That he was sure of. He lifted just slightly, sliding slowly into her wet, willing channel. He was tempted to close his eyes, to lose himself in the moment, but he had to stay in control. This time he had to be the one in control. There was nothing so dangerous as a Wolf Woman who had turned Berserker. If she forgot who she was, what she was, she could kill him in an instant. His life was a small price to pay, but if she was not yet pregnant, the prophecy might die here this night as well, and the evil they fought would win.
He thrust into her slowly, savoring every stroke, every nuance of each movement, ever quiver, every moan that tore from her throat. So little time. They had had so little time together. He stored up the memories for the long years he would spend searching for her again. Always he remembered. Remembered the wanting, remembered the needing, remembered the glory that was the promise he read in her eyes.
She fought him now, fought him as a woman, nipped at him with teeth that could still rip his flesh if she tried, but instead captured his lip, pulling him down for a kiss that threatened his own sanity. Sweet. She tasted sweet as fine aged Merlot. His tongue raked her mouth, savoring every ridge, every swirl as she battled with him. He loosed her arms now to hold her as a man, his fingers raking her scalp as his hips pistoned against her, testing the depths of her hot, wet cunt.
Both of her legs locked around him now, her feet drumming his ass while her nails raked over his back. She tightened around him, her whole body going rigid and flushed. He waited, savoring the sensations as her cunt gripped his cock in waves of pleasure, let her ride out the storm, then took up the battle once more. So little time. He buried himself in her fully, searching for the bliss that would make him forget.
If they had only this moment, this hour, this day, it would be enough. He had found her again. He had memories that would last him a lifetime should he fail the next time. But he would not fail. Unless the world shifted again, he would come back as a Wolf, and he had her scent. ‘Twould not be so hard to find her again.
Her hands clenched on his waist as she tightened again, her voice a muffled scream as she bit at his shoulder. The long, tight spasms of her delicious cunt pulled at him, warred with him, begged him to follow this time. Just when he thought he might manage a while longer, her teeth moved to his nipple, biting and licking until he lost all control, trusting wildly into her, a man driven by desperation.
“Say my name,” he ordered. “Tell me ye know who I am, Wolf Woman!”
She growled and bit him again, the pain so intense he howled as he shot his load into her, twisting and bucking as the pain and the pleasure collided.
“Roanen,” she cried as he exploded into her. “You’re Roanen. My lover, my husband, my mate.”
Roanen laughed and kissed her again, her lips sweet and soft against his as he thrust slowly through the last lingering shivers of their desire. “Forever and always, my love. This I swear.”
“Forever and always,” she whispered back to him as he gathered her into his arms. “I think I must sleep for a time.”
“Sleep, my love. I shall watch over ye.”
“I love you, Roanen,” she whispered as she lost her battle, her eyes slipping closed.
His heart filled with her till his eyes pooled with tears he would not shed. So little time. But it was always enough. “Wherever we go I will find ye, my love. Ye may lose me for a time, but always I will find ye again. Wait for me next time. I promise ‘twill no’ take me so long. I love ye more than life itself.”
Chapter Five
“Ye shall be the death of me, my love. Ye must never, never do that again.”
Her head hurt, worse than any hangover she’d ever had.
Water. A cool cloth. It appeared in her hand, as if by magic.
Oh. This was where she’d come in on this dream the first time. With the damned headache. Marylin sighed. Made sense, now. Overindulgence of magic led to a headache, worse than any hangover she’d ever had. Well, she didn’t have to be a fucking genius to figure that one out.
Shit. Her head wasn’t all that hurt.
A buzz like a thousand bees assaulted her ear. Roanen’s voice droned on, in a long, low monologue designed, she was sure, to annoy her beyond all hope of redemption. What was the man whining about?
“Come back to me, my love. Can ye not see I need ye here? I know ye can hear my voice. ‘Tis the voice of a man who needs his woman, his wife, his daughter’s mother, his Shaman. Wake up, my love. Come back to me.”
