He gripped the cheeks of her ass in his big hands and pulled her apart, stretching her a bit as he pressed his cock against her. She whimpered. Byron said roughly, “Hush, now, Kit. Give me this now. You can take it, I promise.” As he spoke, the subtle power increased, and when it did, she became more aroused and forgot the burning pain as he pushed inside the tight virgin hole that he had lubricated.
He whispered to her again, and when he did, she cried out, as though his voice was touching her. “You’re tight, hot, sweet. Push against me. You will like it.” She bore down and he slid deeper inside.
Kit cried out. The more he talked, the hotter she became. It felt like his voice had developed a hand of its own and was touching her clit with every word he spoke. As he pushed deeper inside her ass, he spoke and whispered and she whimpered and cried, until he was completely seated inside her. He was too big, stretching her too tightly, too full and even his whispering roughly to her didn’t help. Then he started to pump inside her, and the burning, tearing pain increased. Kit screamed and said, “Byron, stop, please!”
She started to beg even as the pain turned into sweet, glorious pleasure with each hot, deep thrust. Then she begged even more, begged for him not to stop, as he pushed her hips lower and filled her with hard, rough digs of his cock.
Bent over her, he licked her neck before sinking his fangs into her, his weight carrying her to the floor.
Her hot blood flooded his mouth, rolled over his tongue and down his throat as his balls grew tight and tingled as the orgasm rushed closer. She felt like silk around his cock, dragging and clinging with each thrust, pushing that sweet little ass against him, moaning and crying and begging, “Harder, Byron, oh, please, again!” He lifted them back up a little so he could drive deeper inside and he shuddered as she screamed. She gripped his cock like a silk fist, tight, hot and he pushed back inside as he reached between her thighs and pinched her clit, found it tight and hard and swollen, and he drew his fangs from her neck so he could rumble at her ear, “Next time, I’m going to find somebody to fuck your sweet little pussy while I fuck your ass. Will you like that?”
She shuddered and pushed harder against him, clenching her buttocks around his cock and mewling when he started to fuck her dripping vagina with his fingers. “Tell me, Kit, will you like it?”
“Yes!”
He pushed inside, held there just as she started to come, screaming in short, hard peals that echoed off the walls.
Byron pulled his hand from her pussy and shifted, crouching over her on his knees so he could drive inside her, hard, deep and fast, as his climax built and exploded out of his cock and he flooded the tight, hot little rosette that held him so snugly. Something inside him broke open, echoed inside her. He roared out her name and she cried out his while her convulsive climax milked the semen from his shaft.
Byron came to rest atop her body and then he rolled to the side, drawing her into the curve of his body and burying his face in her hair. He felt something inside his heart that hadn’t been there before.
Her. Kit.
Kit smiled sleepily. Through the new bond, she felt his surprise. “I told you,” she said, squirming against him. He still hadn’t withdrawn from her and she could feel him pulse inside her.
He pushed against her and she felt his renewing arousal, then his alarm as he felt the burning pain that she was feeling. She clamped down on his arm and held tight. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Need a bath. Then you can take me to bed and put your cock to use in a little more traditional manner.”
“You really did know,” he whispered as he braced a hand on her hip and gently pulled out of the sweet embrace of her ass. She flinched, tried to hide it, and Byron cursed himself viciously, then he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. “I’m sorry, sweet,” he murmured against her hair. He knew now what had happened. It wasn’t just the mate-bond, but his own power increasing. The call tended to get stronger with age, and usually happened gradually, not in the middle of sex. His shouldn’t have increased for a good fifty years. But that was what had happened. His had just taken the mother of all leaps, and with Kit, of all people. He couldn’t fight it, neither could she, but he damn well could have just found a better way to fuck her.
“No, you couldn’t have,” she said as she gingerly settled down on the edge of the bathtub. He glared at her.
She grinned cheekily at him. “Not very fun having somebody know your every waking thought, is it, Master Vampire?” she asked. Then she slid him a hot, smoky look from under her lashes and purred, “You know how hot it made me, dreaming of you doing just that to me some day? I loved it, every second. How hot you were, the way it felt when you opened me and just stared at me before starting to slide your cock inside me—”
Byron felt himself harden as she spoke and he growled, “Enough, Kit.”
“Even the way it hurt at first, and how you told me I could take it,” she whispered.
“Enough,” he groaned, glaring at her. “Right now, I can’t,” he snapped, moving closer and jerking her hips against him. He stroked one careful finger against her bottom and she arched against him, crying out at the burning pain and he said, “See? You can’t do this again, not here. Not yet. So stop teasing me.” The signs of her very obvious pain and the sympathetic backlash through their new bond were enough to cool his burning lust, and he released her slowly.
She pulled away and went for the cabinet where Agnes kept some of her more basic ointments and brews. She found the oil she needed and added it to the bath. “I’ll be right as rain come morning. Between this, and my own healing—”she ended with a shrug and started to step into the bath but he lifted her and gently put her down into the slowly rising water.
