astonished, eyebrows lifted and mouth slightly parted. “You do. You know.”

  Gripping the armrest, Rumpel leaned forward, his desperation to take her again, to leave this castle, bordered on folly. True enough, she had siren’s blood coursing through her veins, but to a demone prince charms like hers, though powerful, were little more than a nuisance. Like the buzzing of a fly, easily swatted away if one so desired.

  “I want her.” He looked to his man, daring him to say something.

  “You should not do this then, master.”

  The sharp prick of anger was quickly extinguished in the simple fact that it was a truth he could not deny. Miserably, he turned back to stare at her. “I know.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Giles pointed to her. “Should I—”

  “I should do a great many things, I’d imagine, and if I had a chance to do it over again, perhaps I would make different decisions. But this is the path we’re on now.” Turning his face so that he no longer looked directly at Giles, no longer had to see the censorious gaze, he dipped his head. “Your move, warrior.”

  Faithful to a fault, his man had begun to waver into fog when Rumpel growled. “Do not touch her as a man.”

  “Aye, massster.” Without a corporeal form to properly enunciate, Giles’s ghostly whisper was the last thing Rumpel heard before the next game began.

  Once again the room shifted and Shayera thought she was prepared for anything. Anything but where she suddenly found herself.

  “What is…?” Words failed her as the joy of seeing a home she thought never to see again suddenly blazed to life as her family home materialized before her.

  “Mother! Father! Briley!” She squealed and ran up the steps, holding her peach-colored gown up so as not be hindered, banging loudly, laughing and crying all at the same time.

  Briley’s face was the first one she saw. His little blond head was hidden behind his bedroom door, which was painted a bold yellow, red, and blue. It was based on his favorite superhero, Superman.

  His eyes lit up and then he threw himself into her, knocking the breath from her body. But she didn’t care, she was too happy to care. “Briley, oh gods, I’ve missed you, sweet boy. So much. So very, very much.”

  She peppered his cheeks with kisses. This may not be real, none of this. But, real or not, he felt warm and alive. His hair smelled of his favorite strawberry-scented shampoo, and his
kisses were just as manic and happy as she remembered them.

  “I love you,” she cooed, rubbing his silky hair through her fingers.

  “Shay Shay.” He smiled the sweetest gap-toothed smile and she dropped to her knees, cuddling him into her body. There’d been a time when he’d done this exact thing with her.

  Since the moment Briley had stepped foot into Kingdom, he’d been locked in perpetual youth. Mother had said the boy suffered a malady of the genes on Earth and he’d been instantly cured the moment he’d stepped into the new world, but he’d been terrified of growing up and had begged and pleaded with Danika that he should remain as he was forever, a boy of twelve.

  Uncle Kelly, Mother, and Father hadn’t had the heart to deny him, and so here he was, her old-young cousin whom she adored.

  “Is this real?” He laughed and nuzzled her throat, sniffing it as he always loved to do.

  He claimed she always smelled like flowers and licorice, an odd combination to be sure, but one that seemed to make him happy.

  “Are you really home?”

  Her grin was broad. “For now, I suppose I am. Where is everyone else?”

  “Father is working the pub and Aunt and Uncle are out back in the garden. They talk about you a lot.”

  “Do they?” She couldn’t seem stop touching his cheek.

  “Mm.” He nodded. “All the time. Aunt Betty cries a lot too. At night, when she thinks the rest of us are asleep.” His bow-shaped lips turned into a frown.

  The thought of it broke her heart. Touching the tip of her pinky to his lips until he smiled once more, she said, “Well, I’m here now.”

  “How does that man treat you, Shay Shay?” He gripped her wrist tightly. “Is he nice to you?”

  Gods, how to answer that question. Rumpelstiltskin was complicated. Divine, dangerous, seductive, cold.

  “He’s…” She sighed. “He’s not mean to me. Though he does sometimes get a little grumpy.”