Ohmigod.
And he wasn’t finished. Bracing both taloned hands on the tile besides hers, he began to jab at her. Her second orgasm surprised her, sneaking up behind her and knocking her down. Her picked her up again, and continued. The next one came when he bit her. Her eyes had been rolling back in her head, she’d been speaking gibberish. His cock was tunneling as if he’d just begun and they weren’t an hour in, and then he’d growled and bitten hard. She came, shouting her release and passing out, content.
***
Vivienne awoke to a wicked soreness between her thighs. Reaching down immediately, she cupped herself as she reached for Conall. That hand came away empty and she opened her eyes. It was still dark, but her developed sight allowed for seeing in these extraordinary conditions.
Conall stood by the window, fully nude and staring out. It was easy to access his mind, and she slipped in like a shadow, wanting to know what troubled him. He was replaying what had happened in the bathroom. Vivid images of her under him, at his mercy. And then came the images of him picking her up, drying her body, and placing her under the covers. Not before he’d branded the cuts and bruises that were already slowly fading from her near flawless skin to mind.
“Conall?” she whispered softly, pushing onto her elbows and staring up at him. As he turned to face her, she read the regret in his eyes and shook her head. Removing herself from the bed, she approached him and wrapped her arms as far as they could go around his torso. He was a large man.
“Go back to sleep, alainn.”
She shook her head once more, kissing his muscular back. “I trust you with my life, Conall. I know you would never hurt me.”
He turned quickly, catching her against him, before setting her back, and touching her hip, her upper thigh.
“You have marks, Vivienne, scratches, and bruises—”
“I wanted all of you, Conall,” she replied, lifting her eyes to his. A smile hovered on her lips. “And you gave that to me. Thank you.”
He blinked down at her before turning back to look from the window. “I hurt you, Vivienne—”
“You gave me pleasure, and I liked every second of it,” she countered, squeezing her way between him and the window. She briefly hoped there was no one walking before their house at this moment who’d look up and see her naked ass.
His eyes narrowed on hers, and then she felt him probing her mind. She purposely showed him images of their erotic joining, the way he’d felt to her. He pulled away when the images starting affecting him.
When she leaned into him, he didn’t move away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her.
“What are you, alainn?”
“My mother told me I’m druid, but that I have the genes of a witch, a werewolf, and a human inside of me. Cassie is the same way. We can access all of them but we are strongest as druids.”
“I never smelled the wolf in you until your fight with Samia.”
She lifted a brow and replied, “You didn’t smell my druid either.”
He only smiled before conceding the point. “So you’re a wolf? It wasn’t a spell? You’re a wolf?”
“A druid who can shift into a wolf,” she clarified, kissing his chest right above his steadily beating heart. “So stop treating me like I’m a delicate flower, easily crushed.”
She nuzzled him, and sighed. God, it was hot. She’d recognized it before but had been intent on getting Conall to understand he hadn’t hurt her. She turned away from him, and unlatched the window.
“Vivienne?”
In a rapid succession, she pushed it up, sighing when the bitter cold night air rushed over her body. Conall caught her in his arms once more, and held her like that for a few minutes before closing the window, despite her protests, and dragging her back to the bed.
She protested as he placed her on the covers and leaned into her. He kissed her clavicle, the tips of both breasts, and then her lips. Vivienne was already sighing as the tingling between her legs started blossoming into something more intense, when he murmured, “Alainn?”
“Yes?” she replied with a smile, opening her eyes a fraction to glimpse his. There was an amused expression on his face. She leaned up and kissed him, sliding her hands around his neck, and pulling him down to her. As his hot skin touched hers, she moaned, pushing her legs apart and gasping as his hardness slid over her sensitive flesh.
“You’re either going into heat, or you’re already there.”
