"You're thinking again,” he complained as he nibbled on her chin.
"Supper will dry out,” she said.
"Oooh,” he said with a pretend shudder. “Broccoli too dried out to eat! The inhumanity of it!"
He rolled her again until she was beneath him and his strong legs were between hers, his knees spreading hers apart. His pelvis pressed hard against her. At her exasperated sigh, as she threw her arms wide in sacrifice to his burgeoning lust, he grinned mischievously.
"Ah, wench, you have no idea what seeing you like that does to my cock,” he told her.
"Go on and take me if you have to, Modartha,” she said in a resigned voice. “I am at your will."
"And don't you forget it,” he said and his palm went to her breast. Over the fabric of her cotton blouse he kneaded the tender flesh then squeezed it to lower his head over the material so he could nibble on her hard little nipple.
"Don't rip my clothes off this time,” she said. “Please. I like this blouse.” Her pulse had sped up with the touch of his mouth over her breast. She could feel the heat of his breath through the blouse and her bra.
He grumbled and slid off her to lay on his side, his head propped in his hand. “Then by all means take the damned clothes off before I'm tempted to rend and tear before I rape, ravage and pillage you, wench,” he snarled.
She knew better than to tease him when his voice carried that predatory rasp. Quickly she sat up and began unbuttoning her blouse, took it off then reached behind her to unhook her bra. Peeling it off, she dropped it with her blouse to the floor then swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could take off her slacks.
Van's gray eyes smoldered as she slipped out of the slacks then pushed the lacy wisp of panties from her long legs. When she lay back down, he reached out his palm and placed it gently on her belly, rubbing her flesh in a slow, lazy circle, his fingertips sinking lightly into her navel with each circuit.
"How would you like to take a trip to the Idimmu Galaxy?” he asked as he continued to trace a tight spiral on her abdomen.
Bailey's eyes widened. She'd never even been off-world much less travel to a distant galaxy. She sat up, his hand falling to her lap. “Are you serious?” she asked, her heart pounding.
"Aye, I'm serious,” he said and his fingers toyed with the crisp hair at her mound. “I've never taken R & R so I have months of time built up and I'm thinking I would like to see the Imperial Palace of the Burgon. The Rialtas have agreed to sign a treaty with the Alliance and are sending emissaries there in a few weeks. I would like to be on Aduaidh Prime for such an historical undertaking. Wouldn't you?"
His fingers were twining in her nether curls, his fingertips grazing her clit to the point she was having trouble thinking. “Aye, I want to!” she said.
"Then we will,” he said and leaned over her to take her mouth with his to seal the deal. He moved his hand between her legs to dip a finger into her hot channel. He stroked her, running his finger in and out, twisting it gently inside her. “Now, let's get down to the business of pleasuring my woman."
My woman, she thought and felt her heart do a funny little squeeze inside her chest. Just knowing she belonged—heart and soul—to this gentle, loving man made her want to run outside and shout it to the heavens. She wanted everyone to know him as she did. She had discovered a side to him she doubted anyone had ever seen, she doubted he'd ever allowed anyone else to see. Despite his strength and power and authority, he was completely different with her. The world might view him as dangerous—as she once had—but she knew him to be a tender, giving lover. With her, he let his softer side show.
"You're doing it again,” he said as he trailed his fingers to her breast to capture one firm globe. “Stop thinking, wench."
That he could read her thoughts never failed to amaze her. He had such a plethora of mystical abilities that were beyond her understanding, beyond her experiences. The things he could do sometimes astounded her.
"Stop. Thinking,” he ordered and lowered his mouth to her flesh.
Bailey sucked in a long breath as his hot tongue laved over her nipple and he drew it deep into his mouth, his teeth grazing over the straining peak, nibbling, tenderly abrading, and teasing. She threaded her hands through his dark hair where just a hint of gray was beginning to appear at his temples. She smiled and closed her eyes, giving herself up to his wonderful mouth.
