Lord of the Wolfyn / Twin Targets

by Jessica Andersen

  He stroked her body as they kissed, slid her clothes farther out of the way and cupped her, stroked her. She arched into him, parting her legs in wanton demand and then moaning when he skimmed along the outsides of her heated flesh without penetrating. But then he broke their kiss and pressed his lips to her cheek, her jaw, the soft spot below her ear.

  She moved restlessly against him, would have cupped him, touched him with some inciting friction of her own, but he had angled his body away to concentrate on her. Which was so unbearably sexy she thought she would shatter. “More,” she whispered. “Now. Please, now.”

  The nerves were gone, leaving only wild heat and need as he grazed one fang down her neck. Pleasure shivers coiled through her until her whole body throbbed with her heartbeat, making her exquisitely aware of the blood racing through her body and running beneath the place at the side of her throat where he opened his mouth to suckle her.

  His fingers mimicked the pressure of his lips, rubbing her clit with a voluptuous intensity that pulled the pressure inside her tighter and tighter. She whimpered and moved against him, and where before she might have held herself back, not wanting him to know how thoroughly she was under his control, now she gave in to the sensations, reveled in them, tangling her fingers in his hair and urging him on.

  He suckled harder, worked his fingers a little deeper, so she felt his teeth on her throat, his fingers at the entrance to her body. Tingles raced through her, presaging orgasm, and she moaned his name as the pleasure gathered. Tightened. Poised…

  Pain lanced through her as he bit down; pleasure rose up as he pierced her with two fingers at the same time, and she was caught amid the two for a breathless instant of shock. But then, between one heartbeat and the next, the pain became heat and the shock became a shuddering groan of “Ohh, yes,” as he sucked from her on a deep and primal level while his hand surged against her with those long, elegant fingers inside her and the heel of his hand gently massaging her clit.

  She clung to him, one hand buried in his hair, holding him against her throat, the other curved around his shoulder and digging in as waves of heat and pleasure rolled through her, throbbing with her pulse, and then with his, too, as their heartbeats aligned in rhythm. She felt his heartbeat, his pleasure, knew that had to be the magic of the forming bond. But instead of being terrifying or intrusive, as she had imagined, it was incredible, indescribable. It didn’t take anything away from her; it gave to her, shared with her. Just like he did.

  The first delicious curls of a monstrous-feeling orgasm tickled at the edges of her senses, and when he groaned deep in his chest, she knew he could feel it, too. He intensified his rhythm, working her, sucking her and gasping against her throat when she whimpered and fisted her hand in his hair, holding him against her, urging him on.

  His excitement washed through her, along with a deep, possessive pleasure that whispered in her mind: You are mine now, as I am yours. We are ourselves, yet we are also one.

  The orgasm caught her, swirled around her, inside her, and sucked her up into a vortex of pleasure so overwhelming that the rest of the world ceased to exist for her—there was only Dayn’s mouth and hands, the searing heat that came through their new bond and the glory that whirled through her body.

  She arched and gasped, riding the pressure and the spin, and then staying excited when the pulsing echoes faded but the pleasure didn’t fade. Instead, it plateaued, as if her body, too, was saying, Give me more.

  He groaned softly as he withdrew his fangs, bringing a pinch of pain that disappeared quickly when he licked where they had been. Then he kissed the spot, kissed her jaw, whispered her name.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered in return. She was replete yet still greedy, and she could feel the need inside him. He was full to bursting, hard enough to hurt, and aching to be inside her. “Come inside me.”

  His head came up; his eyes fixed on hers, silently asking if she knew what she was commanding. He had fed from her throat, which meant she was primed now to accept his seed.

  She nodded slowly, not even bothering to check in with her inner committee. This was her life, her call. And illogical or not, it was what she wanted, what she needed. “Only if you want to,” she said to him as she had done earlier.

  “Gods, yes.” He kissed her, fangs fully extended still, and so sensitive that he shuddered when she licked along the curve of one. As they kissed, he withdrew his fingers and looped her leg over his arm, baring her swollen flesh wide as he moved into position.