Chapter Twenty
She was. In heat. By seven o’clock the following morning, Vivienne was burning up, and in a constant state of arousal. Conall cut off the heat in the house, and bared his teeth at any of the bachelors who dared to complain. Sloan wisely kept his mouth shut, piling on the down and wool jackets when there was need for his human form, and shifting to his wolf when there wasn’t. Raoul did not, and had to make do with Conall’s growling, glaring, and snapping. He seemed to find humor in the situation and bore it. Eli, wisest of them all, left for a few days, taking up lodging at the house of a friend.
Although Vivienne had begged him to, Conall refused to open the windows. He even considered having them bolted shut, but that would mean allowing males to enter their bedroom. He growled at the thought. Even if she were removed, they would smell her, know this was her time of need. No.
It was cold outside and she was naked, refusing to even put on a flimsy piece of lingerie. And in her state, Vivienne could not feel it. While immortals were definitely harder to kill than humans, they weren’t invincible. And he was taking no chances.
She wasn’t allowed to leave his room. He’d told her that to her face, and she’d cursed at him, thrown things at him. He’d expected it. Heat made females irrational, among other things. It was for her welfare, for the welfare of the males in the house and in the pack. She was in heat, and the only reason he wasn’t acting the part of crazed mate was because she was in his room, and his room was devoid of males.
He entered cautiously, carrying a large tray filled with comfort food. When no projectiles came at his head, he put the tray down and looked around the room. The window wasn’t open, which he’d expected, but the shower was running. Narrowing his eyes, he walked into the bathroom, opened the glass door, and promptly turned off the tap. She was showering with ice-cold water.
“Vivienne!”
She bared elongated canines and hissed at him. Her irises had shifted to yellow once more. They’d been alternating between her regular color, black, and yellow since last night. She looked tired. Due to her state, she had caught only small portions of sleep.
“I’m hot. You won’t let me open any of the windows, and I’m burning up.”
He reached out for a fluffy blue towel and pulled her from the bathroom, wrapping her in it, and massaging the soft material against her skin. “It will pass, Vivienne.”
“You said that hours ago.” He had, when he attempted to explain what ‘heat’ meant to their kind. She’d decided it was a PMS/menopause combination that included heightened arousal, and severe emotional issues. “When?”
“It differs for different—”
“No!” she cried, pulling away from him and walking from the bathroom. She immediately moved over to the food tray and plucked a blueberry muffin from it. He watched as she ate it quickly, and then selected one of the scones. She’d specifically asked for them. “I want a number of hours, days. Anything. You said I’m in heat. Fine. But how long does it last? When will it stop?”
Her eyes widened when he remained quiet for long seconds, and she seemed about to scream at him when he said, “A few days is the maximum for first heat.”
She grunted.
He watched her eat, and she watched him warily, alternating between looks of desire and suspicion. Why suspicion, he wasn’t sure. She’d blocked him from her thoughts as well.
Vivienne moved slightly and released an unconscious moan as she ate the remainder of the scone. Her scent wafted over to him, and he knew, possibly before she did, w
hat she needed next.
She headed to the bed and rolled over, pushing herself onto her hands and knees, and impatiently wiggled her bottom. From his vantage point, Conall could see the dew that glistened between her puffy lips, could practically feel the heat as it called to him.
I need you.
He easily divested himself of his robe and moved to her, sliding against her mind to see if he could access it. Whenever the physical aspect of heat overcame her, she lowered the mental shield she’d put up against him. She had done so once more. He could feel her need, urgent, almost cruelly so, as he mounted her. There was also frustration, anger at her frustration.
Vivienne cried out as he dipped into her tight, pulsing channel. She sighed and pushed back against him eagerly. He caught her hip, growling low as he held her steady, before he began thrusting. Head lowering, she whimpered, arms and legs trembling as sweat broke out across her skin. Conall drew a comforting hand down her back as his hips rocked against her. Heat was always physically exhausting for both male and female, but this was one part they both enjoyed.
***
“Who are you and where am I?”
