Soft Fate (Wolven Moon Book 2)

by Dany Rae Miller

  “We create a sacred space. Will you light the candles and place them at the cardinal points of a circle? Put the green in the center.” We found only one green — a votive mixed in with his holiday decorations.

  “Of course.” He bows lightly.

  As I walk to the fireplace, I watch him do as I ask and can’t help but admire his shape. He is the perfect male specimen, strong legs and buttocks, broad shoulders and well-developed arms with muscles that ripple when he reaches out to place a candle on a side table. Geez. Even his forearms are sexy. I can’t decide what is most attractive about him. He turns to place another candle and there it is, the scar across his back. That’s the hottest thing about him.

  From the tool rack, I take the poker that I had semi-charged this morning. It’ll serve as an athame. We stand in the center facing east. Taking his hand, I start blessing the circle.

  “I cast this circle twice around, to contain my power and here be bound. No place or time there be, between worlds, my word and me.” The floor warms beneath my bare feet signifying that the circle has successfully sealed.

  I need both my hands to raise the poker, so I let go of Enrique’s.

  “Oh, no.” He catches my hand in both of his. “The last time I let go of you in a circle” —

  “This is different.”

  “Hang on to me, or we’re not doing this. These burns will heal fine on their own.” He takes a step to the side with me in tow.

  “Enrique!” I plant my feet to keep from moving.

  “There will be no arguing! Do it while I hold your hand, or we’re done here.” The look on his face says he’s serious.

  “This is a completely different type of circle.”

  “I won’t risk you again. I can’t.” He cups my face with one of his hands. “Please don’t ask me to.”

  I feel his tension and worry, his concern softening me. “Alright.”

  He raises our clasped hands to his mouth, kisses my hand, and turns to face east. “Continue.”

  Awkwardly, I raise the poker with one hand toward the point.

  “Hail to the guardians of the east.” Careful not to scratch the beautiful walnut floor, I face and salute each point in turn with my makeshift athame and with Enrique pivoting with me. Remaining north facing, I invoke the pentagram in the air while inviting the elements.

  “In this circle rightly cast, use of your powers we humbly ask.”

  The guardians respond, flaring the candles.

  Enrique gasps.

  I turn to look at him, at his open panting mouth. “Are you okay?”

  “Astounded,” he whispers. “I’ve taken part in rituals before and never felt such a strong charge of energy.”

  Giving me an oddly proud smile, he squeezes my hand.

  I take a deep breath, encouraged by his encouragement. Now to summon the ancestors. I imagine they aren’t pleased with his interference this morning, nor mine at snuffing their flames to save him.

  “Spirits and ancestors” —

  With a sharp painful inhale, Enrique gasps again, deeper this time. “They’re here. Instantly, just like that.”

  I feel them, too — along with a wrath I’ve never felt before. They are furious. “Divine spirits of healing, and the keepers of beasts, hear my heartfelt plea. Mend this wolf who, as before, did nothing but shield me.”

  The angry energy softens a tad. Is my little reminder that he once saved my life, and that he was only trying to protect me, enough to convince them to loan me their powers? There is only one way to find out.

  “Let’s sit,” I say.

  Enrique, still insistent that he keep one of my hands in his, and I sit in the center of the circle with the little green candle between us.

  I set the poker aside and pick up the big metal spoon filled with chamomile. As it heats over the flame, I begin the spell. “Magick mend and candle burn.” The chamomile sparkles and catches fire. “These gifts from Mother Earth into a restoring balm turn.” The fire on the spoon snuffs and, still smoking, I sprinkle the herbal ash over the cooling aloe, mixing it with the spoon.

  “Lie down on your back,” I order Enrique.

  He sets the candle a safe distance away and does as I ask. Geez. He’s stunning, an Adonis if I ever saw one. It’s hard enough resisting him when he’s clothed. But like this? Arousal, hot and sudden, floods my sex.

  “Are you trying to heal me or seduce me with your sweet smelling pussy?” Enrique half growls, half smirks.

  Focus, Shav.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He grins salaciously. “I like it. I like it a lot when you look at me like that, and smell like you’d like to gobble me up with your femininity.”

