by Zoey Draven
He was so close to her that they shared the same breath. She could feel his heat. She could see the way his flesh wavered in the light, going from shadowy blue to a darkened silver. The rain still roared outside, a chill weaving around her, but she felt decidedly very warm at that moment. The alcohol and Jaxor banished all the cold.
Gently, she brought the strand she was holding up higher, so he could see out of the corner of his eye.
He stiffened when she flashed the blade, but then relaxed. Did he worry she would try to cut him again?
But she only used the sharp knife to shear off the strands. The blade was sharp and the cut was clean. She let his beautiful, dark hair fall to the floor of the cave and Jaxor watched it fall, his eyes unreadable. Erin watched it too before she met his gaze, looked at the little tuft at his temple that was now only a couple inches long.
“Maybe I should leave you like this,” she teased, brushing her fingers over the shorn hair. “It’s payback for you kidnapping me. Every time I look at you, I can laugh. You would hate that, wouldn’t you?”
She laughed at the amusing picture he made, her blood rushing from the alcohol, her head fuzzy and pleasant. She wanted him to laugh again. She wanted to make him laugh. He had such a nice laugh.
But he didn’t. He simply watched her with narrowed eyes. He was a proud male. He wouldn’t stand to be laughed at for long, but Erin was pressing her luck.
“You are as mad as I am,” was what he said, but he didn’t say it unkindly. It seemed almost…affectionate.
Erin sobered in a rush, licking her lips. Her eyes flitted over the cut hair. She’d given Jake many haircuts since he was young. She was good at cutting hair.
The space between them was beginning to feel different. Warmer. Closer. Her fingers smoothed the little tuft down and his breath hitched at the contact.
“We really can’t help ourselves, can we?” she whispered to him, awed, frightened, curious about what rose up in her breast. Her gaze flickered to his lips, want and desire blooming with it.
He growled again.
“Huffy male,” she whispered. She’d always thought ‘huffy’ was a funny word and she only seemed to use it when she was drunk. She wanted to laugh again, she wanted to tease him. But everything suddenly felt so serious.
To distract herself, she took another strand and she couldn’t help but run her fingers through it. Another growl from him, though it was mingled with a purr. He liked it. Erin almost mourned what she was about to do. She wouldn’t be able to run her fingers through his hair like this again until it grew back.
She wisely chose not to linger on that thought and sliced another section of hair. It fluttered to the floor.
Then she cut another and another, all too aware that his eyes were on hers until she forced him to look away so she could reach the back sections. It was difficult to maneuver the blade around his horns. She worried that she’d accidentally nick one, especially since her fingers felt swollen from the alcohol. But she managed just fine and she couldn’t resist running her finger over the smoothness of one. It felt like ivory, cool and silky.
A ragged groan tore from his throat and Erin snatched her hand away, jolted into remembering that she was supposed to be cutting his hair, not stroking his horns. Not meeting his eyes, she went around to his other side, cutting the hair there too.
She worked in silence. She worked in rhythm with the rain, with the heartbeat under his skin she swore she could hear—or maybe it was her own—with how many times he caught her eyes when she least expected it. He seemed to like looking at her. That knowledge filled her with something she didn’t want to dwell on.
It was growing darker and darker in the cave, but she managed to make his haircut clean. She shifted until she was kneeling close to his side, her knees pressing into his outer thigh, leaning in front of him to even out the front. Goosebumps blossomed over the skin of her arms when his hand brushed her side. Her eyelids felt heavy. She swayed a little as she looked down at him. There were little hairs sprinkled across the edge of his nose and without thinking, she reached forward to brush them away, not realizing how intimate it seemed until afterwards.
The knife drifted down until it was in his line of vision. His eyes flickered to it, then flickered back to her. He hadn’t spoken this entire time—neither had she—but when he did, his voice was like rough velvet as he said, “You could cut my throat right now, rixella, and I would let you. When my only ambition in life has been to survive. That is the power of this.”