Van moved from her left breast to her right to lavish attention there as well. He licked her, he swirled his tongue around her, and he suckled. His elbow dug deliciously into her belly, pressing blood between her legs to make her squirm. He knew how much she loved having his weight upon her and moved over her, nudging her legs farther apart so he could settle between her legs, his shaft sliding wetly across her thigh.
"If you don't hurry up, our dinner will be ruined,” she said, not opening her eyes.
"Fuck the dinner,” he said.
"No,” she said, prying one eye open. “Fuck the wife, Modartha.” She gave him a saucy look then closed her eye again.
He growled low in his throat and reached down to guide himself into her moist cavern. He thrust deeply, going as far as his long cock could go inside her, stretching her tight sheath. “Like that?” he asked.
"Well, sort of,” she said then sighed.
"Sort of?” he questioned, eyebrows elevated.
"A bit to the right there, wolf,” she said, her lips twitching.
"Oh, wench, now you've insulted me,” he warned and his silver eyes glinted. Sliding his hands under her rump, he lifted her high against him and pulled out a little only to drive in deeper still.
"That's a little better,” she said with a grunt as he pressed his weight down on her even as he hiked her hips up higher to better accommodate his next thrust.
"Let's do this the right way, then,” he said from between clenched teeth. “Hug me, wench."
She obediently lifted her legs and ensnared his lean hips, digging one heel into the crack of his hard ass. She squeezed him fiercely between her thighs as her hands took hold of his cheeks to bring his mouth to hers. “Come here,” she ordered.
"Umm,” she heard him groan as their tongues began to duel. His lower body was slapping firmly against hers and with each hard push, she tightened her vaginal muscles around his rod, milking him, squeezing him.
His cock was silk and steel as it slid in and out of her with such authority. His hard body covered hers completely as though it had been fashioned to fit hers like a glove. The press of him felt good. It felt right.
The ripple of pleasure that began low in her belly suddenly spread between her legs with an intensity that made her gasp aloud. As the spasms gripped him in rapid succession he became harder still and increased the speed of his thrusts until he was grinding into her with abandon, his head thrown back as his own release came bursting forth to pour like warm cream into her body.
"Bailey!” he howled, his orgasm bursting like a dam over him to make him tremble violently for a moment before he went limp against her.
Enfolding him securely within the perimeter of her arms, Bailey held him and crooned to him, smoothing the thick hair back from his forehead as he lay there with his head on her chest.
"I love you,” he said.
"I love you,” she returned.
They lay there for a few moments, until he could dredge up the energy to slide off her, then he sat up on the edge of the bed, plowing a hand through his hair.
Bailey ran her fingers down his taut spine and saw him smile. “What's bothering you, my Modartha?” she asked quietly.
He was staring across the room and didn't reply at first. When he at last spoke, she heard the firmness in his voice and recognized it for what it was—a warning.
"You might notice an increase in the guards around the property,” he said. “If they are as good as I mean for them to be, you might not but just know they are there.” He stood and reached for his pants, dragging them up his long legs and over his
hips. “I reprogrammed the entry code on the gate when I came in and I'll reprogram it again when I leave in the morning. If you need something from town, call Max and have him send someone in for you."
She sat up. “Am I now a prisoner here?” she asked, knowing that wasn't the case but wanting further explanation.
"Doyle escaped,” he said as he walked over to their closet and took out a white shirt and shrugged into it.
Bailey felt a tremor go down her spine and swung her legs from the bed to slip on a long shift that was draped over the foot of the bed. She slipped it over her head as he came padding barefoot from the closet.
"You've nothing to worry about, wench,” he told her as she put her arms around his waist and lay her head to his chest. “He'll not get within a hundred yards of you."
