by Chandra Ryan
“Guess what I wished for.”
“Your destiny would be fulfilled?”
“Stovak nos briel. Nay, what I wished for is more personal and out of my hands.”
“What’s that?”
Their gazes clashed, then locked. His eyes narrowed, darkened. “A kiss, freely given, from you.”
What? Her heart skipped a beat. She froze. That was it? Why waste the power of a wish on such a frivolous thing?
He must have read the disbelief on her face. “’Tis a rarer gift than you’d ken. But tonight, in this magical place, all things seem possible.”
They did. They truly did. She should’ve been angry or offended at his outrageous request. She should return to the party. Today had been emotional chaos. She felt raw, vulnerable, in its wake. Tonight, heart ruled mind. She nibbled her lower lip, undecided. Why? Mayhaps ’twas the moonlight, the seclusion of the garden setting. Who would know? Mayhaps ’twas his words, the understanding on his face. The heat in his eyes, the warmth of his hand.
Or mayhaps Cianan was right. Mayhaps the woman tired of the warrior having the say.
Verdeen stepped closer, as if he drew her in, and quivered as Aryk’s free hand came to rest on her hip. She reached up to run her thumb across the rough stubble on his cheek, along his jaw to the cleft in his chin, slid her free hand around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his tawny hair, unexpected softness on such a hard man. His hand tightened over hers, held it to his chest. Her heart pounded in her throat, part trepidation and part anticipation.
He held himself still as a statue, as if he feared she’d bolt like some wild creature.
She closed her eyes and leaned in. The warmth of his body curled around her. She almost missed his mouth, brushed the corner with her lips. But she adjusted, moved across his lips in the lightest of caresses. A tingle of awareness sizzled through her at even so small a contact. She jerked back, appalled at her daring. What was she doing? ’Twas madness.
“So strong. So beautiful.” Aryk raised her hand to his lips, nuzzling the satiny skin of her inner wrist. She gasped at the prickle of his beard. The sensation rippled through her. “Don’t be afeared. I won’t hurt you.”
“I-I’m not afeared,” she lied. She feared her inexperience showed, that she’d disappointed him. She’d never been motivated to pay attention to the other maids’ gossip on the subject of kissing afore. Now she wished she’d paid more heed to those silly lasses. She felt so awkward.
“Shh, relax.” His eyes had darkened. “Again?”
Verdeen kissed him again, rubbed his lips with hers. The shock of awareness returned, and she whimpered at the unfamiliar heat, tingling. The need to move closer yet.
A curse can erase her from his mind, but never from his heart.
Sabine
© 2011 Moira Rogers
…and the Beast, Book 1
After three years at war, the High Lord of the Forest returns to his lands, a victorious wolf leader intent on claiming his mate. Instead Ciar finds an empty bed and a court with no recollection of the woman he loved. Following her long-cold trail proves far easier than facing what awaits him at the end.
Sabine’s first instinct is to beg her beloved to leave. The High Lord’s mother hired a witch to curse Sabine, desperate to wipe the lowborn wolf from her son’s mind. But the spell worked too well, and Sabine has vanished from the thoughts of everyone who sees her. Including her own family.
The edges of his memory already blurring, Ciar and Sabine must race to find a way to reverse the spell. Yet every searing moment together is not enough to stop the curse’s inexorable progress. His only chance is to bind Sabine to him too tightly to be forgotten, before she disappears once and for all.
Warning: This story contains cruel betrayal, destined love, vile curses, smoldering reunions, wicked deeds between wanton shapeshifters and a happily-ever-after worthy of any fairy tale.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sabine:
When the innkeeper had gone, Sabine wrapped her arm around one of the bed’s four posters and smiled ruefully. “He probably thinks I’m another man’s wife, you know.”
“Perhaps.” Ciar closed the door and turned the giant brass key for good measure. If Nadia arrived and found the door locked, she would leave the food, knowing better than to disturb him. “Were it mine to choose, you’d be naked already.”
Her breath hitched. “You are the High Lord, leader of all the wolves. I imagine everything is yours to choose.”
“Is it?” Oh, what a dangerous game he played—but what could brand her in his memory more fully than the sight of her lost in ecstasy? “You never bent to me unless it pleased you, sweet Sabine. And you never let me forget the power you could wield from your knees.”
She toyed with the end of one blonde curl. “Was that what enchanted you, Ciar? That I never gave a damn about your birthright? That I only wanted you?”
Enchanted him, bewitched him. “It’s a heady thing for a lord, to be craved as a man.”
“Yes, I craved you.” Her fingers trailed from her hair to the laces of her bodice. “I dreamt of you. Your hands on my body.”
He couldn’t have the triumphant homecoming he’d dreamed of, but he could have her. He backed up, dropped onto a padded chair and reached for the laces on his left boot. “Show me,” he commanded. Not the High Lord to a subject—a man to a woman. A strong wolf to his mate.
“You will not touch me?” She seemed torn between relief and disappointment.
“You will touch yourself at my command. Your hands, my will.” He smiled at her as he tugged his boot free, a wicked smile with a feral edge she would recognize. He had taken her so many ways, and this was just one more. A game to be played, until the pleasure made the rules irrelevant. “Unlace your bodice, my love.”
She swayed as if weak-kneed, though it took her only a moment to steady herself. “Say it again,” she whispered as she unknotted the lace.