Marylin forced her voice to remain calm, low, so that her head might not shatter. “Roanen, if you don’t shut the fuck up right this instant I shall crawl out of this bed and kill you.”
The sound started as a soft chuckle, then built, a snort, a chortle, then full-fledged, roaring laughter.
Marylin opened one eye and aimed a tiny bolt of anger at him. “Die, you bastard.”
He dodged, letting the small fireball whiz by to singe the curtains. “Welcome back, my love!”
The laughter sat well on his tired face. Despite herself, she began to smile. “Where are we, and how did we get here?”
“We are returned to House Lindall, my love. Thanks to ye, the men were fit enough to shift. We crossed the tundra in but four days. They are very grateful to ye.”
She’d slept for four days? He’d marched for four days, transporting an army and tents and injured men. And her. Now he stood guardian over her as she slept. No wonder he looked tired. “How long have you been sitting beside me, you big oaf? An hour? A day? A week? Can I not trust you to take any care of yourself?”
He came to sprawl beside her on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow to smile down into her face. “A day, a week, what does it matter, so long as ye are by my side?”
Her fingers traced the lines of strain in his face, soothing, relaxing, with the gentlest touch of her mind. “It matters, my love. You matter to me. I love you, Roanen. If I remembered nothing, still I would love you. Perhaps I’m here to protect you from yourself. I know you meant only to take care of me, Roanen, but you cannot take care of me if you do not take care of yourself.”
His hand over hers stayed her fingers, and he turned his lips against them. She felt the warmth spread through her at first contact. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “We were meant to take care of each other.”
Marylin brushed her lips over his beard-roughened cheek. “Perhaps. Are you feeling more rested, then?”
“Ye have the healer’s touch,” Roanen laughed. “And if ye had no’, just the sight of ye would restore my spirit.”
Marylin giggled as she slid her hand down his belly to tease his already hard cock. “‘Twould seem more than your spirit has been restored.”
His smile grew even wider. “Do ye know, Mel~amin, how beautiful ye are to me?”
“Have you not grown tired of me, then? Four thousand years is a long time to love the same woman.”
“Or the same man. In truth, I have worried that ye might remember how oft I have angered ye, rather than how much ye have loved me.”
She tasted his mouth lightly, her blood warming at the touch of those soft, gentle lips. “Perhaps that is why the memories become indistinct, that we might remember only how necessary we are to one another.” The heavy leggings apparently were not necessary in the house. She slipped her hand under his kilt to caress his naked cock, wrapping her fingers around the hot, jutting length of him. How she loved the feel of him. Satin-smooth skin, soft and sensitive to her touch, over shaft of pure, solid heat. “This much I remember for certain, my love. Always I have loved you. And always I have loved making love to you.”
“Are ye trying to seduce me, woman?”
“Aye.”
He laughed, rolling to take her into his arms. “Ye did that many lifetimes ago. For me, nothing has changed. The sun still rises and sets at thy will. Would ye have me as thy Lord and Master, or thy slave? It matters not. Always I am thine.”
The possibilities. Marylin grinned. Like the flavors at an ice
cream shop. She always had such a hard time choosing. “It could be my mind has grown fuzzy, to where I can no longer tell the difference between truth and dreams, but I seem to remember a very large wolf standing over me. How did you do that?”
Something flickered in his eyes, some doubt, some question. “We are Clan of the Wolf, M’Lady. ‘Tis our way.”
Her mind sifted back through hundreds of Sci-Fi and Fantasy novels. Werewolves? “Can you do this at any time, or only when you mate? Or only when the moon is full?”
One heavy black eyebrow arched as if she’d gone quite mad. “The moons have naught to do with it. Those of Clan Wolf can shift at any time. The first time is the hardest. The first shift comes after the change, when the cubs’ bodies ripen with maturity. Usually a cub shifts when he or she mates for the first time, but it may happen in the rage and lust of battle, as well. Once a cub has joined the pack, they can shift at will.” As if to prove his point, Roanen shifted, blending so easily from man to wolf that she almost didn’t realize what he was doing until green eyes laughed at her over a long black muzzle highlighted with silver.
