Soft Fate (Wolven Moon Book 2)

by Dany Rae Miller

“I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

  “I’ll just hang out with the girls until you calm down.”

  “Don’t leave,” he pleads.

  I lean my head back on his shoulder. “Enrique, I can feel you vibrating.”

  The breath on my throat changes from hot to sizzling. His wolf. He pulls me closer — my back snug against his chest. His other hand winds into my hair.

  “There’s only one thing in this world that can bring me to my knees,” he growls, his nose grazing just below my ear. “Do you know what that is?”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” I whisper.

  “Then, why do you torture me so?” The misery in his voice breaks me.

  “Not intentionally.” I place my hand over his arm.

  “Inviting that cunt to your ritual is intentional,” he hisses.

  “She’s my sister —”

  His snarl cuts me off.

  He leans down into my nape. “She’s a bitch.”

  “Don’t talk about —”

  His hand tightens in my hair. “She was hurting you in that circle, working against you.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?!” He roars and lifts his head.

  Oh, I miss his hot breath on my skin.

  “Technically, she wasn't in the circle. If I’m in there with Val —”

  The growl that thunders up from his diaphragm is deep and ominous.

  “You will not get in that circle again,” his voice deadly low. “Least of all not with her.”

  I need to calm him down. Now. I wiggle in his arms.

  “Hmmmm,” he growls, tightening his arm around me.

  “I want to be face to face with you,” I say.

  Slowly, he relents loosening enough to let me turn around. Once I do, he tightens both arms around me. He means it to be confining, to keep me from running away. Apparently, he doesn’t realize how good it feels.

  Black as night pupils, rimmed with dark shimmering irises, scan my face, daring me to defy him.

  The wounds on his cheek have already sealed over. He’s right. It’ll be gone in a few hours, probably with no visible scar. It’s incredible. I reach up to touch it and stroke his beautiful soft lips with my thumb.

  The fire in his eyes switches from angry to molten. His tongue darts out to lick my thumb.

  That erotic touch and the spicy scent that suddenly surrounds me is a combination I can’t resist. I squeeze my thighs together and try again to focus. A useless attempt as his hand moves from my back to my thigh and up under my jean skirt.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, firmly gripping my behind and dipping his head to kiss my neck.

  Shit. This isn’t what I meant to happen.

  Is sex an acceptable form of professional anger therapy? Probably not. But, the raging anger in his eyes is gone and that’s what matters.

  I drink in the scent of him, the energy between us.

  “Well, if you’re not in the mood,” I tease.

  I gasp as he pulls my earlobe between his teeth and gently bites down.

  “Do you know what brings me to my knees, my wolf?” I whisper, breathless under his spell.

  Lifting his head, he shakes it and pulls his brows together. His hand continually caresses and squeezes my backside.

  “You,” I whisper.

  A masculine, pride filled smirk flashes across his face. His hand on my backside cups at the very bottom of my buttocks so that the tips of his long fingers graze my clit. A groan ripples across my vocal cords.

  “Your moans of pleasure fill my cock with lava.” He dips his body to press the hard bulge in his pants against my quickly engorging clit.

  I groan and circle my hips, pressing on him for more friction.

  With a snarl, he lifts me to the counter and takes my mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. My blood sizzles, burning away any objections about proper professional anger therapy.

  I hold both sides of his face and kiss him back. With my tongue, I lave the points of his fangs, eliciting a blistering groan from my wolf.

  He pushes his fingers through the fabric of my T-shirt, making a hole. Gripping that hole with both hands, he rips the vintage cotton apart.

  “Enrique!” I admonish. That’s two T-shirts in one day!

  He gathers both my hands in one of his and pins them behind my back while the fingers of his other hand yanks down my bra to expose my breasts. Instantly, his mouth draws hard on a nipple.

  I arch into him and let my head fall back.

  His hand pushes up my skirt and rips my panties, just as he did my shirt, to shove two fingers inside me.

  “Mine.” His husky voice proclaims.

