Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

  Tristan grinned at her blatant perusal.

  She cleared her throat. “You sleep naked.”

  He laughed. “Yes, but this is to keep you safe.”

  “From who, the clothing fairy?”

  His laugh deepened, and that was all the warning he offered before the air between them shimmered and she found herself staring at the cat.

  The instinctive urge to run lasted only a second, maybe two. She’d forgotten how big he was like this, bigger than any animal she’d seen in a zoo or on television. Now she almost wished she’d paid attention to those documentaries. Maybe then she’d feel like she could handle being herded toward the bed by a man-eating predator.

  Did Tristan eat meat in cat form? Had she anticipated him shifting on her like this, she would have made a point to ask that rather important question when she’d been interrogating him earlier.

  The cat batted her hand with his head, and her pulse jumped. Hesitant, she opened her palm and he rubbed himself beneath her hand, arching his back. He circled her and a flick of his tail caught her across the butt.

  “Cute.”

  He jumped up on the bed, pawed at the blanket until satisfied with the arrangement, then sank down. Crossing his paws, he lowered his head, but didn’t close his eyes until she stretched out next to him—very, very slowly.

  Without warning, he dropped his big head on her stomach, effectively pinning her in place. As if that wasn’t strange enough, he nudged her arm until she got the point, purring when she ran her fingers along his sleek coat.

  “Have I mentioned how completely surreal all this is?”

  He cracked open an eye, puffed out through his nostrils.

  “You’re right,” she said, guessing at what he was thinking. “If you could talk like this, I would have really freaked out.”

  —

  Kennedy turned her face into the warm spray of water, then leaned forward, letting the water sluice down her spine. Unlike in her own cramped apartment shower, she wasn’t in a hurry to rush through the motions. The longer she lingered behind the frosted glass panes, the more she could put off facing the very real, very black and furry reality curled up in the middle of Tristan’s bed.

  She squeezed some shower gel into her palm, and the familiar soapy scent—Tristan’s—made every cell in her body stand up and take notice. She closed her eyes, breathing in the soap, and regretted it the second another whiff of the stuff made her nipples harden.

  The near-constant state of arousal really had to let up. Yet even as the pro orgasm but pro self-control part of her brain came to that conclusion, she trailed her hand down her stomach, wishing it was Tristan’s. Wishing it was Tristan’s palms cupping her breasts, his thumbs swirling through the soap to circle her nipples.

  Kennedy darted a look over her shoulder, toward the closed bathroom door. Her hand slid lower, gliding across her skin. She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into a fantasy she’d entertained dozens of times before. Only now she knew the animal that lived inside him, and damned if knowing he walked that fine line between the logic of a man and the savage instincts of a predator didn’t take her fantasy to a whole new level.

  One so deep she didn’t notice she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until the door clicked. Knowing who it was didn’t stop her heart from quickening.

  Naked, Tristan opened the shower door, lingering in the doorway. A heated smile curved his lips, his gaze sliding up her body. “Morning.”

  Completely exposed, Kennedy turned away on instinct. Fantasizing about him sharing the space and experiencing it were apparently two different things. She glanced over her shoulder, tracking his progress across the wet tile floor. Not until he stood within arm’s reach did she look away from his face.

  He stepped closer to the spray and water beaded on his chest, dripping down…down. The trail snaked over his defined abdomen before reaching his aroused cock. Kennedy let out a breath, clenching her thighs around the heavy ache deep in her core.

  “Need some help?” He took the shower gel from her and set it aside, reaching for a bottle of shampoo instead. After squeezing a generous amount into his palm, he nodded for her to turn around.

  She took her time, just a little bit preoccupied with the brush of his arousal against her bottom. The moment he started working the shampoo into her hair, her spine turned to rubber, and the longer he massaged her hair into a heavy lather, the harder his shaft bumped against her.

  “Turn around and close your eyes.”

  When she complied, he tipped her head back, rinsing the shampoo out. Without opening her eyes, she knew right down to the centimeter how close he was to her mouth. As if he’d read her mind, he brushed his lips across hers.