  Breaking the kiss, she stared down at their poised sexes, unbearably aroused. His engorged cock was hard and heavy, and flushed a gorgeous ruddy red where it nudged her pink folds so intimately. She could feel its throb, feel her heartbeat align with the pulse.

  “I want this,” he said, bringing her eyes up to his. Then her eyelids fluttered closed as he pushed forward a delicious inch. He leaned in and kissed her closed lids, whispering, “I want you.” He seated himself another inch, filling and stretching her. Then, voice deep and reverent, as if he was promising her the world, he grated, “I am yours.” And he pushed fully home.

  Colors exploded behind her eyelids, sensory rainbows that said the storm had passed, the air was clear and the past had been washed away. And for now, in this frozen moment that they had stolen for themselves, she allowed herself to believe it, because on some levels it was true.

  As she surged against him, counterpointing the powerful thrusts that wrung cries from both of them, she was whole within herself, taking what she wanted and trusting her own instincts over life lessons that didn’t work for her, maybe hadn’t ever really worked for her. And as he clamped her hips in his hands and anchored her so he could drive deeper, so deeply that she nearly came from the pressure of him hitting her exactly right inside and out, she knew that what they had found together was separate from Elden’s problems and his need for redemption. Those things might have put them in each other’s orbits, but their deep connection—and now their bond—was their own.

  Knowing it, believing in it and him, and this one singular moment they had stolen, she found his mouth and poured herself into a kiss that held nothing back. She was wide open to him, feeling his heartbeat and pleasure and sharing her own in return.

  Emotion washed through her, tightening her body around him as a second orgasm gathered, deep and powerful, as they rocked together, not having sex or making love so much as mating, sealing the bond that now connected them.

  Through it, she knew that he was lost in her, in the moment and the sensations, holding nothing back as he thrust and thrust again, finding a sweet, sweet spot where they fit perfectly, joined intimately. Her body tightened as he stroked harder and faster, then faster still, touching that spot, that wonderful glorious place that wrapped her up, caught her up. And sent her flying.

  She threw her head back, rapt in the glory of coming with her body, mind and heart united, and nothing held in reserve. She called his name, praised him, urged him on, drove him wild.

  “Yes, Reda. My sweet Reda.” He bowed his head as his rhythm hitched and his big body shuddered against her. He surged into her, pressed home, touched the place that was theirs alone, and then he was coming, too, her name reverberating in his chest as he leaned into her, against her.

  The sensations washed between them, amping their responses and locking them together in protracted pleasure before leveling off and then, eventually, easing.

  “Gods.” He pressed his cheek to hers, his breathing still hard and fast. “Dear gods. If I had known…”

  It was a first for him, too, she realized. His first time drinking from a woman’s throat. His first bonding. And if she had anything to say about it, his first, last and only. She waited for panic, didn’t feel any. And smiled, feeling lighter than she had in…well, forever. “I’m glad you didn’t find out with anyone else.”

  “Only you, sweet Reda.” He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him so they lay facing each other. They were no longer i
ntimately joined, but she could feel their bond as a small kernel of warmth that moved through her, moving with her blood. It wasn’t intrusive or invasive. It simply was.

  His eyes searched hers. “I’m fine,” she said, tightening her fingers on his. “Better than fine.”

  “No regrets?” His words were soft and slow. Hopeful.

  “Not ever, no matter what happens.” Her heart wanted to hurt with the prospect of things to come, but she determinedly kept her thoughts there, in the present, with him. Though from the way his lids were drooping, she didn’t think she would have him with her, present and accounted for, for much longer. “You, sir, are crashing.”

  “Too musshh magic.” His words were slurring, his eyes going unfocused. He blinked, trying to stay awake, but it was clearly a losing battle. “All that healing. Need an hour. We…we shhhould have enough time.”

  Whether they did or not, he wasn’t going to be any use until he recharged. Fleetingly, she wished for some of Candida’s clever potions, but they were long gone. “Sleep,” she said. “I’ll keep watch.” Unlike him, she was wide awake, clearheaded and ready for action.

