“I want you, too, Slash.”
He bends at the knees, and her hands fall away. Slash glories in the sight of her for a full thirty seconds then scoops her into his arms.
Slash didn't plan on this.
But the moss of the forest is dry. He kicks their small pile of scattered clothes with a single swipe, and they fall on top of the dry spongy floor. He arranges Adrianna on top of the bed of moss and clothes.
Adrianna turns her head, and her nostrils flare, her senses heightened in her quarter-change form. “They smell of you.”
Slash's eyes run down the length of her body. Her beauty is subtle—perfect.
Round breasts fall softly to the sides of her chest, and her ribcage narrows to a waist he can span with his hands. Her hips flare just wide enough of a woman just past whelpling age and far enough to be ready for what Slash offers. His eyes move to her perfect toes, and she wiggles them under his scrutiny.
Her face flames when his eye come to her sex.
“Show me, Adrianna.”
Her thighs tremble, but she parts them. Slash falls to his knees to lay the side of his face against the inside of her thigh. His nose is inches from the most secret part of her.
“Am I…” Adrianna's voice shakes, and she clears her throat. “Okay?”
“Okay is not a word I would ever use to describe you, Adrianna.”
He can feel her heartbeat through her femoral artery.
Slash turns his face, laying a heated breath at her core.
She arches her back, “Slash!” she says in a whisper-shout, grasping his hair with her hand.
“Do you like it?”
“Love,” she replies breathlessly.
His voice rumbles against her wet heat, “Do you want more?”
“Is there—more?”
“Yes.” He places his hands at the apex of where thigh meets her center, and he spreads her like a flower.
Adrianna tenses.
“Trust me, Adrianna.”
“You know I do.”
“I will prepare you.” Slash waits, and when she relaxes, he moves in deeper between her legs. Using his tongue, Slash begins at one side of her and sucks the sensitive flesh deeply into his mouth.
“Ahh,” she says, and fingers that had previously bit into his scalp now rub through the stubble of his hair.
“That's it. Open yourself to me.”
Adrianna's knees fall apart, and he tucks his hands underneath her hips, cupping the globes of flesh, lifting as he pulls her more deeply into his mouth.
She whimpers, and he licks her from entrance to clit, using the flat of his tongue to rub back and forth on the sensitive nub. Adrianna begins to make little sounds of pleasure, coming undone from the attention.
Slash's erection is a painful, throbbing mass. He denies himself, giving pleasure to the only female he could ever consider mating. She begins to ride his mouth with eager hips, and he matches her rhythm with his own.
When he pierces her entrance with his tongue, she cries out, and Slash does it again and again, holding her bare ass with one hand as the other strokes her slick clit rapidly with his thumb.
Adrianna's body tenses as her head whips violently back and forth. She screams, her body an arc, and Slash slows his tongue penetration then stops it, carefully lowering her to the soft forest floor.
Her eyes are spinning gold, and every feature of her beautiful face glows in stark relief.
“Take me,” she says, and Slash is unsurprised by the growling quality to her voice.
Slash lines himself up with her center.
Adrianna gives silent consent with the widening of her legs, letting her arms fall behind her head. Her generous breasts lift, the nipples pointing at his body.
Slash enters her with a single, hard shove. He tears through her barrier and meets the end of her in a quivering thrust of flesh married.
“Oh my—moon!” Adrianna gasps, struggling not to tense against his entry.
Slash feels horrible, but her slick heat and the way her body welcomes his as though he never left, is too much, and he begins to move gently within her.
His head hangs as he lifts his weight from above her, working deeply in and out. “I am sorry—you are—I am lost in you.”
She rocks back against him, “Nope, I have you, Slash.”
“You do, every part of me,” he whispers with clenched eyes.
His eyes snap open as her hands rest on his hips, guiding him—encouraging him. “Do not. I can't hold back, Adrianna.”
“I don't want you to.”
He freezes above her, his gaze searching hers in the shadows. “Have I hurt you?”
