by Brenda Huber
Phoebe bit her lip. Everything inside her wanted to give in, wanted desperately to yield. She barely stifled a moan as he shifted his hips once more. Her body ached for his.
And that was when she noticed fresh beads of perspiration dotting his brow. His face hardened, as if he were calling on all his self control to resist slipping inside her and pounding away his frustration. His eyes were merciless, his body rigid.
“Say it,” he ordered once more.
Phoebe swallowed a groan, fighting her own body now. Fighting the need to revel in his mastery, fighting the soul deep desire his claim had sparked. To be his. Completely. Forever. His.
“Say it,” came the fierce whisper, laden with desperation and torment and a need so great it scorched them both. She felt the faintest tremor in his hands then, and she searched his face, his eyes.
In that moment, Phoebe knew she couldn’t fight him, couldn’t fight this—fight what was between them—any longer. He wanted this too badly.
And so did she.
“I am yours, Sebastian,” she said softly, but with great conviction. “Only yours. Your mate.”
Where had those words come from? They were out of her mouth before she could call them back. Shocking her. And, by the look on his face, shocking him as well. Unmitigated relief softened all that sheer male possessiveness, keeping her from instantly regretting her capitulation.
“Nothing will keep me from you,” he growled and dipped his head, at last capturing her lips. Seizing them. At the same moment, he shifted his hips and thrust deep. Without warning, without hesitation. Pushing all the way inside.
Phoebe gasped in surprise as raw sensation hit her like a tidal wave.
His hands still held her immobile beneath him, but he laid claim to her body with sure, powerful strokes. At some point along the way, he threw his head back and roared his possession. Phoebe couldn’t defend against his passion. She got swept up, carried away. Their bodies fell into primal rhythm, straining against each other, urging each other on.
He finally released her hands, only to reach down, hook her legs, and shove them up till her knees were anchored nearly around his ribs. And he began to really move then, increasing the tempo, driving into her, making her head spin. Phoebe was lost to the sensations pouring through her. She could feel the changes taking place in her body, but was helpless, once again, to stop them. His tongue swept along the sharp length of one of her fangs and he groaned into her mouth.
She must have nicked him, because the coppery flavor of his blood blossomed against her tongue. Her gums pulsed in response. Her eyes began to burn.
He tore his mouth from hers and demanded, “Do it.” He tipped his head to the side, baring his throat. “Bite me, caro mita. Mark me as yours.”
With those words upon his lips, and his body dominating hers, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She opened her mouth wide and sank her fangs into the side of his throat. It wasn’t with the purpose of drawing his blood, though the salty tang of it seeped into her mouth nonetheless. It was the act in and of itself that ruled her. The possession. The primal need to mark her territory.
And when she felt the unexpected sting of his fangs sinking in to her shoulder, her body erupted. Phoebe clutched him tight and rode wave after wave of pleasure so bright, so brilliant it bordered on painful. She whimpered against his flesh as he began to come. The feel of his solid, hard length, buried deep inside her, jerking and jetting, shot Phoebe soaring skyward yet again, pushed her even higher when he rotated his hips. He gave one final thrust and roared against her skin, long and loud.
Chapter Eighteen
Phoebe floated back to reality. She was only vaguely aware of physical sensation as Sebastian carefully retracted his fangs from her skin and then swiped his tongue along her flesh. Phoebe experience a brief pang of loss, but the first blossoms of embarrassment swiftly began to take root. Mortified, she realized her fangs were still embedded in his neck. The moment she withdrew them, blood began to well, and she panicked.
“Lick them,” he said, his voice calm if a bit hoarse.
Phoebe’s brows drew together. No, he couldn’t mean—
“You have to lick the punctures for them to close otherwise they’re just going to keep bleeding.”
Oh, dear Jesus.
Closing her eyes, she tentatively did as he’d instructed. She’d already had the taste of him in her mouth, so this was not the shock she’d expected. The act of running her tongue along his skin bothered her far more, however, as it sent sparks of desire showering through her already overloaded system.
Phoebe blinked and then looked closer, peering hard at the sealed puncture wounds on his throat in disbelief. “I have healing spit?”
And apparently no filter after mind-blowing sex either. She hadn’t meant to voice that incredulous question aloud.
“No. Well, not all the time,” he said, smoothing the hair from her brow. He smiled down at her, the picture of a well sated male. “But right now, during and after sex, your body produces certain chemicals, one of which is designed to heal your partner—me—should you decide to use those sexy little fangs of yours.”
He thinks they’re sexy?
Phoebe didn’t quite know what to do with that.
He dropped a kiss to her lips as she tried to map out the logic of chemical reactions. She didn’t know what to do with that either. Phoebe nearly cried when she felt him pull out and move away, her emotions were so raw. But he only lay down on the fragrant grass beside her before drawing her into his arms.
He tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her damp hair. “Why were you so resistant to admitting we are mated?”