  I groan as his fingers plunge in and out. I feel his hair on my thighs just before his scorching tongue licks my clit.

  “Yes.” I shamelessly push toward his mouth.

  The sound of a zipper cuts through my panting breath and the blood pounding in my ears. He stands and grips my hips in both his hands. I slide forward to meet his thick erection. Even pivoting his hips up, the angle is still all wrong.

  Frustrated, he growls and lifts me. With three steps, the edge of my behind is propped on the lower pastry portion of the counter.

  Not a nanosecond passes before his scorching hot cock fills me to capacity in one animalistic thrust.

  I moan as he shows me no mercy, pounds into me fast and hard.

  “Deeper, Shavone?” My wolf growls, raises one of my legs and rests it, by the ankle, on his shoulder.

  Oh, my god. My head spins at the depth of his penetration in this position, the sensation unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Without any of the normal warning tremors, an orgasm seizes my entire body, bursting in one massive explosion. Yet he doesn’t stop, only drives faster and faster.

  “Again,” he roars.

  Before I have a chance to recover, Enrique pulls out, flips me over and places my palms on the counter.

  “Brace yourself, little witch,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m about to fuck you into a coma.”

  His swift reentry holds no restraint. It’s raw and primitive, and oh so obvious that it’s his wolf in control.

  Damn, and it feels amazing.

  “This drenched, silky cocoon is mine,” he snarls, hammering faster still. “Your pussy belongs to me, do you understand?”

  “Ahhh.” I tilt my head back in a pseudo nod. “Yours.”

  “Come,” he groans.

  Removing his hands from my hips, he cups my breast with one, squeezing and thumbing the nipple. His other hand reaches around to find my clit. With three fingers, he rubs it firm and fast.

  “Now, damn it,” he roars.

  On the brink of climax, my muscles clench so tightly that I can’t breathe. For long moments, it winds tighter and tighter before it lets go spinning rapturous stars in all directions.

  “Enrique!” I cry out.

  His cock thickens as he rams into me with a fierce growl. Gripping my pony tail, he wraps it around his arm and leans forward. His fangs sink into my shoulder.

  The mating venom adds staggering layers of pleasure to an already mind-blowing orgasm. Enrique’s tongue laves my skin as his fangs grip deeper and pump much more venom into my bloodstream than he did during the first bite.

  Heaven.

  Blissful.

  The ecstasy drives me beyond sanity.

  On and on the climax goes until I lose all track of time or where in the world I am.

  Vaguely, I hear him shout my name and feel him come as I drift away on a cloud of euphoria.

  chapter 18

  Crosslegged on the floor, I cradle my witch in my lap. We’ve been in this position for fifteen minutes or so, both of us as buzzed as though we each drank a fifth of vodka in one gulp.

  I take deep breaths, filling my lungs with oxygen in an attempt to regain my lucidity. My beast, too, lies belly up in his open cage, grinning like a fool.

  Too much venom.

  Too much Shavone.
r />   “Are you alright?” I caress her head. She still hasn’t opened her eyes.

  “Hmmm,” she whispers a satisfied hum and presses tighter to me.

  She’s a well-fucked woman.

  And I am a well-fucked wolf. My caress continues down her back to her soft ass.

  I become aware that she is naked and raptured in the middle of the kitchen. One of my uncles could barge in at any moment. Uncle Agustin? His footsteps are nearly silent. Emmanuel? His gait gives fair warning, true, but in this condition, I couldn’t get her upstairs at my normal speed.

  I don’t want anyone else seeing her like this. This is for my eyes only.

  “Come.” I force my jelly-like legs to move. Linking her arms around my neck, she clings to me.

  “Do you know how dangerous that was?” I stumble toward the stairs, leaving our tattered clothes where they are.

  Her forehead creases. “Making love is dangerous?” Soft finger pads tickle the hairs on the nape of my neck.

  “Like that it can be,” I murmur.

  During puberty, I’d heard horror stories of over aroused male wolves severely damaging human women.