  I would.

  Feeling heat flush across my face, I stifle a smile and kneel at his side. With my fingers, I scoop some of the potion. It’s warm, but not hot.

  “Spirit of healing, let it begin.” I do my best to ignore the rippled, sexy abs and focus on the burned skin. Gingerly, I smooth the aloe mixture on the reddest part of Enrique’s abdomen. His stomach sucks in at my touch.

  I draw my hand back. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. Continue,” he murmurs with a squeeze of my hand.

  “No. Not if it’s hurting you.”

  “I said, continue.” He’s adamant. “The aloe feels good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One thing I will never do, my love, is lie to you.”

  My love.

  Those words and the wolf in his eyes fill my soul to its very brim.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  I scoop more potion and start my chant over. “Spirit of healing, let it begin. Heal my wolf’s skin from without and from within.” As tenderly as I can, I smear the poultice over the entire burn.

  “Turn over. Let’s try applying some to your back scar.”

  “No,” he murmurs, grinning boyishly. “I want to keep that one.”

  I smirk back before returning my attention to his burns. The angry red has already receded — completely! And his skin has begun to regenerate into a healthy gorgeous brown.

  “Whoa,” he murmurs.

  “You feel it?”

  He nods.

  “Thank you, spirits,” I whisper.

  With a happy smile, I apply what’s left in the bowl — taking my time now, to enjoy touching him.

  “It’s working rather well,” I murmur. With my middle finger I trace the sexy line of dark hair from his navel down over smooth healed skin. His cock rises toward me in offering.

  “Yes, it is,” he growls and lifts his pelvis.

  I look up into his beautiful face, into the heat in his eyes. This man, this wolf — he enchants me like no one else ever has. I'm the witch but he's the one casting a spell. Along with the fire of want in his gaze, his incredible scent — an irresistible combination of spice and musk, weaves itself around me, overwhelming my already fragile self-control. As I deeply inhale the fragrance, it intensifies tenfold.

  “Shavone,” he whispers.

  Is it a plea to stop or a demand to continue?

  His teasing expression is gone, replaced by hot desire.

  Slowly, enthralled by his sensual panting and spellbound by his ever darkening eyes burning into mine, I bend down for a taste of him. I circle the smooth cap ever so lightly with my tongue — just like I’d tentatively taste a new flavor of ice cream.

  The texture is like hot suede. His taste, oh my, his taste is intoxicating, an intensified savory version of his mouth.

  His sharp gasp of pleasure encourages me to be bolder still.

  I wrap my lips around his shaft for a full mouth of him.

  The growling sound, deep and guttural, is from his wolf. It simultaneously takes my breath and floods my sex. I’m ready for him, I mean really ready for him. What I thought was arousal before pales in comparison to this. My body pleads for him, convulses, clenches, drips with want. No. Not want. Need. I need him. Now.

  Before I
finish the thought Enrique snarls in defeat, grips under my arms and hauls me up on to his body. Holding my head like I'd try to escape if he didn’t, he kisses me as though his life depends on it. It's mine — I'm sure, it's my life that will never be the same.

  The spiciness of him explodes on my tastebuds. The cinnamon-like flavor is irresistible. He’s irresistible. He’s taking me apart with just one kiss. Promising and sweet, devouring and toe curling all at the same time, the kiss satisfies every hunger I didn’t know I had.

  Furiously, I grip his hair and kiss him back, licking every corner of his delicious mouth. Geez. He tastes so damn good. I’ll never get enough of this. My cells drink it in like I’ve been starving them of valuable nutrients.

  His hands caress my bare behind and holds it down as his pelvis lifts, his erection sliding through my moisture and between my butt cheeks. He's asking permission.

  God, yes. Now. Right now.

  I slide and lift my rear to line myself up with him, pressing my opening to the head of his cock. His response to my invitation is immediate.

  “Mine,” he snarls and thrusts inside me.

  Our mutual moans of pleasure create the most delightful harmony.

  There’s no awkward period of adjustment, no pain, only sweet rapturous friction. I gasp and throw my head back and ride him. His hips flex up to meet me as I come down. He fits me perfectly, the finest, exquisite sensation I have ever experienced.