His voice made her feel like she’d just had another swig of the alcohol. It made her burn. His voice was almost…awed. As if he was faced with some terrible thing he couldn’t help but respect. That he couldn’t help but give in to.
“What else would you let me do?” she asked quietly, hardly recognizing her own voice. Her head spun, her flesh felt tingly, but she didn’t think it was from the bottle. Not anymore. She felt powerful. She saw the desire in his eyes—that terrible, terrible desire—but she saw her own reflected back.
This was the male that had kidnapped her. The male who had probably ruined her chances of ever finding her way home again, of ever seeing her family again. This was the male who wouldn’t tell her what his plans were for her, and yet…
She’d never felt like this. So torn between hatred and need. That part of herself—which she’d confessed to him—wanted to hurt him for taking those things away from her, while also needing to drag him close so she could feel his heartbeat, so she could taste his tongue.
Madness.
You are as mad as I am, he’d told her. Her head swam as she looked at his lips.
“I hate you,” she breathed. “I really do.”
She didn’t know if she was talking to him or herself.
And then, before she could hesitate, she leaned forward and took the one thing she wanted but shouldn’t have. His kiss.
He’d told her to do something bad to him. This probably wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but she was just drunk enough that it didn’t matter. At least not right then.
Jaxor froze when her lips crashed onto his, but then she felt his claws pierce her tunic, coming up to drag her closer. He’d been waiting for this closeness, perhaps longer than she had, Erin realized.
The knife clattered to the stone as her hands dove into his freshly shorn hair. She gripped the strands hard, clenching her fists in deep, pulling. He growled—huffy—but finally moved his mouth against hers hard. As if punishing her.
When Erin closed her eyes, she relied on him to keep her from toppling over since everything spun. She tasted the alcohol on his tongue when she met it and she pressed closer. Sounds were coming from her throat, little desperate sounds she’d never heard before, because she couldn’t get close enough.
“Vrax,” Jaxor hissed when she pushed between his thighs, placing herself in his lap. Dimly, she wondered if he was in pain from the wounds, but then his mouth was on hers again and the thought was wiped away.
His cock was hard underneath her—still hard despite the blood he’d lost. It pushed up from his furred loincloth between them and a reckless part of Erin just wanted to shift her body over it. The reckless, dangerous part of her craved taking him into her body, feeling that thick, hot length inside her, because she knew that was the only way this desperation would lessen. Only then would he be close enough—when he was completely inside her.
Madness, she thought.
She didn’t care. This felt good. This felt like something she wanted to do for once, not something that she should do. This felt bad, bad, bad in the best way. Mutually hate-kissing this dangerous male. It felt good because it was something she’d never done before.
Warning bells were going off in her head, but she silenced them. Tomorrow, she would feel differently. Tomorrow, once the lust had died down and the alcohol was gone from her system, and once she didn’t feel so damn reckless, she would regret this.
Wouldn’t she?
Jaxor hissed whe
n she ground her hips over his cock. Her tunic had ridden up her thighs, but the hem still covered her sex. It was the only barrier between them.
“Ohh,” she moaned, breaking their kiss, when tingles erupted over her skin. Intense waves of pleasure were rising up, pulsing from her clit. She was wound tight, but the alcohol had relaxed her limbs. Her hands dropped to Jaxor’s shoulders, her fingernails digging into the muscles there, and she used the leverage to grind harder.
His mouth came to her neck as his hands squeezed her hips. Erin’s breath hitched, her mouth falling open, when he bit her there, at the sensitive flesh just underneath her earlobe.
“Yes,” she breathed, the pain mingling with the pleasure until they were interchangeable. Erin had never given herself permission to explore her kinks with a partner. She’d been too embarrassed, too self-conscious. She’d told herself that no good girlfriend would want the darker things she craved in bed. But Jaxor biting her, giving her a little prick of pain, was doing it for her. And he seemed to know it.
His hips thrust up underneath her, the thick, mushroomed head of his cock sliding over her throbbing clit through the tunic’s material. The friction was unbearable and frustrating and so, so right.