  I’d never hurt her.

  For once, I trust the animal in me and his vow. He was completely out of control, or more accurately in control of Shavone’s luscious pussy. And no harm was done. Indeed, her obvious pleasure at being fucked hard propelled the beast to fuck her as hard as he has always dreamed of fucking her.

  “But I like it like that.” She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth.

  Me, too.

  With my hip, I nudge our bedroom door open. I gently set her on the bed and lie down beside her — face to face.

  The massive orgasm I gave her had squeezed my last ounce of civility. The punctures on her shoulder the evidence of it.

  A second mating bite? Shocking.

  Delicious.

  The depth of emotions I see in her luminous gray eyes takes my breath. She reaches up to brush hair off my forehead. I’m due for a haircut this week. However, if it encourages her touch, I’ll grow it to my ankles.

  I had also heard, during my teenage years, fairytales of perfect matings. If ever such a thing exists, I’m convinced we are it.

  Her fingers travel down my face to my lips.

  Heaven.

  And my hell? The thought of her being harmed. Tentatively, I broach the subject that triggered my beast’s barely bridled anger.

  I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger while simultaneously circling a rosy nipple. “About returning to that circle.”

  With a deep sigh, Shavone removes her hand from my face. “I don’t want to fight right after making love.”

  “We won’t fight. We’ll discuss.” Though he’s still high from our extreme fucking, the beast listens intently. “The circle tried to kill you.” I feel the wolf in my eyes.

  “You’re angry, again,” she whispers.

  “No.” I swallow and admit the truth. “I’m frightened for you, mi dulce. I don’t trust that circle.” I bring her fingers to my mouth for a kiss.

  “That’s not what you said this morning.”

  “I know.” Guilt crushes my chest.

  I assumed that wolven responsibility prompted LaFontaine to bring the circle to the enclave. I was wrong. That his loyalty rests with Jack, rather than Shavone, was obvious in the way the two worked in tandem today.

  He had to have known that Jack is no longer at the helm at the Alliance yet the asshole still gave the bitch access to Shavone, ambushing her at the Dollhouse. That was unacceptable.

  “My instinct tells me that Jack had something to do with that circle attacking you.”

  Her crones.

  “That’s impossible, Enrique. Jack isn’t a witch.”

  “You are correct. However, she used to be and she still has powerful sorcerer allies who are eager to help her.”

  Sitting up, Shavone pulls a pillow behind her.

  “What do you mean she used to be?”

  “She lost her power at age fourteen, or rather, they were taken from her.”

  “Jack was stripped?” Shavone gasps. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. Though I’d asked several times, Kennedy never fully explained the situation.

  “That’s awful.” Shavone holds her chest in empathy. “Who stripped her?

  “Kennedy’s mother.”

  “Kennedy?”

  “Kennedy Duret.”

  My witch’s eyebrows raise. “Related to Jacqueline Duret?”

  I nod. “Same father, different mothers.”

  Shavone tilts her head. “You mentioned Kennedy earlier while you were on the phone with your uncle.”

  I nod. “Kennedy is lead council for Cruz Entertainment. As well as an old trusted family friend.”

  Who saved my sanity.

  Shavone is quiet for a moment. “I bet Kennedy and Jack don’t get along.”

  I snort. “You’d win that wager.”

  “And you don’t like Jack.”

  I shake my head. “Nor do I trust her. Kennedy let it slip several times that Jack is desperate to regain her power.”

  “Well, yeah. I would, too,” Shavone murmurs.

  “I wouldn’t doubt she’d use you to do so.” I stroke my witch’s cheek with the pad of my thumb.

  “Me?” Shavone’s eyes widen.

  After a few seconds, she takes my hand.

  “Because I’m a Soft witch.”

  The beast is suddenly wary as am I.

  “What is a Soft witch?” She whispers.

  How do I explain without saying too much? She cocks her head, waiting for my answer to her question.

  “Please tell me.” Her voice is like honey on my soul.