  “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” Fondling my breasts with one hand and holding my hip with the other, Enrique groans. “Oh, how much I’ve wanted you.”

  He sits up. Wrapping his arms around me, he lifts and shifts to a kneeling posture, and cradles me on his lap.

  “There, that’s better. Now I can look into your eyes and kiss you.”

  Nipping playfully at my lips, he rings my mouth with tiny kisses, punctuated by leisurely in and out thrusts.

  “This is where I belong. Buried deep inside you. Loving you.” Kissing me, his powerful hips move, steady and sure. Oh, so deep.

  “Ooooh,” I moan, loving the feel of this new-to-me position.

  “Let me hear you, little witch. Let me know that you feel me.”

  With each masculine movement, he opens me more — as though his cock peels back tight petals of a rose, one by one, until the center is exposed, baring a hidden, dormant part of me. With him, I have nowhere to hide.

  It’s never been like this. This is giving all of you, a lovemaking so moving it’s spiritual. It’s complete surrender in its most raw. He wanted all of me and he’s got it.

  Shouldn’t I feel vulnerable?

  I don’t.

  “Enrique,” I whisper.

  “Shh, mi dulce.” He cups my face as I hang on to the hair at the nape of his neck.

  It’s so achingly beautiful, he is so achingly beautiful. He’s the nourishment my existence has been missing.

  Moisture springs to my eyes.

  “I feel it, too. I belong to you, Shavone. All of me — man, wolf, soul and heart. You, my brave little witch, took it all that fateful night.”

  Tears of unmitigated joy stream down my cheeks. I kiss him. I’m dying and being reborn anew. Gone is the unsure girl. Born is a woman cloaked in what can only be the knowledge of pure love. And I return the devotion in my kiss, conveying it to him.

  He groans. “My love.”

  He rolls his hips forward, penetrating ever deeper, making me gasp, lost in the sheer delirium.

  The thrusting increases to a delicious tempo. Oh, I could do this all day. Sit here, on him, just like this. This is elysium. This is the perfect state of bliss.

  “My beast wants to ravish you.”

  “Yes,” I murmur, lips to lips.

  And there he is. The creature that saved my life, the creature that is part of Enrique, the man. I don’t need to look in his eyes to know. It’s the tightening of his hands on my buttocks. It’s the increase of girth in his erection swelling to occupy me entirely, blocking out all thought. The only sensation is him and me, together.

  Moaning, I close my eyes, let my head fall back and take all of him into me.

  “Look at me, Shavone.”

  I do. His fangs have dropped and his eyes glitter.

  “My wolf,” I whisper to the face of my salvation, the face of my hero.

  “Yours. Every cell.” He bathes me with an adoration that cleanses my heart. “And you are mine.”

  He nuzzles the spot where neck and shoulder meet. Sharp teeth lightly scrape my skin. The meaning is clear. He wants to mark me. I want that, too.

  I arch my neck, giving him the space to bite. “Yours.”

  He stops, stilling completely — even his breath.

  I stare intently into the darkest, most luminous eyes.

  “Are you sure?” The sweet longing in his pleading voice seals out all doubt.

  I caress the sides of his beautiful face to punctuate what I’m about to say.

  “I’ve never been more certain.” I lightly brush my lips to his. “Of. Anything.” And I haven’t. At this moment, I trust him more than I do myself.

  A sweet, almost boyish smile spreads slowly across his face from ear to ear. And, then, in a nanosecond, his expression morphs to alpha male — triumphant, swaggering, dominant.

  And he begins to move in earnest, his pelvis changing the loving in the most primal way.

  Impossibly, he grows bigger still inside me, pumping fast and deep as I groan. His too sexy mouth curls up in a knowing smile. “My mate likes being fucked hard.”

  With extraordinary strength, he lifts me by my hips and brings me down as he drives up.

  “Oooooh, yes.”

  “Hmmmm. I knew it.” He growls in pleasure. “I knew that your pussy would feel even better than it smells.” He pounds into me faster and faster.