  “Don…don’t go anywhere. Not sssafe.” His eyes were nearly closed now, his body relaxing toward sleep whether he liked it or not.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He lifted their joined hands to his lips, kissed her knuckles and then pressed them to his heart. He was smiling as he slipped into sleep, and she smiled, watching him. And in that moment, in that perfect stolen piece of the present, she felt at peace.

  DAYN TIGHTENED HIS grip on Reda’s hand as his older brother repeated the words that would make him the king of Elden.

  Nicolai’s voice rolled out across the crowds that thronged the castle courtyard and spilled beyond to the outer reaches and the greensward beyond. The sky was blue and perfect, the castle repaired, scrubbed and hung with banners old and new. Breena stood on Nicolai’s other side next to a solid man with their father’s features—Micah? Gods—and the sight of them warmed Dayn, made him grateful, as he was every day since the day the sorcerer died, for the spell that had saved them and then brought them back together again, along with several others that Dayn sensed standing near each of his sibs, but couldn’t see clearly.

  With the vow finished, Nicolai bowed his head to receive the symbols of his reign. Dayn’s eyes misted at the sight of the vestments their father had worn, but the ache was a good one, free of guilt or recrimination. “He’ll be a good king,” he murmured to Reda.

  “He’ll have a good second-in-command looking out for him,” she returned.

  “So will I.” His lips turned up as he glanced over at her. “Or am I your second? I’m never sure.”

  “We can trade off, at least until our new commanding officer arrives.” She brought their joined hands to the faint swell of her belly and he spread his hand, spanning their growing child as fierce love and possessiveness welled up inside him.

  Nicolai moved out onto the castle balcony and the crowd erupted into cheers at their first sighting of the new king of Elden. As the noise swelled, Dayn grinned, leaned down and kissed her softly.

  “There’s nothing more important than this,” he said, and kissed her again, silently thanking the gods and the magic that had brought her into his life.

  The dream fragmented and misted away, leaving Dayn to swim back up to consciousness. Before he had even opened his eyes, he knew he had needed the rest, and the pleasant dream that he badly wanted to believe was prescience more than wishful thinking. He felt refreshed and recharged, with none of the fuzziness that had accompanied the crash.

  He was a little embarrassed, though not about having wiped out so thoroughly, but because he hadn’t planned for it. He’d heard of such things, but hadn’t ever before used as much magic as he had over the past four days. And then to add in a bonding…yeah. Not his best planning ever.

  But at the same time, it was the best decision he’d ever made. He felt the warmth of her in his veins, felt their distant connection, felt—

  Wait a minute. Distant? His blood iced at the realization that she felt suddenly very far away.

  Something was wrong.

  “Reda?” he said as he opened his eyes, even though he already knew she wasn’t there. But he got a second shock when he looked around. It was nearly dark out.

  Lunging to his feet, he yanked his clothes to rights and ducked out of the shelter.

  The surrounding area was undisturbed, at least as best as he could tell in the gathering darkness. There was no sign of a struggle, no evidence that she had stepped out to relieve herself and been attacked by some beast. And if she’d been taken from right there by human hands, anyone grabbing her would have seen him, and captured him for the bounty. Which meant she had left under her own power.

  His pulse thudded in his ears, choppy and upset. She had promised to stay with him, yet she had disappeared and he had slept far, far too long. Gods and the Abyss. This wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare. She had disappeared and he was up against his deadline.

  What had happened? Had she regretted forming the bond, maybe even been repulsed once her blood cooled? Had the intensity of their mating sent her into a panicked retreat?

  Most importantly, had she fled to the shrine?

  “No,” he grated, refusing to believe it. Perhaps they hadn’t made any promises of forever, but she had fed him, mated with him, taken his seed inside her after the bonding. They belonged to each other now. She had to know that.

  Except he hadn’t told her, had he? And when he had started to say something along those lines, she had hushed him and changed the subject. At the time, he had thought she was feeling too raw and unsettled from their other confidences to add talk of the future into the mix. Now, though, he wondered whether she hadn’t believed there would be one.