Let me count the ways…
She licked her lips, and then chewed on the bottom one while he waited in silence. She watched her fingers as she traced small patterns across his chest. And then her eyes widened, and she flattened her palm against his skin. In the encoded alphabet her father had taught her, she’d been tracing the word mine on him, over and over, without even realizing it.
“Maybe I have a feeling you equate this mating thing with my obedience. And, let me warn you right now, that’s never going to happen,” she finally replied. She knew she was deflecting, but couldn’t help it.
He huffed out a laugh. “Believe me, I’m not stupid enough to demand obedience. I’ve yet to see a mate who even knows the meaning of the word.” He nudged her with his shoulder until she looked up at him. “But you better get this through your beautiful head. This mating thing is real. And it has already happened. This is a done deal. So don’t bother to ask me to undo it, because that will never happen either.”
He stared hard at her now, and she finally, reluctantly, nodded. The muscle in his jaw bunched. So he’d been expecting immediate and unquestioning acquiescence? Too bad. She was doing the best she could here.
They lay there in silence for a long time. Eventually, Phoebe relaxed against him, enjoying the way his body felt alongside hers, all hard muscle and warm male. He traced lazy lines up and down her arm and over her back. Phoebe closed her eyes and sank into the pleasure, going boneless.
“Is there…” Her voice trailed away as embarrassment took over.
“Is there what?”
She drew a bracing breath. She should have kept her mouth closed, but the questions were beginning to pile up. Still, she couldn’t quite look him in the eye as she asked, “Does there always have to be biting? I mean, can’t we just have normal sex?”
“Normal sex?” He chuckled.
Irritated, she poked him in the ribs. “You know what I mean.”
Sebastian twisted suddenly, rolling her beneath him, pinning her, forcing her to look at him. He traced the line of her jaw with the back of his knuckles as he stared at her, perfectly serious now.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I want
you to be comfortable asking me anything. No matter what it is. Understood?” When she nodded, no hesitation at all, his smile nearly blinded her. He dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose, and then assured her, “Yes. We can have normal sex. There doesn’t always have to be biting involved. As far as I know, biting usually only happens when emotions are running high. Or when a mating is new, while partners are still…finding their way with each other. While they’re still learning to trust each other and are establishing the parameters of the relationship.”
This information went a long way toward putting her at ease. To know it didn’t always have to be that way between them, the complete loss of control, the overwhelming urges…the marking. That they might have a normal relationship despite what she was—what they were—made her feel a little less like a freak.
So lost in thought was she that, at first, she didn’t realize her focus had drifted to his mouth. Not until she felt the insistent nudge of his arousal pressing against her womanhood. Startled, she met his gaze. Her breath got tangled up in her throat at the look on his face, at the fire simmering in his brilliant blue eyes. Eyes that flickered black.
“Shall we test the theory?” His grin dared her as nothing else could.
Phoebe licked her lips. Emboldened by his expression, by the rapt way he watched the tip of her tongue moisten her lower lip, she tilted her hips up in invitation. And she smiled, feeling brave and desired, wanton and wonderful.
Sebastian needed no further encouragement. He dipped his head and brushed a whisper soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. And then another. And another. Slowly working his way across her bottom lip until they were both breathing heavily. Sebastian tangled his fingers in her hair, cupped the back of her head, easing her into the right angle as he deepened the kiss. His big body moved over hers and he braced his weight on his elbows. Sebastian repositioned his hips and slid his rigid length along her aching, wet cleft over and over, until they were both shuddering. Phoebe wrapped herself around him, clinging, holding tight.
Just when she didn’t think she could take it a second longer, he rotated his hips, and then slid home, slow and easy. He kept them to a leisurely pace, stroking her skin, her hair, her face. He nipped and nibbled kisses along her jaw, down her throat, along her scar. And when the crest hit them, when the surge of pleasure swept them up and over, he held her in a tender embrace.
Phoebe peered up at him, locking gazes with him until her vision blurred and she cried out in wonder.
When it was all over, he rolled with her, draping her over his chest like a blanket. He held her there as their breathing evened out and the world slowly crept back.
A huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Yes, she’d felt the changes in her body. Felt her fangs begin to emerge. But she’d been able to control it that time, and she’d forced her fangs back. Judging by the burning sensation, her eyes had still turned. But changing eye color was a long way from trying to chew his skin off. She was ecstatic, filled with hope for the first time in longer than she could remember.
She pressed a tender kiss to the side of his throat, thankful beyond words. Sebastian smoothed his calloused hand down her spine, and he kissed the top of her head. No words were needed just now. And she basked in the sensation.
Just as she decided a nap seemed in order, she felt him stiffen beneath her. He heaved a deep sigh, his broad chest rising and falling, moving her head right along with it.
“We should go back,” he said. “I’m sure Ricardo is wondering where we disappeared to.”
Phoebe sighed too. As much as she didn’t want to move right now—or possibly ever again—he was right. Ricardo would worry.
“I think I could use a shower first,” she said, pushing up off him.
In the blink of an eye, she was as clean as if she’d just stepped from said shower, and clothed in her jungle gear. She lifted her eyebrows, looked down at herself, then shot him a questioning glance.