She needed to taste him again. Pulling on his horns to get him away from her neck, she guided his mouth to hers, feeling the vibration of his low tumble of a groan caught between their lips. He liked his horns touched, pulled, it seemed.
The heat was rising. She didn’t hear the rain over the thunder of her own heartbeat. All she smelled and tasted and felt was him.
She kept her eyes open as they kissed and he did the same. Those piercing blue eyes had deepened into indigo and she saw every dark want and wicked thing he needed to do to her. To his mate. Because that was what she was.
Erin wondered if he would come like this. They were dry humping like teenagers in the back seat of a car, but Erin was about to come like there was no tomorrow.
His brows drew together and her vision wavered when he sucked wickedly on her tongue. His features took on a desperate, needful expression just as his hips quickened, just as his claws pricked into the tunic around her hips, poking holes in the cloth.
He drew a little blood with his claws, but Erin didn’t care. It was what she needed, just as she needed his eyes to act as her anchor when her whole body began to tremble. Her back hunched and then bowed, her abdomen contracting. Her nipples tingled and pebbled so tight they ached.
“Oh God,” she whispered, her eyes wide, on Jaxor. And then she was coming.
The orgasm ripped through her body, tearing her, breaking her. She might’ve screamed, she couldn’t remember. Distantly, she heard Jaxor’s responding bellow, felt something warm lash over the tops of her exposed thighs. Erin was still grinding on him, chasing that pleasure even as it began to fade. And even after that amazing orgasm, she somehow knew it wasn’t enough.
Her head dropped to Jaxor’s bare shoulder, her chest heaving. She felt something on her cheek and when she reached up to touch it, she realized they were tears. She was crying. Why?
I’m a fucking mess, came the tired thought, wiping the tears away. Jaxor’s skin was warm, his shoulders moved up and down as he tried to regain his breath.
When she pulled back to chance a peek at him, his eyes were glowing. They seemed different, changed, luminous. Like something else was inside them, staring back at her. His Instinct? she thought, her lips parting in realization.
She’d never realized how close it could be.
Erin swallowed, shaken, and then looked between them. His cock was pulsing on his abdomen. His seed was slick on her thighs and part of her tunic, shimmering even in the dim lighting. Like a pearl. And there was blood. Dark blue blood.
He’d popped a couple stitches, she realized when her gaze darted to his wound.
Jaxor turned her face up until she met his eyes again. Erin was struck by how different he looked with short hair. His features seemed sharper, more angular, more…regal. His granite jaw and sharp cheekbones stood out more and Erin felt her belly quiver. Even his eyes seemed brighter, but perhaps that was the Instinct’s doing.
Erin was tempted to reach for the bottle of alcohol again. After what she’d just set into motion, she felt like she needed another drink. Or two. Or three.
Panic wasn’t rising yet. Instead, her chin lifted, as if daring him to say something. They’d just used each other to get off. Erin’s body was still humming from that orgasm. It made her feel sleepy and sated.
“I’m not embarrassed,” she felt the need to inform him.
His eyes narrowed. “I am not either.”
“Well…” She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected him to say that. “Good.” Then she added, “Don’t expect that to happen again.”
His smirk was so smug she wanted to smack it off. “I would not dream of it, rixella.”
She realized she was still straddling his hips. She’d left a little wet spot of her arousal on his thighs, his cock was still out in its full, ridged glory, and he was bleeding.
And because Erin couldn’t think of what else to say, she cleared her throat and decided on being practical.
“I’ll get the needle.”
Chapter Fifteen
Erin barely suppressed a groan when her eyes flickered open the next morning. At least she thought it was morning. The light was low, but at least the rain had stopped.
It was becoming a habit…waking up in that cave with the memory of bad decisions making her want to curl up in a ball. Only that morning, she had a nasty hangover to go hand-in-hand with her regret.