Lucian held up a hand and projected calm to Drusilla. She was terrified. He could see it in her eyes, the way she bladed her body as if prepared for an attack, or preparing to attack him. She pressed against the wall, next to the large canopy bed she’d instantly evacuated when he strolled in. A tall glass vase was in her hand. Despite her fear, she presented a beautiful picture. He’d known she was pretty when he’d first seen her, but after she healed, as was common with human-to-vampire transitions, any flaws she had had disappeared, leaving perfection. Now, positioned as she was in that flowing white nightgown, with her brown eyes wide, and full lips pursed, she looked like some version of a dark angel. He resisted the urge to smile, deciding that doing so would not help him gain her trust.
“I won’t hurt you,” he began in a soft, reassuring tone. As a vampire, he could easily shift, sometimes change entirely, the emotions felt by another. Their kind were well versed in mental powers.
She released what could only be termed a loud snort, and promptly shook her head. “Yeah, okay, I believe you.”
Shock made his eyes widen before he narrowed them on her. Why wasn’t she calming down? He easily entered her mind, and whispered words meant to relax. The tension in her shoulders eased, but she held fast to the vase.
“My name is Lucian Thormidor. You’re in my home.”
Drusilla seemed to take that information quickly. She nodded, swallowing even as she tried to shake off her fear. “Okay. What am I doing here, and how do you know me?”
“I saved you,” he began slowly, continuing when her brows lifted. “You were near death, and I healed you. You’re in my house because you are recovering.”
“Healed me?” she repeated. Her mind reeled, searching for memories of a possible injury she’d sustained. She found nothing, as Lucian knew would happen. He didn’t know how much Drusilla remembered of her previous life—he hoped very little—but she would remember nothing of her change. None of the changelings did.
“Are you a doctor?” she continued, looking around the large bedroom as if searching for something that would answer her question. When she found nothing, her gaze moved back to him. “Is that why I’m here?”
Lucian considered lying before deciding against it. She would learn the truth soon. He hadn’t fed her in almost a day, and as a new vampire, she would be growing hungry soon.
“Don’t you want to put the vase down?” he asked instead, using his powers of persuasion on her.
She nodded, and was moving over to the vanity to replace the vase, when she stopped and shook her head, clutching it even tighter in her grip.
“You were just in my head. No, that’s not possible. What are you?” she whispered frantically, stepping back until she was pressed against the wall once more.
Strange, Lucian thought, watching her cower away from him. Most of the changelings could not determine which were their thoughts, and which were their creators’ persuasion, especially so soon after the change.
“Drusilla….”
“Is that my name?”
He nodded once and she frowned as if trying to remember it. He touched her mind once more. She was testing the name in her memory, searching for something to confirm it.
“I have promised not to hurt you,” he began easily, lowering his hand slowly. Her gaze followed it, before lifting to his eyes once more. “You’re as much a part of me as I am of you.”
“What do you mean?” she rushed out.
“You are a vampire, Drusilla, and I am the one who created you.”
***
Her name was Drusilla, and she was in a room with a man who thought they were both vampires. Her memories were scattered, and she could barely focus on anything, but of two things she was quite certain. The man before her, while extremely attractive with his midnight-black hair, blue eyes, and perfect, aristocratic features, was insane. And she was trapped in a room with him.
As she looked around for any escape routes, she noticed he was smiling. That didn’t surprise her in the least. Hot or not, the man belonged in a loony ward. Her heart plummeted upon realizing that while the room had windows, there was something covering them. The outlines of the windows were visible, but she could not see the glass due to some sort of thick—was that steel?—venetian blind. Even if she got to the window, she doubted that she could get past that thing.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked softly, taking a small step forward.
Eyes widening, she lifted the vase. “Stay back!”
He dipped his head, and retracted the step. “Very well. I’ll prove it to you.”