She watched with lifted brows as he started to shuck his own clothes. “You’re going to smell all herbal,” she told him, admiring the long, muscular lines of his body. He had the widest damn shoulders, with a vee of hair on his chest that thinned down to a fine line over his muscled belly before widening just over his sex. His cock was long, thick, softer now, and smooth, hanging over his furred sac. As she stared, his cock started to harden and Byron snorted out a muffled half curse, half laugh.
“Damn it, Kit, how am I supposed to not fuck you again if you keep looking at me like that?”
She tossed him an arch look and said, “I expect you to fuck me again. I just said we’ll use your cock in a more traditional manner.” She scooted forward a little as he moved into the tub and eased down behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her crown.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he whispered.
She knew he wasn’t talking about the sex. He had finally gotten it through his old-fashioned head that sending her away had damaged her pride and her heart. A smile curved her mouth. “Did it make you mad when you realized I had left?” she asked.
“Mad? No. Insanely furious? Yes.” He gripped her tightly and rasped, “You won’t do that again, Kit. I mean it.”
“I’m your mate, now, Byron. You’re no longer my Master. The Council will no longer recognize that tie,” she reminded him.
Byron groaned and slammed his head back against the wall. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?” he demanded.
“No. I’m trying to get you to see you’ll have to start treating me as your equal. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re only a century old. You’re not as antiquated as some of the other vampires. But I’m your mate, your equal. No longer your second, or your servant,” she said, squirming and wriggling until she was facing him. Then she kissed him, pushing her tongue hungrily into his mouth, reaching down and massaging his cock. She blindly sought out some soap and added it to the massage and once she was certain he was clean, she straddled him and drove herself down on him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and shivering as his hands came up to cup her breasts.
He drove his thick shaft up inside her, head falling back so that he could stare up into her sweet, heart-shaped face as sh
e rode him, her slim, muscled thighs lifting her body up and down, working her pelvis against his. He reached between them and stroked her clit and she sobbed out his name.
He felt her orgasm and he started to push harder up into her sleek wet pussy, water splashing onto the floor over the rim of the tub. Her eyes swirled and glowed in her lust, burning hot with her power and her need, her nipples stiff and hard. He groaned and leaned forward, catching one in his mouth and biting, suckling, feeling her pleasure through the bond until it mingled with his own as their combined orgasm rushed at them.
She was still gasping for breath. He had something he wanted to ask her, but he was going to wait. He’d let her rest. He’d rest. They’d go into town tonight and he would buy her dinner at some fine restaurant, where he could watch candlelight dance on her mellow-gold skin. Maybe dancing. And he needed a ring. Maybe Agnes could help—
Her slim fingers threaded through the longer hair that fell from the top and sides of his head and she tugged his face up from her breasts where he had been pondering how to propose. After more than a century of living, he wanted to make sure the one time he did it, he did it right.
“Byron, I was thinking…you want to get married?”
Her laughing eyes met his, and he started to laugh. Equals. She had beat him to it.
He kissed her and laughed into her mouth. “Why the hell not?”
The Hunters: Jonathan and Lori
by
Shiloh Walker
First digital printing 2004
Please note: This is the original 2004 version—it has been revised, but no new material has been added.
The Hunters: Jonathan and Lori
© Copyright Shiloh Walker, 2004
Cover Art Angela Waters
Chapter One
Jonathan wasn’t having a very good day.
His back was aching, his head ached, he was hungrier than hell, hornier than he had ever been, blood was seeping from a ragged gash in his side, there was a full moon coming, and he was itching to go run.
And Lori was staring up at him with those wide sea-green eyes and her hair was spilling down around her shoulders as she tended the deep gash in his side that he’d received while out on patrol.
As she deftly probed the injury with gentle hands, she said, “This isn’t healing like it ought to. What made it?”
Curtly, he answered, “Something sharp.”
Clucking her tongue, she placed her hand over it and he winced as burning, healing heat leapt from her body and into his.”No need to get nasty. What made it?”
“Silver.”
Her full mouth firmed into a thin, narrow line and her eyes went flat.”Have you told Eli?”
“Not yet.” He clenched his teeth as her healing magic intensified and spread upward from his side, and down, chasing the myriad aches and pains, seeking and finding them, soothing them away.
All but one…
His cock ached, his body hungered for hers. Sweet, sweet Lori, with her wide green eyes and that fall of red curls…too soft and sweet for him.
“You need to let him know.”
Her soft, throaty voice broke into his reverie and he glanced down into her eyes.”I will. When he gets back from Paris with Sarel. They haven’t taken any time alone together in years. They need this.”
“I can—”
“No. I know you can speak to both of them and I don’t need you to. Eli is my master and if I needed him, he would know, whether I wished it or not.” He narrowed his eyes at the young witch staring up at him and said warningly, “He left me in charge, Lori. Contacting him is defying me. Defying me is defying him.”
With a muffled, “Harrumph,” she turned on her heel and stalked away to dispose of the rags she had used to clean his wounds.”He needs to know it’s happening again.”
