Devil's Gate
Page 9
She pulled a few snakes away from him. “Are you sure it isn’t too—tentacley for you?”
He grasped her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Listen to me. I did not say I was falling in love with you, if only you would hide some part of yourself or change some aspect to try to please me. I said I was falling in love with you—all of you. I don’t want you to curb yourself, deny yourself, cover up your face or head or any part of your body. I don’t want you to lose or gain weight, or watch what you say, or deny how you feel, or try to be anything but who you are, because who you are is the most beautiful person in the world to me.”
As she listened, the expression on her lovely features grew vulnerable, wide open. While he certainly hoped that he had not been the first person to ever tell her such things, he selfishly hoped that he had been the first male to do so. He grasped one of her snakes, kissed it on the nose and looked into its face. “You’re never going to bite me, are you?”
“They would never hurt you,” Seremela said. “They would die first.”
“Oh well,” he said, giving her a crooked grin. “There’s goes that fantasy.”
Her eyes went very wide, and she laughed, a joyous, surprised sound. She unbuttoned her top and shrugged out of it then slipped off her bra as Duncan kicked off his jeans and stood nude, his heavy erection jutting from his hips.
Her breasts were stunning, lush and full, the soft, plump nipples several shades darker than the light creamy green of her flesh. He bent, took one nipple in his mouth and sucked at it gently. The muffled noise that came out of her was urgent and incoherent. She cradled his head, ran her fingers through his hair and stroked his shoulders.
As he suckled her, a feather light sensation flickered along the sensitive skin on the head of his penis, creating a sharp, tantalizing pleasure. He looked down, as the sensation spread along the tight, drawn up sac of his testicles, and along the muscles of his lower abdomen.
Seremela’s snakes flickered their slender tongues along his skin.
Seremela cocked her head and looked down as well. “They’re tasting you,” she said, giving him a sidelong smile. “They know that I love you, and they’re curious.” She looked splendid and barbaric, and completely unfettered.
For a moment, the ghost of the human Duncan once was struggled with the image. But Seremela’s snakes were not mundane creatures; they were a part of her, and Duncan had not been human for a very long time.
His fangs descended. Seremela looked at his mouth and her gaze turned heavy lidded. She bared her neck to him in wordless invitation, and he gathered her soft, curvaceous body into his arms and eased his fangs gently into the pulse at her neck.
The moan that came out of her was full of sex and surrender, the sound shivering along his heated senses as hot blood spilled into his mouth, and it was so strange, so strange. He was twisted up inside, his desire for her out of control. He growled as he drank from her, while she arched against him, gasping. Her blood was stronger than human blood. It punched through him and made the world spin.
He lifted his head away from her, breathing raggedly, and only then realized she was struggling in his arms. For a terrible moment he felt sickened and disoriented—until he realized what she was trying to do.
“Help me get out of these damn jeans,” she whimpered.
His fingers shook as he helped her to ease the jeans down to her knees. Then she lay back on bed and raised her legs so he could tug them off the rest of the way.
Wholly naked, she stretched, her eyes glazed with the lingering pleasure from his bite, and she looked beautiful and mysterious at once, all woman and wholly inhuman. He stroked his fingers up her inner thigh and fingered the velvet soft petals of her sex that were already wet with pleasure. She grasped his cock in one hand, stroking it as she parted her legs and told him, “Come inside now.”
“I want to help you climax first,” he whispered. He found her stiff little bud, so delicate and luscious, and he rolled the ball of his thumb over it.
She jerked uncontrollably and gasped. “It feels too good. It’s too intense.”
“That’s partly from the bite,” he crooned. “Everything’s more intense right now.” He slid two fingers into her, and she was softer and wetter than anything he had ever felt before, and so goddamn snug, he knew when he finally entered her, she was going to grip him tighter than a fist. He fucked her gently with his fingers while he continued to massage her clitoris.
“I can’t take it,” she sobbed. She gripped his wrist.
“You can take it,” he told her. While he worked her, he bent over to take her nipple in his mouth again, suckling at her carefully because his fangs were still descended and he did not want to scratch her. He was drowning in his own pleasure, drowning, immersed in her escalating pleasure as she undulated her hips.
Then she put a hand to the back of his head and pulled him down hard against her breast. His fangs broke the tender skin at her breast, and her Powerful blood filled his mouth again. Astonished, he sucked her hard while he drove his fingers into her, and she bucked underneath his hold and screamed as she climaxed.
He was blind with his own euphoria and still throbbing with need. He held himself rigidly, his palm pressed firmly against her clit while her inner muscles pulsed against his fingers. He would not draw out, not leave her until her climax was done, but then she shocked him again as she pulled his hand away. She rose and pushed him onto his back, and as he acquiesced, she came up over him and straddled him. She was the most amazing sight he had ever seen, her beautiful face stamped with intensity as she took his cock, positioned him and lowered herself down on him.
“Jesus,” he said. His own climax shot like a bullet. He gripped her hips and bucked hard underneath her, swearing.