Before she had met Van, Bailey had been enamored of the Resistance leader—or to be more accurate, enamored of his rhetoric. The organization behind him had voiced an overthrow of the government that was so restrictive to humans but especially so to women, and she had been caught up in the ideals the Resistance had put forth. It had been a dangerous association to which her uncle, the senator, had asked Van to put a stop.
But it seemed Doyle had developed strong feelings for Bailey and had no intention of allowing her to sever their connection. When he had dared come after her once she belonged to the Modartha, he and Van had fought viciously, the outcome being Doyle's arrest and subsequent incarceration.
"Don't worry,” Van said again and kissed the top of her head. “I'm hungry. Let's eat, okay?"
Though the news of Doyle's flight made her uneasy, Bailey nodded and tried to push thoughts of the fugitive from her mind. She knew her husband would do everything that was necessary to protect her. Because of his high position in the Slándáil Phoiblí, their home was a veritable fortress with armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the estate 24/7. Nothing and no one could get past the deadly force guarding the Modartha commander's home.
Chapter Two
Van cursed savagely when the Vid-Com interrupted his sleep. He glanced at the pulsing screen as the machine chimed again. The readout at the bottom told him it was barely five o'clock. “What?” he snarled.
"You are being hailed from General Brennan's office, Milord,” the Vid-Com voice said softly.
"At five fucking o'clock in the morning?” the Modartha complained. He threw the covers back and got out of bed, dragging on his slacks as he turned to face the screen. “Vid on!"
The face of General Gerard Brennan's personal secretary, Timothy Faison, immediately filled the screen. “Commander, you are hereby ordered to the General's office ASAP,” Faison stated. Faison's expression never altered from one of thinly veiled contempt when he spoke to those of inferior rank and, at the moment, his sneer was firmly in place.
"What the hell for?” Van demanded. “Today is Domhnach!"
Faison's chin rose and his narrowed eyes made it obvious he did not like the Modartha's tone. “You will report within the hour, Commander, or suffer the consequences!” With that, the Vid-Com screen went black.
"Asswipe,” Van mumbled and strode angrily toward the bathroom.
"Do you want me to fix you some breakfast?” Bailey called out to him.
"No, baby, you go back to sleep. There's no reason for both of us to be up at this ungodly hour,” he ordered. “I'll get something at headquarters."
As he took a quick shower and dressed in his dark gray uniform, Van considered the various ways he'd like to take Tim Faison apart with his hands. Entertaining thoughts of pulling the spindly bastard limb from limb, pulverizing him, made the Modartha grin evilly. By the time he came out of the large walk-in closet adjoining the bathroom, his wife was asleep again and seeing her gentle expression calmed him down instantly to a more manageable level.
Smiling, he watched her for a long moment, his heart swelling with love and pride, before bending over to place a soft kiss on her cheek. He tugged her covers over her bare shoulder then left quietly, easing the door shut behind him. By the time he swung a leg over his motorcycle, his anger at having to leave her on his only day off was firmly in place and itching to erupt upon the first person who dared annoy him.
As he sped away from the front gates of the estate—after having reprogrammed the entry code so no one other than he could enter the grounds—he gave the bike full throttle, reveling in the feel of the wind whipping around him. Passing several ground units of the Portal Police as though they were standing still, he knew they would not dare give chase. At that time of the morning on what was essentially a day of rest for much of the population, there were few vehicles on the road anyway and those he encountered, he slid past, weaving in and out like a blur.
Screeching into the parking lot of the main government complex of the An Comhlathas—the Commonwealth—he braked in the slot reserved for him and cut the engine. Taking off his helmet, he slammed it onto the sissy bar then strode purposefully to the security kiosk under which he would be scanned for identity and weapons.
"Good morning, Commander,” one of the security guards greeted him with a tentative smile.
"There's nothing good about it,” Van groused as he moved beneath the arch and stood there impatiently waiting for his clearance into the complex. The scan passed wavering light down his frame then up again. Since he was not wearing any weapons, the green light pulsed on the monitor.