Sebastian smiled ruefully at her as he conjured her glasses and handed them to her. “If I get you anywhere near a shower, it’s going to be at least a few more hours before we head back to camp.”
Now she frowned. “But—”
“I’ll make love to you again,” he interrupted bluntly.
Heat flooded her face. She ducked her head, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips, and slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Fully clothed now himself, Sebastian stood, caught her hand, and tugged her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“Ready, caro mita?”
She glanced around them at the meadow and the pond, then peeked up at him, feeling very shy all of a sudden. “Can we come back sometime?”
His smile stretched ear to ear. “Any time you want. Just say the word.”
Phoebe grinned and nodded once more. Sebastian dipped his head and captured her lips. She slipped her arms around his neck and met him, kiss for kiss. Somewhere along the way, hardly even noticeable for the powerful sensations kissing Sebastian invoked, she caught a wisp of that falling sensation she’d come to associate with shimmering. And when she opened her eyes again, they were standing inside their tent back at base camp.
“I want to check in with Ricardo, then I think I’ll spend the rest of the evening examining Dad’s journal.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“Not really,” she said, smiling apologetically. “Ricardo doesn’t even know how to decipher Dad’s code.”
She watched him for a moment, and then she made a decision. Call it impulse. Call it gut feeling. Or maybe it was some primitive instinct driving her. She didn’t know what pushed her, but whatever it was, she was as sure of her choice as she’d ever been sure about anything in her life.
“Actually,” she said as she twisted her hair out of the way and back up into a bun at the base of her neck. “There is something you can do.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
Point of no return, she told herself. “You can help me translate Dad’s journal.”
He frowned now. “I don’t know the code.”
“I’ll teach you.”
He stared at her for a long moment, surprise etching his face. And then, without warning, he swept her into a hug tight enough to make her bones creak. Caught off guard by his exuberance, Phoebe laughed aloud.
“Tell you what,” he said, setting her back on her feet. The journal and the arrowhead shaped rock reappeared on the desk beside her. “I know how anxious you are. Why don’t you get started? I’ll go let Ricardo know we’re here, and then I’ll be right back.”
“What about the line of sight rule?”
“If you can bend, so can I…just a little anyway. I’ll be right outside the tent. And I’ll only be gone for a minute. If anything happens, if you need me, just yell, okay?”
Compromise. She kind of liked this new dynamic.
Smiling, Phoebe nodded and took her seat at the desk. She readjusted her glasses, and reached for the journal as Sebastian left the tent.
But she hadn’t gotten more than a line or two translated when she heard the tent flap swish. She glanced up from her work. She should have known.
Phoebe quirked a brow. “Well that didn’t take long.”
Sebastian said nothing. He just stood near the entrance, staring at her with an odd expression. Without a word, he strode forward until he reached her side.
Suddenly uneasy, Phoebe stood. “What’s wrong?”
Oh no! Dread hit her. Hard. Had something happened to Ricardo while they’d been gone? Fear and worry congealed in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, silently, he reached out, captured her hands, and pulled her out from behind the desk so she was facing him fully. And then he slowly removed her glasses. He dropped them onto the desk without taking his eyes from her.
He kept peering at her with the strang
est look on his face, his probing stare searching every inch of her countenance. What the hell was going on?
“What’s wrong?” She reached up and laid her palm against his chest. He started, glancing down at her hand. And when he looked back up at her, his expression had changed. He looked…shocked? Surprised? Off balance, for sure. “Sebastian, you’re really starting to worry me.”
“Your mother was Danika.” His voice sounded hoarse, strained. Different. With an unsteady hand, he reached up and traced his fingertips over her cheekbone and down the side of her face. He captured a loose strand of hair and rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, before lifting it to his nose. He dragged in a deep breath. Why was he smelling her hair? And then he cupped both cheeks and held her still as his gaze devoured her.
“Yes.” Phoebe frowned. “It was. How do you know that?”
“How could I have missed it before?” he whispered, shaking his head.
“Missed what?” Phoebe insisted. “What’s going on?”
“Get your hands off my mate!”
Phoebe jerked at the angry shout. She whipped her head around to see Sebastian standing just inside the tent flap. For an instant, the world stopped spinning as she glanced back and forth from the Sebastian standing a few inches away from her to the one standing at the tent opening. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t compute.
What on earth?
And then the Sebastian standing next to her took half a step back.
And he morphed.
A tall, lean demon stood before her now. Skin a brilliant crimson with black tattoos snaking their way along his arms and across his ribs. Long, jet black hair. Eyes a bottomless coal black. His fangs were clearly visible as his smile stretched wide.
Sïnsobar!
Phoebe hopped back, nearly toppling over the chair behind her in her haste to get away. The Sebastian by the door charged across the tent, focused on the demon smiling at her. With one last searching look, Sïnsobar vanished in a cloud of wavering air.
“Damn it,” Sebastian snarled as he rounded on her. “Are you all right?”