So they could control the shift. Like another set of clothes they put on at will. Not werewolves, then. Shape-shifters. “Is that what you were afraid of, Roanen? That I would not wish to mate with you? That I would not change with you when we first mated here? That Marylin would not love you as Ayailla had?”
Roanen closed his eyes for a moment, the strain of the last weeks showing once again on his face. “Aye, my love. When couples mate for the first time, they shift together as a bonded pair, as a symbol of their commitment. I wanted ye aware before we took that step. I should have taken the time to explain.”
“You will always be my chosen mate. I remember reading somewhere that wolves mate for life. But I have mated with you for dozens of lifetimes. Mate with me, Roanen. Claim me once again as your own.”
His eyes, human again, widened, then narrowed with pleasure. Like a hungry predator he growled his response, his breath drawing in sharply. “Do not tease me, my love.”
He might feel soft and gentle under her touch, but he was the Warrior she’d longed for. The hint of danger in his intense gaze made her shiver in anticipation. She nipped at his jaw, all thought of teasing gone. “I want you, Roanen. I do not need more time to remember. I want you as you are to me. My mate.”
With a feral snarl he was over her, all thought of tenderness gone from his eyes. Sharp teeth snapped at her shoulder, nipping hard before he paused to lick the spot where his teeth marks showed. An answering lust, equally primitive, sent waves of fire through her core. Her sheath flooded with hot, liquid desire. She tore at him, her nails raking his chest as she fought his clothing to free more skin to her touch.
He reared back, loosing the kilt so that it puddled around them, skimming the tunic over his head.
She’d never seen him naked in full light before. Never taken the time to fully appreciate his body. He was perfect. A Greek god. The statue of a Warrior. Broad shouldered and lean at the hips, rippling with muscles that bunched and shifted as he stalked her across the bed.
“Wait! Give me a minute.”
His eyes narrowed even farther, his snarl like a hungry wolf approaching his kill, but he paused, held frozen in time by her will. “‘Tis a poor time to change thy mind, my love.”
“Never,” she promised. “I just wanted—needed—you’re so perfect. I wanted to capture that picture of you in my heart. You make me feel small, for the first time in my life. I—you’re everything to me, Roanen. I’ve never wanted anything as I want you.”
“Then ye shall have me,” he promised. He didn’t shift then, as she had thought he might. Instead he pinned her helpless beneath him, her hands under his, as he hovered over her, kissing first her mouth, then down to her chin, his teeth closing and holding for a moment over the soft skin of her throat. She knew the tiniest trace of fear. He could end her life with but a thought. Instead he licked at the pulse that bubbled under his lips.
Coils of molten desire tore through her, demanding release. Now. Now! Make it now, Roanen!
Still he toyed with her, licking, kissing, nipping with teeth sharp enough to draw blood. Teeth and tongue branded her, washing her skin with desire. His cock burned against her as he moved, trapped between them like a glowing rod from the fire as he ground his hips against hers in long, slow, lazy circles. “Do ye know,” he growled, “How I missed ye?”
Her breast strained to reach him, aching for his touch. “As I have missed you,” she breathed, searching for any part of him she could reach, pinned as he held her. Finding only his ear, she sucked at its edge, her tongue darting in small patterns over its surface.
She felt his cock quiver as he stiffened, his whole body going rigid. “By the gods, woman, ye shall be the death of me.”
“Mate with me, Roanen. Now!”
“Patience, my love. The getting there is half the fun.” His kisses moved from her shoulder to the spot between her breasts, so close to the nipples that strained toward his touch. “Marry me, Marylin. Say ye will be my bride.”
She stilled beneath him, confusion warring with desire. “I thought we were married?”
“Do ye remember the ceremony? Do ye remember the vows we took together? I would not have ye bound by words we said long ago.”
“How could we hide a thing like that? Your people will already consider us as husband and wife. If we tell them I’m not Ayailla, will they trust me?”