She collapsed on him, and he hugged her with his whole body. After a few minutes, she asked, “We’re going to do this a lot, aren’t we?”
“God, I hope so,” he said.
They slept just like that, with him still inside of her and her sprawled like a rag doll on him.
He woke first. His erection had softened, and he didn’t want to move and slip outside of her or wake her up. She was a soft, warm weight lying on him, and he loved it, loved it.
So he drifted a while and let his mind meander. Maybe she liked jewelry. Maybe she would enjoy a ring.
Maybe she would enjoy it especially if he went down on one knee to give it to her.
He had always thought he would enjoy marriage, and he believed he would make a good husband for the right woman. He had just never found the right woman, until now.
But he was getting way ahead of himself. They hadn’t even gone on their first date yet. Speaking of which, he had opera tickets to buy.
Wait. He yawned and asked, “What day is it?”
“Nnh.” Just when he was sure she had fallen back asleep, she murmured, “Think it’s Friday?”
“Excellent. I think our first date should start right now.”
She scratched her nose. “You don’t have opera tickets yet.”
“That’s going to have to be our second date,” he told her.
She opened her eyes and squinted at him. “What’s our first date?”
He rolled her onto her back, reversing their positions, and grinned down at her. “My vote is for that weekend in bed.”
She snickered. “Ooh, that’s my vote too. At some point we should call Carling and Rune and tell them we’re back.”
“We can do that Monday.” He palmed her breast as his cock stiffened against her thigh. “We should also plan our third date soon.”
“Mm, we should.” Her gaze grew heavy lidded as she fingered his penis. “I’m so glad to be back in my own bed.”
“I’m glad to be in your bed too.” He moved his hips lazily, pushing against her hand.
Her expression softened with equal parts pleasure and affection. “So do you have any ideas about that third date?”
Duncan cocked his head, consid
ering her. He thought about telling her about buying a ring, and him going down on one knee, but he didn’t want to spook her. Instead he said, very casually, “I thought we might go shopping.”
“You like to shop?” she asked in sleepy surprise.
“Yes, I do, sometimes. When I know I’m looking for something special.” He bent to nuzzle her throat.
She made a purring sound and stroked his back. “It sounds like you’ve got something specific in mind for your shopping trip.”
“Our shopping trip,” he corrected.
“Okay, our shopping trip.”
“And I do have something specific in mind, but for now, I think we should focus on our first date.”
Giddy with happiness, he kissed her in a soft lingering caress. They lived in a crowded and dangerous world, but somehow she had become the only person in it. Right here and now, they were the only two people in the world, the only two.
“Duncan, do you by any chance play the piano?” she murmured.
He chuckled. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”
She stroked his face. “You just gave me a certain look.”
Amused, he asked, “A look that said I play the piano?”
She tapped his nose with one finger. “Tell me you have a Bogart suit. Oh forget it, you have lots of suits, and they’re all more beautiful than any of the clothes I own. Do you by any chance believe in precognition?”
He announced, “I am completely at sea in this conversation.”
“Then we should probably stop talking,” she whispered. She rolled her hips at him.
“I’m okay with that,” he said.
He proceeded to make love to her again on their most excellent first date, and neither one said anything coherent for a long time.
About the Author
Thea Harrison resides in northern California. She wrote her first book, a romance, when she was nineteen and had sixteen romances published under the name Amanda Carpenter.
She took a break from writing to collect a couple of graduate degrees and a grown child. Her graduate degrees are in Philanthropic Studies and Library Information Science, but her first love has always been writing fiction. She's back with her paranormal Elder Races series. You can check out her website at: www.theaharrison.com, and also follow her on Twitter @TheaHarrison and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/TheaHarrison.
Look for these titles by Thea Harrison
Now Available:
Novellas of the Elder Races
True Colors
Natural Evil
Devil’s Gate
Coming Soon:
Hunting Season
Meeting your soulmate? Great. Preventing your possible murder? Even better.
True Colors
© 2011 Thea Harrison
Alice Clark, a Wyr and schoolteacher, has had two friends murdered in as many days, and she’s just found the body of a third. She arrives at the scene only minutes before Gideon Riehl, a wolf Wyr and current detective in the Wyr Division of Violent Crime—and, as Alice oh-so-inconveniently recognizes at first sight, her mate.
But the sudden connection Riehl and Alice feel is complicated when the murders are linked to a serial killer who last struck seven years ago, killing seven people in seven days. They have just one night before the killer strikes again. And every sign points to Alice as the next victim.
Enjoy the following excerpt for True Colors
Don’t move. Stay perfectly still.
The enormous monster plunged through the apartment with the lethal speed of a stealth bomber. A Molotov cocktail of pheromones and Power spewed through the blood-tainted air, the classic signs of a strong male Wyr in a rage. Alice clung to her perch, her heart knocking so hard she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. Had the murderer returned?