“Not like I'll hurt you if you stop.”
Slash smiles, and she grins back, her teeth very sharp. He begins to move with purpose, using long gentle strokes. She fits him like a hot slick glove as he bottoms out to kiss her womb.
“Take me, take me, take me, Slash.”
Slash studies her expression, and when he's satisfied it's what she wants, he does what his body has been longing to do since she came of age. He buries himself to the hilt inside her.
They grunt at the deep joining, and her legs fold over his back. He lifts her hips, tilting them forward as he begins to pound inside of her.
“Please,” she whispers, and Slash can hold back no more. She is tight and untried by all but him. He plunges in a final time and unloads his seed into her depths, simultaneously scent-marking her.
She milks him, pulsing around him as she makes little grunts of satisfaction. They are music to his ears. That he could possibly satisfy this female who's entrusted him fills Slash with an unaccustomed sensation.
It's beyond the momentary contentment of this act between them.
Beyond that, he has claimed a mate.
More than fleeting happiness, Slash feels true joy—his and hers.
Their own.
*
Slash scrolls a fingertip down Adrianna’s naked side and watches the trail of gooseflesh rise in its wake.
Adrianna giggles. “Stop. You're tickling me, ya butt.”
Slash gives a lazy smile. “Butt, eh?”
Adrianna rolls onto her back, and his hand rests on her naked hip.
Her eyes twinkle. “You're so old, Slash.”
His eyebrow raises. There is a great span between their ages. “Does that bother you?” Slash asks, hoping it does not because there's no rectifying it. He has taken her as mate.
She raises her hand, and he doesn't flinch when she touches the small unsavory mound of flesh that sits in the center of his upper lip. Instead, he catches her hand with his own and kisses her finger.
A long shuddering sigh eases out of her, and his gaze catches on Adrianna's gorgeous breasts.
“You like looking at me.”
Slash's eyes move to her face. “Yes,” he admits. “Now that I can, I cannot look away.”
“You're a romantic, Slash.” There's surprise in her voice. He hears pleasure, too.
His brows quirk and the heat of embarrassment rises to his face.
“Don't deny, buddy—I can tell.”
Slash mounds her breasts, and her breath catches, her hazel eyes darkening like the threat of a storm.
“What else can you tell, Adrianna?” he asks softly, never looking away while rolling her pebbled nipple between his thumb and finger.
“I can tell that I want to go again.”
Slash smiles, cupping her heat with his other hand, and she spreads her legs.
“Are you sore?” he asks, kissing first one thigh then the inside of the other. He rolls his face against her flesh, taking the skin deep between his teeth, smelling her blood and his seed mingled together.
Ambrosia.
“Not enough,” she says in a voice gone low with need.
He releases the flesh of her thigh. His teeth leave indentions, but the skin is unbroken. The marks plump and smooth out as Slash watches.
“The quarter-change is hel
ping to heal me,” she says, relief in her voice.
“It was smart, Slash.” She laughs, and he looks up from where he just pleasured her to her expressive face. “But I think there was an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?” he asks, his fingers caressing her entrance.
“Yes,” she says, her voice breathy, “I think you just wanted me as much as you could get.”
Slash's fingers stop. He glides up her body, caging Adrianna with his arms, placing his hardness against her soft slit. He cradles her face with his hands, elbows planted on either side of her.
He kisses her forehead, each eyelid, then her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Ha! I knew it.”
He brushes his lips against hers.
“I knew once I started loving you, once would not be enough.”
Adrianna wraps her arms around his neck.
“For me, either,” she whispers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Drek
“That was a round about,” Bowen snorts, twirling his finger in the air.
“We are Lanarre—we can scent the rain on the wind.”
Bowen rolls his eyes.
Drek scowls. “What is that look for?”
“We may be Lanarre, but when Tahlia takes flight, there's no scenting her.”