  Long moments pass as I grapple for the right words.

  The loving afterglow snuffs from Shavone’s eyes. She attempts to take her hand back. I don’t let her — my beast won’t let her.

  Desperate to give her something to prove I’m on her side, I opt for a generic definition.

  “A Soft witch comes from a long line of ancient hereditary power.”

  Brow creased in thought, she’s silent. I softly kiss that crinkled forehead, then, watch as her mind works.

  “Am I a Soft witch?”

  “What do you think?”

  She snorts and, sliding a leg off the bed, attempts once more to take her hand back. Again, I don’t let her.

  “You will not run away from me. You will stay and discuss this.”

  “Discussion involves answers to questions. When a person answers a question with a question it typically means that person is hiding something.”

  “Shavone, I want to tell you everything I know, but I cannot.”

  “Why?” She hisses between clenched teeth.

  “Because it will harm you, tremendously” — I’m cut off by the sudden yank of her hand.

  Free, she stands. “You’re lying. Just like Nash.”

  I stand, too. “Don’t compare me to that French fucker.”

  “Why not? Lying for” — she crooks her fingers in air quotes — “my own good, is still lying.”

  She takes a step away, toward the bath.

  I plant myself firmly in front of her. Because he calms her, I allow my wolf to take the lead.

  “Don’t do that,” she snaps.

  “Do what?” My beast wants to know.

  “You trot out your wolf when you want to mesmerize me.”

  I smirk. “Although he’s extremely pleased you’re mesmerized by him, he prefers the word prowl to trot.”

  A tiny smile softens the corners of her eyes.

  I touch her arm. “You’ve been practicing magick long enough. You know what happens when someone interferes with a protection spell.”

  “It can fail,” she murmurs.

  “Exactly.”

  “So, I’m under a protection spell?”

  I grimace, despising this position I’m in. “What do you think?”

 
; She barks a frustrated laugh. Turning to the window, she wraps her arms around herself.

  “Oh, come now. You’ll be using that line a lot as a doctor of psychology.” I move behind her, massage her shoulders.

  She leans back into my touch. The trusting movement restores my faith that we’ll get through my beast’s wrath. The rest? I close my eyes knowing the day will come where I must confess what I’ve done. Will she forgive me?

  All I can do is love her, stand by her no matter what, and hope she’ll do the same.

  “You are meant to make the discoveries of who and what you are on your own, Shavone. You are to recollect things at the proper times. It’s what your ancestors wanted.”

  With a deep sigh, she relaxes further. I step closer to press against her bare back.

  “Do you know where I came from? I mean, my biological family? Where I was born?”

  “Only by rumor.” Lightly, I kiss her below her ear, inhale my mate’s scent. “I didn’t know you then. I only found you because I responded to an emergency call.”

  My father’s pack gathered to respond to a call from the high country witches to watch over the Soft girls. He forbade me to go, saying I was too young to patrol. With Kennedy’s approval, I disobeyed my father.

  I kiss Shavone’s shoulder, so glad I followed my gut instead of the rules that night.

  “I was terrified,” she whispers. “That night.”

  “I know.” I recall the look on her face, the pungent scent of total fear. “Would you like to know a secret?”

  She turns to face me and nods.

  “I was terrified, too.”

  So afraid that my inexperience would kill us both.

  My hands tangle in her hair.

  “So, after that night, you knew who I was, and where I was” — again her brow creases.

  “Not right away. I had to track you first.”

  “And you weren’t allowed to show yourself to me.”

  I shake my head.

  “Because of that bitch?”

  “Not just Jack, but Kennedy and the rest of the Alliance council forbade it. They maintained it was too dangerous for you.” I rest my hands on her hips. “It was a horrible conundrum. I wanted to see you, but what if they were right? I couldn’t take the chance of hurting you, yet I couldn’t stay away, either.”

  “And you can’t tell me why it was dangerous for me, because of a protection spell.”

  “Yes,” I murmur.