  Somehow, she managed to contain her frustration when he pulled back.

  “I think you missed a few spots earlier.” Tristan returned to the shower gel, soaping up his hands and running them down her arms.

  “Good thing you showed up when you did then.”

  His hands slid around to her belly, roaming higher.

  “I thought cats didn’t like water.”

  “I happen to be a big fan of a little water play.” To emphasize his point he bent and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

  She moaned, slipping her hands into his hair and holding him against her. He curled his tongue around her, flicking the tip before pulling her hard between his lips.

  “Again,” she begged.

  He laughed and dropped to his knees, pushing her out from beneath the full onslaught of the spray. She flattened her palm against the wall when he lifted her leg, carefully setting it on the ledge running the perimeter of the shower.

  “Much better,” he murmured, having improved his view of her damp sex.

  Kennedy shivered at being on complete display, unprepared for the sheer pleasure that came from the very slow, very hot kiss Tristan pressed to her sex. Riveted, she watched his tongue slide up her cleft, moaning low and deep as he laved the slick knot nestled between her folds.

  She clutched at the slick tiles, needing leverage to keep from sliding to the floor in front of him. As though he understood her problem, he slipped his hands up, cupping her ass. Pressing his mouth to her inner thigh, his tongue hot against her cooling skin, he took his time returning to her sex.

  He ignored the not-so-subtle roll of her hips and the half-hearted pleas that came out rough and just a little bit desperate. She couldn’t help it, the agonizing pace of his lips sliding across her body, the alternating chafe of his stubble with the smooth, slick sweeps of his tongue were steadily driving her out of her mind.

  Tristan sealed his mouth over her, laving her clit with soft, quick strokes. Crying out, she arched up, her muscles tight. He gripped her bottom harder, his fingers digging into her and keeping her trapped against his mouth.

  As if she’d try to escape the decadent torture pushing her toward release. Knowing he hand a good hold of her, she dared to let go to the wall and slid her hands into his damp hair. She rose higher on her toes with every lazy flick of his tongue, eased down again with every slow suck until she writhed shamelessly against his mouth.

  The more she bounced her hips to his mindless pace, the more ruthless he became, licking and sucking, pushing his face against her.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, reaching for the climax coiling deep in her sex, moaning loudly when it crashed over her, stealing her breath.

  Slowly the rest of her surroundings came back into focus. The water still beat the tile floor relentlessly, steam clouded the air, making what just happened more like a dream than real.

  —

  Tristan softened his grip on her ass, but didn’t let her ease away from him. Not that there was anywhere to go with the wall at her back and him at her feet, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. She met his gaze, her cheeks flushed, her lips parting around the breaths she sucked in.

  Without looking away, he dipped his head, tasting the very center of her.

  She trembled, but
kept staring down at him. “I need a minute. I can’t…” she shook her head, “…again.”

  Oh yes she could.

  Anticipating the attempt to squirm free, he pressed her even harder against the wall, keeping his lips soft. Knowing how sensitive she was only made him that much determined to make it good for her. Again and again. If this was all she believed was between them for now, he’d make damn sure she never doubted how incredible it was.

  Tracing her folds with his tongue, he took his time memorizing the taste of her. She whimpered softly and the sound grabbed him hard in the gut and groin. Her hands left him, stretching over her head as if to pull herself away from the feather-light tease of his tongue, only to drop back to her sides on a shaky moan.

  He loved watching her sink farther into pleasure, her breasts rising and falling with her quickening breaths, loved feeling the press of her thigh against his cheek, holding him to her. And most of all he loved knowing he could do this to her, could stroke and lick and suck her to the point she threatened to slide into his arms.

  “Tristan,” she hissed, grinding against his mouth.

  Faster now, he ran his tongue up her cleft, stopping at her clit. The slick knot felt plump beneath his lips, and he greedily closed his mouth over her.

