by Michele Hauf
Right there, where normally her wings would unfurl, was the sweet spot. No man had ever discovered it before. And Kir took his time, circling, tracing, tasting her skin...
“Merciful stones,” she muttered, and clutched the bedsheets.
“You want me to stop?”
“No!” She felt his smile against her skin. “Yes, right there. Oh, lover, that...is...so...”
“You smell good here.”
“Different than elsewhere?”
“No, more intense. Summer and flowers and candy. It’s your unique scent, Bea. Like your dust. It’s faery. You taste better than summer.”
“Nothing is better than summer.” She leaned forward, burying her face against a pillow, and stretched out her legs to take in Kir’s amazing touch.
When he moved lower on her spine, she felt so dizzied from the touch up near her wings that she was thankful for a respite. The good didn’t stop, but it was sustained now and she could breathe more freely, not expecting orgasm to jump right out at her. Yeah. Slow and lingering.
Making love. Who would have thought?
His thumbs smoothed over her Venus dimples and he pressed his tongue into each dent. She wiggled her derriere. The skim of his tiny jewel nipples slipped over her thighs and away as he tongued her delicately, deeply, hungrily.
And then his tongue found the join of her derriere to her thigh and lashed her roughly, licking her summer scent, making her spread her legs. She wished he’d turn her over, but he passed by her aching core and mastered a trail down the back of one leg—oh, she was so sensitive behind her knee—to her ankle. He nipped her playfully there, and on the arches of her feet. His actions made her curl her toes and grip the sheets in glee.
A tongue tickling between her toes? By the blessed Norns, she was so over sex. From now on it must be lovemaking. Always. She would insist upon nothing less.
Grasping her foot, which was well and thoroughly sexed, Kir moved to the other to give a repeat performance. “Turn over,” he said, and she gladly complied.
While her toes curled and her arches were worshipped, Bea cupped her breasts and squeezed, heightening every touch he granted her. Her moans had become a song, and he punctuated the melody with a sexy, wolfish growl.
When he reached the apex of her thighs, her husband nuzzled his face against her, lashing her deeply, tickling her tender skin with his soft beard and cupping her derriere in his wide, strong hands.
She tilted her hips, seeking, demanding as much as he would give her. Too much, she asked for. Everything, he gave her.
One of his hands joined hers at her breast, and he squeezed her fingers around her nipple. Bea moaned loudly, pressing her mons against his face. He lapped at her, tending her swollen, aching clit as if it were a treat of which he could not get enough. He took his time, suckling, licking and breathing hot hushes over her skin. And when he slid a finger into her to curl upward, she nearly lost it.
“Not yet,” she gasped.
“Why not?”
“I want you inside me. I need you hard and thick in me. Don’t you want to feel me shake your world?”
The wolf didn’t argue. Pants off in seconds, he then mounted her, pushing her legs open with his knees. His heavy erection landed on her clit, the wet head of him slicking across her as he directed it over and up and along her.
“Bea, you make it hard to go slow. I tried, but—”
“But you did it. I mean, as slow as we could manage. It was amazing.”
“We’ll practice the slow stuff more often,” he said through a tight jaw.
“Sounds good. But practice is over, wolf. Now I need it fast. And deep. Please.”
He entered her quickly, filling her with his solid length. Burned by him, Bea cried out as her humming core cheered the intrusion. He pumped inside her, each movement dragging his length out and along her clit. The friction was insane. She clawed her nails down his back. Her fangs tingled, wanting the rich, sweet blood that usually came with skin contact.
She would not bite him. But she needed to touch the tip of her fang to his skin. To tease at the want, the incredible need...
The wolf growled and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her up to kiss roughly, deeply. And he never stopped his pace. Hungry and focused, he claimed her as he had never claimed her that first night of their marriage. For he had honored her this night with patience and love.
And thinking about that sent Bea over the edge and into the night where the wolf howled and her faery shouted in joy and dusted them both in a glittery cloud.
* * *
During the ride back to Paris, Kir lifted his hand to shift the truck into second gear when he realized he was holding Bea’s hand. They’d been holding hands since he’d driven onto the autoroute half an hour earlier.
Huh. He was holding his wife’s hand. Smiling at Bea, he received a beaming smile in return. She squeezed his hand and nodded her head to the rock and roll blasting through the radio.
And he wondered why he’d never considered handholding a boon before. It was definitely something he wanted to do more of.
Out the corner of his eye he noticed the patterns that had been sealed into his flesh upon the marriage bonding. They glowed. Bea’s hand glowed, too.
“You see that?” he asked.
She nodded, then closed her eyes. The smile never left her mouth. And the glowing slowly ceased, but he thought about it all the way home.
Chapter 12
The groceries Kir had brought home proved no end of delight to Bea’s curious nature. He’d specifically selected items that needed only to be unwrapped and placed in the oven, or that were fresh fruits and vegetables. But the powder to make water taste like cherries fascinated her.
Filling a glass with water, she marveled over the silvery flash the sunlight caused in the liquid as it sat on the granite countertop.
“I used to swim in a stream that glinted like that,” she said, and sighed. Some things she did miss about Faery. Never her fickle family, but always the nature. “I sure hope he takes me back to the cabin. Soon.”