Drek hates to admit any failure, but Bowen is right. If the other Alpha female's ground scent hadn't been nearby, they might have missed Tahlia altogether.
“Interesting scent mix at the gasoline station,” Bowen remarks.
Drek gives him a sharp look. About half of all supes, even vampires, could have scented the mess Tahlia made. He didn’t know why Tahlia was with another female Were, but he suspected the second female was rogue. Drek understood the implications of an Alpha female running solo. None were good, certainly not once Tahlia was added to the equation.
Did the female help Tahlia?
Drek doubted that. Tahlia's scent was mingled with the blood of the males. That could mean only two things.
They had harmed her and Tahlia had defended herself. That option was highly unlikely. No average Were would harm a Lanarre.
The second option: she had attacked them in defense of another, most likely the second female.
From all reports and his abbreviated correspondence with Tahlia, he suspected the latter to be the most probable.
Drek smiles, palming his chin.
“You've thought of something?” Bowen asks. The Were has been Drek’s friend and guard since whelphood. Bowen's family has been the guard of the Lanarre royalty for a thousand years, an anomaly, for they are not human.
“Yes.”
Bowen's dark eyebrows rise, his light brown eyes steady on Drek.
“I think she defended the Alpha female.”
Understanding lights Bowen's expression. “Good call.”
“There's a remote possibility that she was defending herself against the two males.” He gives Bowen a sharp look.
He immediately shakes his head. “Absolutely not. A Lanarre female just out of whelp? It'd go against every precept in Lycan culture.”
“There's precedence.”
Neither of them speak of the scent of the Alpha Were who has murdered over nine humans, including Tahlia's guards.
Bowen lifts a shoulder. “Who knows what that Were was made of? If he was being tasked by a packmaster or acting of his own volition?”
“True.” But Drek is troubled. A Were who would rampage through a human establishment like that was capable of other deeds.
He and Bowen exchange an uneasy look. “He would not kill her but might do other unsavory things.”
A flutter appears in Bowen's jaw, and voices what has occurred to them both. “He would not rape a Lanarre female. She's barely more than a girl.”
Drek's stomach does a slow, heated roll. “He is not Lanarre. It would go against our instincts to protect females. But as you've said, we can't be absolutely sure.”
Bowen throws his hands up in the middle of the parking lot of the decaying gas station. “Let's run with the assumption that he missed her. That she hid herself. That the slaying of her guardians wasn't for nothing.”
Drek's eyebrows jerk up to his hairline. “An Alpha male would scent a Lanarre.”
“Not if she was in bird form.”
Drek puts his hands to hips and walks off. He paces back and forth. Ignoring the coming dawn and the coolness, he scents the ocean in the distance.
His nose is at the scene, and he can't get out of his head. He whirls and looks at Bowen. “Then we make haste. We scent where their car has gone and follow.”
Bowen walks to him then grips him by the arms. Though Bowen is only a fraction shorter, Drek is built for war. All Lanarre are. The royal line is the most barbarically fashioned. Both men stand nearly eye-to-eye at six feet five.
“Don't lose faith. This crazed male missed her once. It's clear Tahlia is now with the Alpha female we presume she helped.”
Bowen wrinkles his nose. “Those males were from the Western. Easy to scent.”
“Possibly drones sent by Tramack?”
Bowen rolls his shoulders into a dismissive shrug. “I don't keep up on common Were politics.”
Drek grins suddenly. “And you accuse me of being a snob?”
“Ha!” Bowen replies, dropping his hands from Drek's arms and walking toward the gas pumps. “No accusation necessary. You're an elitist.”
Drek can't deny it—the common dens don't adhere to the ways of Lycan tradition enough to earn his respect. A few dens still cleave to the traditions of old, but they are few and far between.
Bowen drops to his hands and knees on the ground, dirtying the knees of his well-worn jeans. He turns his face and hovers above the damp asphalt. He flares his nostrils once then makes several small chuffs.
His head snaps up.
“I have it.”