“Damn, girl, do you think he doesn’t? This is his territory. It happened here. He knew the moment it happened.” Jonathan stood slowly, stretching his arms overhead, feeling the pull of newly healing skin and passing aches. Sliding Lori’s rounded backside a look as she bent over her cabinet and tidied up, he muffled a groan.
“Eli knows everything that happens on his land. He is connected to it, in ways we will never understand.” Jonathan felt blood start to pound slowly through his veins, in slow hot waves. A growl was building in his chest and he ached…
An itch settled along his spine, in his palms, as the beast inside him tried to rouse in response to his hunger, but he pushed it down inside.
“Jonathan?”
He lifted his head and met her eyes, staring at her in silence. Her scent—soft and sweet—vanilla, lavender, and woman. Damn it.
He wanted her. He had for the past seven years, since she had first come to Eli’s enclave. In the depths of her sea-green eyes, he could see his reflection as he stared hungrily at her. The pulse in her neck leapt to life as she looked up at him and licked her lips, the room filling with the scent of her body growing ripe with arousal.
She was far too aware of him, Jonathan knew that. And he wanted her far too much for his own good.
He always had, always would.
He adored the fiery little hellcat, that sweet little minx.
And she was too damned innocent for the likes of him and his damned black soul.
Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and left.
“What was that?” Lori whispered into the suddenly hot room.
Pressing her hand to her chest, she dragged a breath of air in and caught his scent again. Jonathan’s scent, wild and uniquely his. The scent of pine and sandalwood, earth and male, all blended together.
She closed her fist around the drying drops of blood in her hand, his blood.”Safe,” she prayed, lifting her eyes heavenward.”Keep him safe, dear God.” Heat smouldered in her hand, and when she opened her eyes and her hand, the blood was gone. A smile danced on her lips as she went about setting her workroom to rights.
Keeping Jonathan safe was something that would take divine intervention, all right.
The werewolf courted disaster, it seemed.
Or it stalked him.
This was the third time he had been the target of some unseen attacker. wolfsbane had been filtered into their water the first time. Declan had been visiting and he had fallen prey to it before Jonathan had returned from his prowling. But since Declan was only part were, he wasn’t as susceptible to it and didn’t fall into the painful convulsions, the coma, or any of the other nasty symptoms that were a prelude to death.
Sarel and Lori had used magick to find the source of his sudden, mysterious illness as one other shifter suddenly fell to the floor in convulsions and died only thirty minutes later. They’d lost him, but it had been they’d known something bad was going on and they’d been able to save the rest of the wolves, including Jonathan.
Of course, finding the unknown attacker had proven to be difficult.
Furious, enraged, and unable to strike, Eli had damn near torn his entire territory apart looking for the unseen attacker. There had been no trace, no sign of who had done it.
More than a year had passed since they had buried Philippe.
And three months since the last attack, one that had been directed solely at Jonathan. Jonathan had been sleeping after the night of a full moon, and spending that day in bed with Sheila, the sweet, sassy Southern vamp who had been with them for the past eight years—Lori had nearly died with envy.
That evening after Sheila had left the safety of Jonathan’s little cottage to hunt—and to Hunt—he had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted, sated, sleeping like the dead. And a witch had crept into his dreams as he’d slept and held him caught in the grip of an unnatural sleep while another attacker tried a more silent approach, a death spell.
But magick couldn’t be done on Eli’s grounds without his witches knowing, especially when he was wed to one, and one was deeply in love with Jonathan.
Lori had felt it before Sarel and had sounded an alarm, but she w
asn’t sure how to protect him. She wasn’t a warrior.
That was her sister.
Sarel had launched an all-out attack.
But little good it had done them.
Their enemy had stolen away into the night yet again.
But this time, Sarel had caught something, a trace of him. And she had announced that it was the same bastard that had captured Jonathan and Lori years before as bait for Eli.
“So four times, truly,” she said to herself.
“Talking to yourself, now?”
Turning her head, she saw the petite blonde standing behind her. With a welcoming smile, she gestured to Sheila to come on in.”Just pondering. Jonathan was hurt again.”
“So I gathered. I smell his blood all over the place. Normally, it would be an enticing smell.” Wrinkling her pert nose, Sheila sauntered into the room, her rounded hips swaying from side to side beneath the long, slim denim skirt.”I smell…silver. Rosemary, earth from the grave, how very lame. Foxglove. The smells are very, very faint. But I’d bet they tried to curse the knife that cut him. Do you think it carried weight?”
“Shit.”
Lori blew her bangs out of her eyes and flopped onto the lounge, staring up at the ceiling bleakly. No wonder it had seemed so easy. Healing him had been a walk in the park, but she hadn’t he hadn’t lingered long enough for her to do anything more and in order for her to check for spells, she would have had to examine him.
Jonathan would have loved that.
They gathered around, staring up into the dimly glowing orb. The past death spell hadn’t been subtle enough. The warrior witch had sensed it coming from far off.
They could feel her kind and they’d known the minute she’d reacted. Two had died in the backlash of her retaliation. They wouldn’t make such a mistake again.
But they wouldn’t give up, either.
The Hunters Series Page 32