  Abruptly, his strokes slow. Dipping his head he rings my nipple with his tongue before sucking it deep into his mouth. Gently, he rolls it around with that spicy, hot, talented tongue.

  I moan and gasp, whimpering sounds a sensible adult couldn’t possibly make roll from my chest, up my throat and over my tongue.

  “Enrique, please.” I grind down on him, needing more.

  He laps quickly at my other breast. “You only have to ask, my love.”

  And, startling, there’s both of sides of him — man and wolf together in his eyes, in his touch. How is that possible?

  Not looking away from me, faster and faster, panting, gritting his teeth, he thrusts relentlessly, winding me tighter and tighter. I’m so tight, it’s almost painful. Every muscle in my pelvis and chest seized in his iron grip.

  Holy fuck, it’s too much. I’m going to combust.

  “Come for me, little witch,” he forces out his clenched jaw. “Now,” he commands.

  The detonation is seismic and scorching, blasting white hot stars to every nerve point in my body.

  At first, I can’t breathe as the tightness unravels in a spiral ecstasy whirling me out of my mind.

  “Enrique,” I cry out a garbled version of his name, clutching him as the rippling contracts back into my womb and out, again and again.

  Orgasm is too tame a word for the absolute bliss and utter rapture. For the first time, I understand what the word come means. It’s coming apart at the seams and coming back together — two into one, joyously, to let another in. It’s a bond coming into existence.

  He nuzzles my throat, sensuously nipping and licking, and whispers in my ear. “My mate. Mine. Forever.”

  The puncture stings, but only for a nanosecond.

  As the mating venom seeps into my bloodstream, I swear I can feel my cells mingle with his, taking his essence into the very structure of every atom. It flows through me more potent than adrenaline.

  In my mind’s eye I see Enrique’s heart, offering a sanctuary. I snatch it greedily. He’s my elixir — healing me, energizing my power.

  And, then, there’s nothing but euphoria — riotous euphor
ia.

  chapter 11

  Something has happened. That burning rage in my belly, that stinging ache that has been busting my balls from the second Shavone kicked me to the curb, is gone. As of ten seconds ago, my wolf is calm. He doesn’t want to kill everything and everyone in sight anymore.

  “Ben?” Val waves a hand in front of my face. “Hey, are you in there?”

  I swat at her annoying, snapping fingers.

  Shavone mated. I’d bet my last dime that she mated with Cruz. Shit. Neither Nash nor I gave up completely. There was always a chance that, once she calmed down and understood why we lied, she’d forgive us and come back.

  I close my eyes at the dark feeling expanding through my chest and gut. She had started to fill that space with giggles and smiles — and love. Now it’s just empty, like it was before Shavone.

  I wipe a hand down my face. Yeah, my beast is at peace now. But my heart sure the fuck isn’t. I’m not sure it ever will be again.

  Valerie picks up a shredded couch cushion with her good hand. “Are you going to help me or stand there looking like you just lost your best friend?”

  I only met Val a few times as a kid. I don’t remember her being such a bitch.

  She pitches the cushion into the giant garbage tub. She winces a little and adjusts the sling keeping her left arm and shoulder from moving.

  Lionel checked her out. He said it was only a sprain. Doesn’t matter. We have to report the attack to the Alliance. A wolf attacking a witch is a foul. I can’t even be sure why Cruz clocked her. He moved so fucking fast — from standing still to 120 in two seconds, I didn’t see a cause. I’m sure there was one, and I’m positive it had something to do with Shavone. I just didn’t see it.

  Wrinkling his nose, Lionel offered to do the Alliance paperwork. He packed up and left as quickly as he could.

  Most girls have a wonderful aroma. Shavone’s sister? Nasty. Deodorant and perfume can’t cover her stench. That wasn’t always the case.

  I visited Nash and my uncle when she and Shav were around twelve. Val smelled like a normal girl. Wonder what the fuck happened to her? What happened that made her hate Shavone so damn much that the stink oozes out of her pores?

  Shavone. My mind goes back to her. Something changed about her. If I’m right about her mating, Nash is going to need a wingman. If I have a sudden urge to cry, what is he feeling right now?