She blew out a rough breath and tilted her head back, searching for Jaxor. He was still sleeping, for once, not far away, close to the entrance. He’d built a fire last night when it got too chilly in the cave, shortly after Erin had stitched up his wounds a second time. She refused to dwell on why she’d had to.
It happened, there’s nothing I can do to change it, she told herself instead. Best to move on.
She felt nauseous, but surprisingly well-rested. Her body was still humming after that orgasm last night, but her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her limbs felt unsteady.
Erin pushed up from her position, glancing around the cave. It was a mess. Jaxor’s hair littered the floor, two empty bottles of that horrendous alcohol among the dark, silky strands. After Erin had stitched Jaxor up, he’d gone all moody and quiet, and had fished out a second bottle from one of the chests. Erin didn’t remember if she’d watched him finish it. She’d probably passed out before then.
Blood was streaked on the floors and on the furs. There was even some on her own legs—from rolling in it during the night?—in addition to Jaxor’s dried seed on her tunic.
“Damn,” she muttered, raking a hand through her tangled hair. She didn’t know how she felt about what happened last night. Strangely, she thought she’d be filled with more mortification and regret. Instead, she only felt a dull pang of reluctant acceptance. Erin was a firm believer in not dwelling on things she couldn’t change.
And last night?
She couldn’t change it.
A part of her didn’t even want to, if she’d had the choice. Because she remembered how it had felt. She’d felt…free. She hadn’t cared about what Jaxor would think of her. She’d wanted something from him and she’d taken it. Erin had never done anything like that in her life. She’d never been so forward or bold or reckless. Ever.
She nodded to the quiet cave, blowing out another quiet puff of air, and pushed up to stand. The fire was still going, giving the cave a delicious warmth, giving her light with which to study Jaxor. In sleep, he still looked grumpy and broody. His lips were turned down, his eyes flickered back and forth underneath his eyelids. Erin traced the sloping lines of his face with her eyes, licking her bottom lip. Something like longing went through her, faint but present.
If Erin found out that she was stuck on Luxiria, that there was no way of returning to Earth,
would she want someone like Jaxor? Would she want him to be her partner in life, as a mate? Could she envision him as the father of her children, if she ever had any?
Her shoulders sagged, refusing to answer that because she would be going home. She had to believe that. Quietly, she crept around him before stepping from the entrance of the cave, her eyes darting around for signs of a live kekevir.
She was relieved when she saw none. Instead, she saw that most of the flooding had gone down through the night, no doubt due to Jaxor’s drainage holes, one of them being the pulley system to the east of the base. It had stopped raining and slowly the base was clearing out, leaving behind a sodden mess in its wake.
Erin wanted a proper shower. Desperately. She wanted fresh clothes. But she didn’t dare venture down to the base. There was a dead kekevir still down there, a reminder of the always-present danger. When Erin forced herself to look at it, she saw Jaxor’s knife still embedded in its skull.
Behind her, she heard him begin to rouse, as if his Instinct sensed her missing from the cave.
“Rixella,” he rasped, his voice drowsy from a deep sleep. Was it bad of her to wish he was as hungover as she was?
“I’m here,” she called softly, looking over her shoulder at him. When he finally located her, relief entered his gaze. Perhaps he was too tired to shield it from her.
When he stood, Erin saw his wounds—he must’ve taken the bandage off after she went to sleep. The two deep claw marks from the kekevir were well on their way to healing. Erin knew Luxirians healed fast. One of her guards back in the Golden City had sliced his hand on the edge of a knife once. The next day, the wound was gone, as if it had never happened. She would need to pull the stitches out that morning, so Jaxor’s skin didn’t grow around them.
Erin placed her hand on the nearest stone wall, still feeling a little nauseous. Looking at his wound, remembering how slippery her hands had been with blood, didn’t help.
Her eyes darted up to his hair instead as he approached, as he looked out over the mess of his base and let out a sharp sigh. His haircut suited him—just as she’d thought last night. Just looking at him made her heartbeat pick up in her chest. Handsome male, she thought. It was almost unfair.