"You are cleared, Milord."
Van snorted and took the walkway into the massive stone and glass building that housed the government offices. He had to pass through two more scanners before he could enter the elevator that would carry him up to the top floor of the building and, once in the elevator on his way up to the fifty-eighth floor, a muscle in his cheek repeatedly flexed with annoyance at being summoned.
The titanium doors shushed open, and the Modartha stamped down hard on his anger so when he exited the cage, his face was still, his eyes unblinking as he met the supercilious façade of Timothy Faison, who looked pointedly down at his wrist watch.
"You are five minutes late,” Faison declared.
"Get fucked,” Van replied.
The eyes of the general's secretary flared for a moment then narrowed hatefully. “One day, Commander, you will overstep your boundaries one time too many and I will be there to see you crash and burn."
Van shoved past the secretary, bumping the smaller man with his hard shoulder, and stalked to the general's door, not bothering to knock before jerking it open and walking into Brennan's office.
General Brennan was standing at the wide sweep of windows that looked down upon the Central Plaza and did not bother to turn around. “Close the door, Byrne,” he ordered.
Van shut the portal a little too hard and the general swiveled his head toward the Modartha, giving the werewolf a warning look.
"Don't try my patience today, Byrne,” the general snapped. “I am no happier about being here on my day off than you are."
"Why are we here, then?” Van asked.
"Doyle,” he answered, speaking with a great deal of distaste.
"We will find him."
"He should never have been allowed to escape,” General Brennan stated the obvious, making Van grind his teeth.
"No, he should not have, and two of my men died because they underestimated the Resistance. That will not happen again."
"I want Doyle swinging from the hanging trestle before the end of this coming week. Is that understood?"
Van shifted his shoulders with irritation. “I can not guarantee that it will be..."
"By the end of this coming week,” the general repeated. He glared at Van.
"We have to find him first,” Van reminded his superior. “My guess is he's holed up somewhere within the complex of government buildings."
"Then take the buildings apart floor by floor until you have him!” the general told him.
"I ordered a search before I left last evening, but I've not had a chance to check in with my..."
/>
"I don't want your fucking excuses, Byrne!” the general shouted. “Your people let him escape! If you can't run a tighter ship than that, perhaps you should step down!"
Fury shifted across the Modartha's face and he bunched his hands into fists at his side. “I will find him,” he said.
The general put his hands on his desk top and leaned forward, his menacing stare leveled on Van. “It is my understanding the woman you have taken as your companion once belonged to Doyle."
"She never belonged to him,” Van said through clenched teeth.
"I hear he is quite captivated with her."
Warning bells started going off in the Modartha's brain, and he held back the nasty response he'd been about to make to that statement. He lifted his chin. “My wife is not involved with this, Milord, and I would prefer to keep her out of this conversation."
"Your wife,” the general said. “Aye, I had forgotten you had Joined with the human.” He straightened up. “Not the smartest thing you've ever done."
"Will that be all, Sir?” Van asked, his breathing labored, for he was moving past fury into rage.
"Aye,” the general said and waved a dismissive hand. He turned his back on the Modartha and resumed looking out the window. “Bring the female in."
Van went still as death. “Excuse me?” he asked in a low voice.
"You heard me,” the general said. “Bring the human female in, and we'll use her as bait to catch Doyle."
"No.” The one word was as final as he could make it and carried with it a wealth of disgust at the suggestion.
General Brennan's upper body stiffened, and he turned around slowly, his brown eyes boring into Van. “What did you say to me?"
"I said no,” Van repeated, and his gray eyes were like chips of ice. “I will not involve my wife in this."
"You dare to disobey a direct order, soldier?” the general demanded.
"I will bring Doyle in, but I will not use my wife to do it,” Van said. He held the general's steady glower with a heated one of his own.
"Faison!” the general bellowed, and the door opened immediately, letting Van know the officious little secretary had been listening at the portal.
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