“My love.” He traced her features, studied the sweep of her pale brows and her high cheekbones, how color flooded her cheeks when he watched her. It was impossible to believe that magic could erase this beloved face from his memory when the years and endless bloody battles had not.
Her bodice loosened, and she let the dress billow to the floor before reaching down to gather her gauzy shift in both hands. “I remember your smiles,” she whispered. “The way you held me. Even the way you would stroke your thumb over the back of my neck as you rested your hand on my shoulder. Everything. And you’re beautiful.”
She kicked off her slippers, stripped the shift over her head and stood there, naked and waiting.
Three years had changed so much and yet nothing. She was still gorgeous, lush and desirable. But her curves were more pronounced now, her hips more rounded, her breasts fuller. He ached to touch, to trace his fingertips over every inch of her. To taste her. To possess her.
Instead he stripped off his other boot and reached for the fastening on his leathers. “I’m not as beautiful as you are. No one could be.”
Her gaze lingered on him, a caress that she echoed by skimming one hand lightly over her own skin. “I don’t believe you. You’re…Ciar.”
“Only with you.” His sturdy vest hit the floor, and he nearly snapped the ties on his shirt in his haste to pull it over his head. “Kneel on the bed. Facing me.”
She did, moving gracefully. When she knelt, her knees parted wide, he could see the wet glisten of arousal. He remembered how it felt to slide deep into her cunt, to have her hot and tight around him.
His cock strained against his pants as he reached for his belt. “Lick your fingers.”
Sabine touched her mouth, and her tongue snuck out to slick over her fingertips. “Can I see you?”
“Soon.” Not too soon, though. He slowed his movements. “I would take your nipple between my lips. Tease you until your back arched, then use my teeth.”
She held his gaze and caught her nipple between her fingers. “How hard would
you bite me?”
“Until you whimpered, and I knew it was close to too much.”
She twisted the hard peak and moaned. “Never too much, Ciar. Never enough.”
He dropped his belt and reached for his pants. “Now the other one.”
Her back arched as she squeezed her other breast. “You don’t even need to touch me, do you?”
Oh, he needed to touch her. Needed it more than his next breath—but he’d never pain her with that knowledge, wouldn’t break the spell and make tonight not enough. “Do you want to see how hard I’ve grown from watching you?”
She shook, her hunger painted plainly on her features, and one hand dropped to her thigh. “Please, Ciar. Show me your desire.”
He stripped off his pants and stood before her, naked and aroused. On display, and unaccustomed nervousness stirred. The years had changed him, too, and there was always the chance she could look on him now and find him lacking.
Sabine studied him, not even breathing. Finally, she exhaled a shaky sigh. “You’ve saved me. No matter what happens now, you’ve already saved me, love.”
“I will save you.” He allowed himself two steps forward. Just two, so he could stand at the foot of the bed, close enough to pretend their scents were entwined. “This is only a reminder. When the spell is broken, I want you shaking at the thought of how many ways I’ll take you.”
She nodded slowly. “A reminder.”
“Yes. Of how good we can be.” His cock ached, so he wrapped his hand around it without looking away from her. His own touch was nothing—he’d had more of it than he cared to think of. It was her gaze on him, the way she watched him, that made pleasure tingle at the base of his spine. “Lie on your back.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she obeyed, but when she lay before him, her thighs spread, she kept her gaze on him. “Yes?”
“Yes.” He wanted to bury his face between her legs, lick her cunt until she screamed for him. He curled his free hand around the bedpost so he would not reach for her. “Touch yourself. One finger only.”
There was that smile again, wicked this time as she trailed her fingertip up the inside of her thigh. “Where?”
Arousal grew into a painful throb. “Open yourself for me. Let me see that sweet little pearl before you touch it.”
Sabine fidgeted on the bed, but her voice was a tease. “How am I to do that with only one finger?”
His low growl would have sent brave men running in fear. “Sabine.”
“Ciar,” she chided. “I am not one of your soldiers.” As she spoke, she slipped her fingers through blonde curls and lower, revealing the tiny bud he longed to feel beneath his tongue. “I am your lover.”
“Sometimes you obey my commands,” he whispered. “When it pleases us both, you’re quick enough to show your throat and bend to my will.”
“Like I said…” She dipped her finger inside her body, made it wet and silky before circling the sensitive flesh he’d ordered her to touch. “I am your lover.”
She was his lover, and more. He knew that—his heart swore to it, but his analytical mind could already see the blurry edges. Pieces missing, like an inexorable tide carrying his memories out to sea a grain at a time.
That gave him the strength not to touch her. Instead he stroked his cock, too slow and gentle to give relief. “Not so much longer. Then you will have my tongue where your fingers are. My lips. I remember how sweet you scream when you come under my mouth.”
“I remember, yes.” She trembled, touching herself as she watched his hand. “I could taste myself on your tongue.”
“And then you would taste me.” His fingers tightened, and he groaned. “You always did like to tease me. Thrust your fingers deep into your cunt. I would see your ecstasy.”
She obeyed with a soft moan, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she rocked against her palm, two fingers nestled inside her body.
If he didn’t stop stroking himself, he would come before she did, but he couldn’t force his hand to still. His callused fingers dragged over his length in the same rhythm as her hand. “Faster, Sabine. Make yourself come.”