Tearing open the packet of flavoring, she tilted the bright red powder into the water and watched the particles disperse and transform the silver water into a bright pink. With a quick stir of a spoon, she then tasted it—and spit it out.
“Oh, that’s awful. What the heck?”
She looked at the packet but couldn’t read the French words that she could innately understand when spoken out loud. “Kir said you put it in water. Ugh.”
She dumped the pink brew down the sink. “I’ll stick with the clear stuff. Some human foods baffle me. Guess it’s time to head out to the yard and see if I can rescue the dead things out there.”
* * *
Kir and Jacques sat in the Lexus out in front of the warehouse where they’d been tipped off that they’d find the demon that pack Royaume was working with. After reviewing the files, Kir had determined that between the two packs Royaume and Conquerer, Royaume was most likely involved in dirty dealings.
The little he knew about Royaume was that the pack was small and not well-known. They didn’t have intel on who the pack leader was. Which was odd because it wasn’t so easy for a wolf pack to go unnoticed by others of their breed in the city limits. Out in the country? Stealth and privacy was easier to maintain. But the fact they could be of few numbers was probably the reason they were unknown. They had never raised a blip on the enforcement team’s radar.
Good enough reason to check them out.
Sunrise teased the horizon. Kir had left a warm faery at home in bed to sit here with Jacques while sucking down stale coffee. Something wrong with that scenario.
“How are your wedding plans coming?” Kir asked.
“Wedding planning is a lesson in torture, my man. We had to pick colors and doilies the other day. Seriously. Doilies? I didn’t know what a doily was until then. And I can’t believe I know what it is now.”
Kir chuckled.
“And tomorrow we have a date to taste petits fours. What the hell is a petit four? Sure doesn’t sound like meat.”
Kir laughed. “I think I dodged a bullet by not having to do all the wedding stuff.”
“Be thankful for that small mercy. Marielle wants to control everything. Even the groomsmen’s boxer shorts! Don’t laugh, man, you are going to be a groomsman.”
“I’d be honored.”
“Yeah, you say that now. Wait until you have to wear pink boxers.”
“Will she ask Bea to be a bridesmaid?”
Jacques’s laughter ended abruptly. He swiped a hand across his jaw and glanced out the window. “I don’t know, man. Yes?”
That was the least believable lie the man had ever tried on him.
“She went shopping with my mother and your fiancée the other day,” Kir said. “I assumed Bea had been welcomed into the pack.”
“Right. The shopping trip. Marielle said it didn’t go so well. Your little faery probably didn’t want to say anything about your mom—”
“What about my mother?”
Jacques shrugged. “That’s girl stuff. You ask your wife to tell you about it. Hey, look! We got action in the window.”
Much as he wanted the lowdown on Bea’s lunch with his mother, Kir couldn’t ignore what was more important. “Let’s go.”
They got out and crept up to the house, a nondescript two-story painted white with flaking brown shutters. Jacques, who carried a pistol loaded with salt cartridges, signaled that he would go in first. Kir would follow with a stake and a salt blade. He also knew a few demon wards in Latin, if necessary.
Once inside the house, they didn’t have to threaten violence. A scrawny demon in human form wandered down the dark-paneled hallway, a glass of milk in hand. At the sight of Kir and Jacques, he dropped the glass and lifted his hands. “I didn’t do it!”
Jacques wrangled the compliant demon into the living room and shoved him onto the stained plaid couch. Kir stepped carefully over the broken glass, his heavy rubber heels crunching a few pieces. He took in the room and cast his gaze down the hallway. He listened...sniffed. Faint scent of sulfur and sweet milk. Stale furniture and dust. No others in the house whom he could sense.
“We’ve got questions about a pack,” Jacques said, leaning over the demon and playing the bad cop, as was his mien. “You’re going to answer them.”
“If I know anything, I will.” The nervous demon clasped his hands between his knees. “I don’t mess with wolves, man. You guys have sharp claws and I tend to bruise easily.”
A battery of questions was quickly answered. The demon knew nothing about the packs because, as he’d shown them, he liked to keep his distance from werewolves. He wasn’t a member of a local denizen.
And yet, he did let something interesting slip. “That vamp you two found was probably used for V.”
“Vee?” Jacques looked to Kir, but Kir could only shrug.
“It’s V like the capital letter,” the demon clarified, and put up two fingers in the shape of the letter. “It’s the hot new drug for us demons. We suck it straight from the vamp’s veins or get it infused directly into our carotid. The vamp is restrained, so it’s all good. But sometimes our blood flows back into them and that’s a mother for the vamp.”
And would such a harrowing return flow of demon blood lead to the vamp vomiting up black blood?
“Demons are drinking vampire blood now?” Kir asked. “Why?”
“Don’t you know, man? Vamp blood is the ultimate. It’s laced with so many different kinds of human blood. All that live, fresh vita racing through their systems. The first taste is like a superhit. If your vamp was choking up demon blood, he must have fought for his life to escape. Probably sucked some demon blood in the process.”