Then the monster slowed. Alice heard him utter vicious curses under his breath as he came upon Haley’s still-warm body. Alice took the New York subway daily to work. She thought she had heard it all but she learned a few things as she listened to him. Did he curse because he saw the murdered woman for the first time, or because he realized he had made some kind of mistake?
Alice had only just arrived at Haley’s apartment herself. She had found the door open and rushed inside to discover that her friend’s body had been laid out on her bed. Haley’s torso had been cut open, organs strewn across the flowered bedspread like a child’s abandoned toys.
Alice had gone numb at the sight, the normal cool gentle logic of her mind seizing in shock. Then she had heard someone running up the stairs. She had barely gotten to her hiding place before the monster appeared. If he was the murderer and he had returned to clean up some clue he had left behind, neither Alice nor the police would know what it was now.
He prowled through Haley’s home in complete silence. Alice couldn’t even hear the soft pad of footsteps. Her awareness of him was excruciating, as though someone had stroked the flat of a razor blade along her bare skin with the smiling promise of a cut. His presence was a violation of Haley’s private space. He paused not two feet away from Alice, so close she could see the pocket of his worn leather jacket out of the corner of her eye and hear the almost imperceptible sound of his steady breathing.
She wanted to scream and strike at him. She wanted to run away and dial 911. The shadowed apartment hallway was a million miles long, the open front door too far away for her to make a run for it and hope she wouldn’t be noticed. She didn’t dare move, did not dare even shift her gaze for fear a glancing light might reflect off her eyes and give her position away. She hardly dared to breathe. The only thing she could do is taste the air and know that, if nothing else, she could recognize this man again by his scent. Underneath the scent of violence, he smelled warm and clean. If they were in any other kind of situation, she would have found his scent sexy. She fought the sudden urge to vomit.
Wait. If she could scent him, then what kind of trail had she left behind? Could he scent her as well? Would he be able to recognize her again, too? Oh gods.
Attempted Murder. Passion. Betrayal. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.
Natural Evil
© 2012 Thea Harrison
Claudia Hunter is on a road trip through the Nevada desert when she sees the body of a dog on the side of the highway. Pulling over to investigate, she quickly determines that the enormous animal is clinging to life. While working to save him with the help of the local vet, Claudia realizes there’s something about the creature that seems more. Other. Wyr. Which makes this case of animal cruelty attempted murder.
Too injured to shape shift, Luis Alvaraz is reluctant to tell Claudia what he knows about his attack, afraid it will only make her a target. But the sheriff is corrupt, and his attackers know Luis is alive and vulnerable. To make matters worse, a sandstorm is sweeping into town, and if they're going to survive the night, Luis will have to place all his trust in Claudia.
Warning: Take a gorgeous man temporarily stuck in the dog house, add a strong, take-no-prisoners woman, mix in encroaching enemies and a raging sandstorm and stir to combine. Enjoy with a freshly opened can of whoop-ass.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Natural Evil:
Claudia couldn’t tell that the sizable lump on the highway shoulder was a body. Not at first.
She was traveling 110 mph on I-80W through a solitary stretch of Nevada. Sage, silvery tan, gold and light brown, splashed across the expanse of desert ringed by snow-covered dark mountains. The pale sky mirrored the land with great swathes of silver-lined gray clouds. The windswept silence was immense as ferocious heat boiled off the pavement and radiated from the afternoon’s piercing yellow-white sun. She had heard it said that the desert spaces of the world were where the Djinn came to dance.
Afterwards, she never could say why she’d stopped to investigate. She’d simply obeyed an impulse, slammed on the brakes and reversed. No other vehicles were visible on either side of the highway, and she was the only thing alive. Or so she’d thought.
She wondered what it was doing in the middle of the desert, if it had been hit or if it had been traveling unsecured in the back of a truck and fallen out. Possibly both. She hoped it had died fast.
One of its huge front paws twitched.
She slammed the BMW into park and grabbed her water bottle before her brain caught up with her actions. As she lunged out of the car, she shed the insulation she had worked so hard to acquire, shifting through an invisible barrier to fully enter into and connect with her surroundings.
She fell to her knees beside the dog. Hell, forget unusually large—it was freakishly massive. She might not know much about dogs, but she knew few breeds reached that size. Bigger than a German shepherd, too heavy for a Great Dane, it had to be some kind of mastiff. Damn, it was not only alive, but it looked like it might be conscious. It was panting fast and shallow, muzzle open and tongue lolling. Its eyes were closed, the surrounding muscles around the eye sockets tense with suffering.
“Good Christ,” she said. The wind roared through miles of solitude and snapped away the words.
She eased a hand under the dog’s head, lifted it and tried to trickle a small amount of water into its mouth. It had a set of wicked chompers, white, strong teeth as long as her fingers. Hard to tell if it noticed or reacted to the water. She thought not.
Claudia was a bit taller than the average woman, with a weight that fluctuated between 140 and 145 pounds. The dog was easily half again her size, perhaps 200 or even 220. No normal human woman could hope to lift that kind of dead weight into the back seat of her car, but Claudia was not quite a normal human woman.