She tensed her stance, waiting for some sort of attack, but none came. Instead of rushing her and trying to bite her neck, as she feared he would, he lifted one hand, and rolled up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. And then he presented his wrist to her.
“What are you doing?” Drew demanded, ignoring the sudden dryness in the back of her throat. She looked behind him to the partially opened door. If she could get around him….
Lucian lifted his other hand, and she watched in horror and fascination as the nail on his left index finger lengthened and grew pointed. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them again. No, the nail was still there, looking positively wicked.
“Okay, fine. Maybe you are a vampire, and I feel fine now. Thanks for helping me. I’m just going to leave now….”
He drew the nail across the smooth skin of his wrist. Instantly, a line of red appeared. Her nostrils flared as the scent hit her. Even as she acknowledged the irrationality of her behavior, Drew took a few steps toward him. The line expanded, and flowed down the side of his hand. She watched as a droplet of blood fell to the wooden floor, and licked her lips.
No! A gasp of horror left her lips upon realizing her intent. What was she doing? Immediately, she stepped back, widening her eyes when he followed.
“No! Keep away!” Her voice sounded weak. There was no way—she couldn’t be a—a vampire.
He stopped inches from her, removing the vase from nerveless fingers and lifting his wrist to her lips.
“Drink, Drusilla.” His voice was soft. “I can feel your hunger.”
“I’m not a vampire,” she whispered, trying to turn her head away. Both her body and mind resisted. “I’m not.”
Lucian pressed his wrist to her lips. She couldn’t help herself. The first touch of his blood prompted her to open her mouth. The second made her secure his wrist in her hands. By the third, her teeth were buried in his flesh and she was pulling strongly at his vein. As she drank, feeling the hunger in her belly melt away as she swallowed the rich liquid, she wondered if she were dreaming. Had she fallen asleep, bumped her head, was she unconscious, or was she really a vampire? And if it were the latter, exactly what was she going to do about it?
***
Her body was slowly regulating. A
fter hours of unbearable heat, Vivienne’s temperature had fallen sometime in the afternoon, and she’d been able to get an hour of rest. She’d awoken to the heat, and had promptly hopped onto Conall and satisfied her urge. That had been followed by another hour of rest, before she’d needed him inside her again.
This time, she awoke to a different type of urge. It was not unbearable, only persistent. She looked to the digital clock next to her. It was almost midnight. She closed her eyes and sawed her thighs together. She was so tired.
A pulse began inside her, and she moaned, and rolled onto her back. Turning her head, she noticed Conall was stirring, his eyes finding her as they opened. The bed moved as he sniffed at her. Without a word, he rolled onto her. It amazed her he could go from soft to hard in seconds. Many things about him amazed her.
As his thick length pushed into her, she whimpered softly, finding strength enough to lift her legs and hike them around his waist. His thrusts were wild, and hard, exactly as she liked them. She felt her orgasm creep up on her, felt as if she were splintering apart before being carefully put back together. He nipped at her neck and grunted as he came, rolling to his side and pulling her against him.
Long seconds passed as their breathing evened. When he slipped from her, Vivienne sighed, snuggled closer to his body, and shivered. “I’m cold.”
***
A tired grin curved his lips as he watched her lids fall. Reaching down to the floor for the bedding, he shook it out, and threw the covers over them. There were some rips in the material. Similar marks were also in the sheets. Claw marks. Vivienne had been feral, and she’d called to the beast in him. Between the two of them, these sheets would have to be thrown out. The mattress as well.
That would be done tomorrow. He slipped a hand under her body, and pulled her against him, sniffing at her skin. She was coming out of heat. The scent was all but gone from her body, and his was becoming more dominant. In a few more hours, she would be through it. His hand trailed down her side before moving against her taut belly. Were females became very fertile during this time, and although Vivienne was a druid, the fact she was experiencing heat, something distinctly of his people, meant she could be susceptible to the same conditions.
Taken by Moonlight Page 47