  He had been so dazzled by the warrior woman astride a fractious bay that he’d lost track that she, too, had spent a long time alone, questioning her worth. How had he forgotten that?

  Gods. Had he lost her in truth? He quickly sought their bond; the weak flicker had to mean she was still in the kingdom realm. But for how long? Was she even now working to call a vortex to carry her home?

  Let her go, said an inner voice. She’ll be safer there, alive no matter what happens on the island. Maybe you could even travel to her when all this is over. Right now, you need to get yourself onto that island. Time is running out.

  He froze. Was this, then, his test? Was he to prove himself by choosing Elden over her? Because despite that logic, his gut said that if she left the realm, he would never see her again. More, it said he had to go after her now, that he didn’t dare tackle the island or the sorcerer without her at his side.

  Wishful thinking, came the scoff. But it wasn’t really. It was faith. He had faith in his own gut, faith in the magic he and Reda made together.

  Please, gods, don’t let me screw this up. This time the human slang came naturally.

  His heart thudded against his ribs and his stomach knotted, but when he moved, it wasn’t toward Blood Lake, the island or the redemption he’d spent twenty years preparing for. Instead, he headed away, following the thin scuff-shadows that only a trained hunter would see. Seeking the bond magic, he thought with all his might, Hang on, sweet Reda. I’m coming. Wait for me and we’ll figure this out together.

  Because the dream might have been a fantasy, but it had one thing right: she was his priority. He wasn’t the heir, hadn’t the best of his siblings when it came to anything except his ability to hunt and ride. But with Reda—and for her—he had become a prince. A hero, even.

  She made him better, and without her, he wouldn’t be any use to Elden.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  REDA SWAM SLOWLY UP FROM a sleep that felt too deep, with quivers in her stomach that said something was badly wrong. She was lying on a hard surface and her head hurt, but those inputs seemed strange and far away, her fragmented dreams so much more real.

&n
bsp; Was it all a dream, after all? she thought, but wasn’t sure where the inner voice had come from or what it meant.

  Her thoughts scattered like a herd of identical bald-faced bay horses, snorting and blowing as they swerved and collided. Past and present mixed together: she was a little girl of six or seven, sitting cross-legged in the woods opposite her maman, leaning in, wide-eyed. “Tell me more about the magic. Please?” She was a rookie cop going in low while her ride-along partner went high, and then laughing her ass off when they plugged a pair of homicide cops with red paint-ball splashes. She was ten years old, stumbling into the woods in her nightgown. “Maman? Maman, where are you?” Twenty-six, standing over Benz’s grave, knowing that he wasn’t in there, that dead was dead.

  The graveyard had smelled of cut grass and apple trees. Now, though, she wrinkled her nose against an ammoniac taint and the smell of animals. More, the noises were wrong. The graveyard’s silence was broken by restless noises that made her think she was in a barn: sniffs, snuffles and low chuffs, the movement of big bodies in straw.

  Where was she? What was wrong with her? What was going on?

  She struggled to open her eyes. Then the fog started to clear…and she realized they were already open, covered by a fetid rag that was tightly tied around her head. There was another jammed in her mouth, which was dry and foul. Light and air seeped in around the edges, but just barely.

  Crying out, the noise muffled and nasty, she yanked up her hands to tear at the blindfold. But chains rattled, cuffs dug into her wrists and her hands stopped short of her face.

  She realized now that she had never known true terror before.

  “No!” She thrashed upright, slammed against a stone wall, rolled off what proved to be a narrow cot, hit the cold stone floor awkwardly on one hip and shoulder, then got hung up on the chains. Her feet weren’t bound, but her wrist shackles were fastened to the wall, giving her only a few feet of play.

  Twisting so hard she felt muscles pull, she got her hands to her face and plucked at the knotted rags with weak, trembling fingers. Breathe, she told herself when the numbness spread and her moves slowed, threatened to stop entirely. Damn it, breathe!