“And how are werewolves involved in this V?” Jacques asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the wolves who collect the vampires? All I know is V is a hard substance to get. Not like a couple of us can keep a vamp hostage and feed off him. The vamps are too smart for that. And it’s controlled. Only a few V-hubs in the city. Expensive shit.”
“V-hubs.” Kir shoved his fingers through his hair. This was new and interesting. And it gave him a very bad feeling. He’d heard of the vampires who went to FaeryTown to get high on ichor, but demons getting high on vamp blood? “You’re going to take us to one of those hubs.”
The demon shrugged. “Not possible. They move, like, every day, man. The only way to find one is to know someone who knows someone.”
Jacques’s cell phone rang and he gestured to Kir that he had to take the call as he wandered out toward the front door. Probably his fiancée with more ridiculous wedding planning details.
The demon on the couch crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the broken glass out in the hallway. He’d been forthright and helpful. He didn’t want any trouble. So maybe Kir could learn one more thing.
He leaned in so Jacques couldn’t hear. “You ever hear about someone named Sirque?”
The demon’s smile was greasy and black. “What a delicious memory of a demon well spent.”
“You know her? She’s demon?”
“’Course she’s demon. Didn’t you just ask about her? You think she’s involved in selling V? What’s your game, wolf?”
“What she is or isn’t involved in is none of your business. I’m trying to locate her.”
“For what price?”
Kir twisted the demon’s hand backward, snapping the tendons at his wrist.
“All right! Let go!”
He gripped the wounded wrist, pressing his thumb against the narrow bone. Demons who occupied human bodies suffered the weakness of the flesh. They felt all the pain, breaks and bruises, and couldn’t heal as quickly.
“Jeez, it takes me a hell of a lot longer to heal than you crazy dogs.”
“Dog?” Kir growled, showing his teeth. “Talk fast, sulfur head, or I’ll tear out your throat.”
“All right! According to the rumors, Sirque ventured deep into Daemonia to find the dark treats she was looking for. That demoness was never satisfied.”
“Satisfied?”
“You know.” The demon pumped his hips lewdly. “Sexually.”
Not a topic he wanted to learn too much about if the demon he spoke of was really Bea’s mother.
“How does one get to Daemonia?”
“That’s a good one.” The demon chuckled nervously. “Idiot wolf. It’s the info about V or Daemonia. Take your pick, ’cause I’m only giving up one.”
“You don’t get to tell me how to run the show—”
“We good to go?” Jacques asked as he returned, tucking the pistol into the holster under his arm. Gliding a hand over the salt blade at his hip, he asked, “He remember where to find one of those hubs?”
“I’m waiting to see what your partner really wants,” the demon provided.
“Cocky bastard, eh?” Jacques lunged for the demon, gripping him by the throat and laying the salt blade against his cheek. The salt seared the demon’s flesh and it growled.
“You want freedom?” Jacques looked to Kir.
Kir couldn’t stop him and didn’t want to. He’d gotten what info he could about Sirque. She was a demon? Daemonia? It was a good lead.
He nodded once, and Jacques jammed the blade up through the demon’s jaw. The demon spasmed. Jacques stepped back. And Kir turned to the side and put up a hand to block the explosion of demon dust that dispersed into the room.
* * *
“Bea!”
Kir strode into the kitchen, opened the fridge and realized he’d not stocked up on wine in a while. The wire racks were bare. And Bea, well, why not? She could manage a trip to the grocery store. So long as no unleashed dogs barked at her. He’d give her a credit card and put a limited amount on it so she didn’t go overboard.
A faery fluttered into the kitchen, carrying a bouquet of yellow-faced white-petaled daisies in hand. Her wings were furled and
receded into her spine. And she was not naked.
Disappointed by her lacking display of skin, Kir reached into the high cabinet and pulled out a glass flower vase for her. “You couldn’t have found those in our desolate wasteland out back.”
“The neighbor behind us brought them over when I was muddling on how to bring life to the dead shrubs. She expressed her sadness over the pitiful dead stuff and gave me these. I think she has a crush on you.”
“And why would my ninety-year-old neighbor have a crush on me?”
“Who wouldn’t? Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you stop noticing the fine. How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“See? You’re close enough in age for the cougar out back. How long is twenty-eight?”
Kir laughed. “Faery time and mortal time have always been very different. Do you know what a Faery year equals in mortal years?”
“We don’t have years. But we seem close in age, yes?”
“I think so.” He kissed the top of her head as she stuck the flowers into the vase. “I’m yet a pup in werewolf years.”
“Really? And I was beginning to wonder why you hadn’t married until now.”
“Pup. And...I hadn’t found the right woman, I guess.”
“So you thought you’d wait around until someone forced you to it?”
“You got that right, Short Stick.”
“I hate that stupid name.”
“Come on, I like it. I got stuck with something I was expecting to be terrible and it’s turned out to be pretty amazing.”
“Really?” Her pink eyes brightened. “Okay, then. I guess I could keep on being your short stick.”
“You’ve no choice.” He slid onto a bar stool before the kitchen counter and tapped the flower vase.
“I’m working on your flowers in the yard,” she said. “Takes a lot of faery magic to bring up new from dead, though.”
“So you can grow flowers?”