Metal is especially hard to scent, but Bowen has made a little game of it. He can usually get the decade of a vehicle from scent alone. Bowen is good enough at tracking that he can determine what year the car is.
“Older model, 1960s Chevy—heavy.”
“They're all heavy from that era,” Drek says with a touch of humor. “Really old model.”
Bowen rocks back and sits on his heels, nearly yanking his shoulders to his ears. “Perspective. I was a whelp in that day, but you were already thirty-five.”
Drek smirks.
“One hundred percent original components,” Bowen says triumphantly.
Drek's jaw drops. “Really?”
“Yes, probably an old couple, had it since the day they got married. Grocery-getter for the woman.” His eyes glitter. “It happens.”
“Rarely.”
“Better for us, the signature will be clean to follow.”
“What are we waiting for?” Drek says.
Bowen bounds to his feet in a single leap from his toes. “Nothing, let's roll.”
Drek gives him a tolerant look. Bowen loves human slang. Drek finds it tiresome, though he's adopted a few key phrases himself.
Drek grits his teeth, angry over the loss of Tahlia's human guardians with an undercurrent of acute anxiety for her. The humans who serve the Lanarre are greatly loyal, with generations upon generations of service.
Drek would dismember the male who slaughtered them if Tahlia hadn't already. Any male who would touch a Lanarre female deserves death. Drek is keenly aware of Tahlia's proficiency in defense. However, she is still female. And judging by the remains of the humans, the male who is responsible for the massacre is strong.
He seems stronger than most Were, but he’s not Lanarre-strong. If the male were human, Drek would have assumed he'd been taking some artificial enhancer, like PCP.
Bowen turns, giving Drek a considering look. “Stop thinking. Let's go.”
Stop thinking. Easier said than done.
Drek glances over his shoulder, noting the neon sign that reads gas switching on.
&n
bsp; They'll track during the beginning of day and find Tahlia by nightfall. Drek is optimistic.
Just beyond the tree line, Bowen and Drek morph into quarter-change. The ability that is generally reserved for female Were is available to all Lanarre, male and female. Still, so far from the moon's fullness, the ability comes at a cost to the males.
Bowen and Drek race parallel to the road, following the scent of the car. They slow as the scent stops, then they climb the embankment that leads to the highway. A car passes, and they freeze, waiting for the scent to waft back.
It floats down to rest.
Drek moves to the shoulder, sinking to his haunches. He touches the impression of deep treads biting into the soft dirt and pebbles. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.
The car was parked here. Tahlia was inside.
His eyes seek Bowen, but he's already at the edge of the woods.
“I have her.”
Drek looks, hoping that Bowen literally has her.
“Her scent, Drek.”
Drek's shoulders drop. “I know,” he replies and glances behind him.
Two cars were parked at the shoulder. He's scented them both.
Where did the other drivers go? Why were they here, parked behind my chosen? Drek doesn't like it, and he can't dismiss the possibilities of what it represents, especially the scent.
The ones who were here beside the unknown female and his chosen—they are scentless.
Bowen motions impatiently.
“I am a prince, you know,” he reminds Bowen.
“Uh-huh, get your princely ass over here so we can find Tahlia.”
Drek smirks. “You don't show proper respect, Bowen. And no one cares more about finding Tahlia than I.”
Bowen pegs his hands on his hips, one foot in the woods and one on the slope. “And you clearly don't give a shit about anything but finding Tahlia.”
Drek grins. “Yes, but we have a problem.”
Bowen's brows come together, all humor gone, and his posture tenses. “What?”
“We have scentless followers.”
“Vampire?” Bowen asks instantly, his nostrils flaring and a scowl forming on his face. “Can't scent a thing.”
“Exactly.”
“Doesn't feel right, Drek.”
Drek nods. Vamps would avoid daylight for obvious reasons and especially Lycan females. That interaction is a mess waiting to happen. Vampires employ stealth. It is their nature.
Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) Page 16