Finally, now that she was thoroughly distracted, he decided to pay attention to her straining nipples. “A couple may choose to repeat their vows before their gods and their houses, as an act of faith and a renewal of their commitment to one another. Only we will know what the words mean to us. Say ye marry me, Marylin. Once again.”
How many times had she said the words? “Yes!” she fairly screamed as his teeth closed over the elongated tip of her nipple. “Now, and again, and a dozen times more if the fates allow. Mate with me Roanen! God, you’re driving me crazy!”
She spread herself open as far as she could as he rose up enough to brush the tip of his cock over her clit. He was lying. He didn’t really want to marry her. He wanted to kill her. Marylin lunged at him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he alternately licked and sucked her tits.
“Now!” she ordered.
He only chuckled. “Patience, Mel~amin. We have all the time in the world.”
“I don’t care! I want you now!”
“And you shall have me,” he promised. But instead of his cock, he gave her his tongue. He slipped low enough to breathe in hot waves over her aching clit before he lowered his stubbled cheeks to rub them over her wet, needy flesh. Marylin nearly screamed in frustration before he sucked her tiny member into his mouth, teasing the tip with his tongue.
“Oh, God! You are trying to kill me!” she shrieked. “Roanen!”
He let go of her hands to put his own to better use, one busy set of fingers fastening to her left nipple, tweaking and tugging, while the others slid into her cunt. “Ye are so wet for me,” he teased. “Do ye desire me so much, then?”
“Yes!” was all she could manage.
First two, then three fingers slipped in and out of her, becoming slick and slippery in her juices. She writhed and bucked against him, forced past the point of all endurance. “Roanen!” she screamed.
“Sing for me, woman of the Wolf Clan. I would hear ye sing.”
What? What did he want? What did that mean? “I don’t—”
His tongue began a fresh assault on her clit, and she screamed as she broke under him, thousands of tiny pieces of her soul shattering like so many panes of stained glass. She screamed, and screamed again as his fingers pounded into her, harder, harder, her nails raking his shoulders as she fought to escape the sensations that asked for too much of her. “Roanen!”
“Sing for me!”
She was sure she could take no more, but he pushed, and pushed, and pushed her farther
. She must escape him before he destroyed her! She fought him in earnest now, afraid, as he replaced his tongue with his cock, pounding into her with hot, burning thrusts, his grip bruising her hips as he took all she knew how to give him. “Roanen! I cannot—”
“Sing for me!”
He sucked her breast into his mouth as he bent over her, his cock thrusting deeply, demanding more, more. She broke again, her sheath tightening around him like fists of steel, her heels locked around his ass, her hips pistoning against him in a short, staccato rhythm. There was no more! What did he want? What was he trying to wring from her? She would give him anything. He owned her soul. But she could not give what she did not understand.
Her body screamed with the loss as he pulled free, turning her face down against the bedding. She grabbed a small silk throw pillow to hug against her chest, biting its edges to keep from screaming as he pumped back into her, deeper, impossibly deeper now, so hard and so strong she could not understand how he had the strength to continue. Could this be the same man she had thought near exhaustion but a few minutes ago? What did he want? What was he waiting for? What more could there possibly be?
A new ache built in her, one she’d not felt before. She wanted. She needed. Something. Something just out of reach. He slipped a hand under her to stroke over her clit, torturing her as the need grew stronger, more demanding. How many times could a woman come? How many ways could a woman come? She twisted, writhing against him, snapping and snarling, trying to reach him with her teeth. Now, damn it! Now! Take me with you now!
She opened her mouth to scream out his name, but instead a high, shrill cry tore through the cool winter air. She screamed again, knowing the sound for what it was, knowing at last what he asked of her. It was the mating call of the wolf! She looked down to find the hands that raked at the bedclothes were paws, tipped with sharp claws. Roanen’s voice laughed behind her, but only another wolf would recognize the laughter in his bark. She understood now. He had been waiting for her to shift first this time.
Threshold Volume 2 Page 8