  She threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair, tugging just hard enough to make staying on his knees a testament to his control. His cock hung heavy and aching between his legs, and he wanted inside his mate.

  Soon. He pushed two fingers against her opening, pumping them into her wet sex. She rocked her hips forward, and he laved at her damp flesh, pushing a little harder and a little harder. Her body bowed against him, her release filling his senses until he could have pleasantly drowned in it.

  Pushing to his feet just slow enough to avoid them both slipping and ending up in a tangled heap, he pressed her against the wall. His shaft hit her belly, and he groaned, sliding his arms around her.

  She pushed up on her toes and her sweet sex teased along the head of his cock. Catching her thigh, he lifted it to his hip, opening her wider and sinking between her folds.

  They both moaned, and he found her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips to tangle with hers. The hot walls of her sex clenched around him, and he surged forward, sliding deeper. But it wasn’t enough. He gripped her waist, lifting her until both legs locked around his waist.

  They hit the wall hard, and he almost lost his grip. Already so close, he didn’t care. She flexed her hips, rocking against him, and he used what little leverage he had to thrust into her.

  Her head fell to the side and he buried his face against her neck, driving himself in and out of her sex and falling apart faster than he could have imagined. It shouldn’t have been possible to need her so much so quickly, to want to give her everything, to share his bed, his life, his heart.

  “Oh…oh.” She dug her heels into his ass, grinding harder. “Tristan, please.”

  Working his hips, he pumped deeper, groaning when her climax hit and her sex spasmed around him. His own release ripped through him, leaving him rocking inside her even after his orgasm faded and his muscles relaxed.

  —

  The sky was nearly dark outside when Tristan finished drying off and reached for his pants. He could hear Kennedy in the bathroom, easily pictured her slipping another one of his shirts over her head. As much as he liked the idea of her wearing his clothes, he liked the idea of taking them off her later even more.

  He pulled his pants up just as she emerged from the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and the flash of carnal interest in her eyes made him achingly hard. Now he realized why newly mated gargoyles were rarely seen. If he had his way he’d take Kennedy back to his lair on Avalon right this second and spend weeks keeping her all to himself, learning about her, teaching her about his clan, showing her his favorite spots, discovering every way to wring pleasure from her body for hours on end.

  Except she was human. Humans couldn’t cross the mirror without stopping their fragile hearts. Not even the Avalon-born humans, who had escaped Morgana’s enslavement after Arthur’s fall, could cross over.

  Kennedy strolled toward him. “What’s with the scowl? I thought cats were fairly nocturnal.”

  He yanked on a clean T-shirt, ignoring the tension that clutched his heart. “Which is why I want to get this over with.”

  “Get what over with?”

  He took her hand and led her into the hall. “We don’t have much time.”

  By the time they climbed the stairs and reached the roof, the last stretch of sunlight faded from the western skyline.

  “Wow.” Kennedy stared at the two stone gargoyles in front of them. “They look like you.”

  The pair were identical to anyone who didn’t know his siblings in their cat form, anyone who didn’t recognize the sly prowess imprinted on Briana’s form. Few could hunt and corner their prey as fast as Briana.

  Normally Cian’s playful side came through in his gargoyle state, his endless amusement most noticeable in the curl of a paw or the tilt of his head. For the last century he’d looked riled, ready to strike and forever prevented from it.

  Next to him, Kennedy froze, the sound of stone cracking making her frown. She ventured closer as fine lines of bright white streaked across Briana. Anticipating the explosion of light, Tristan stepped closer to his mate.

  Kennedy brought her hands up to protect herself from the chunks of stone that broke away, and he watched her expression morph from surprised to curious when the pieces disintegrated before reaching her. That didn’t stop her from tensing up when Briana padded through the settling dust and stared up at Kennedy with glittering feline eyes.

  “My sister,” Tristan said.

  “When you mentioned gargoyle, you really meant it, huh?”

  Briana circled Kennedy once, pacifying the cat’s instincts to rule out any threat, then disappeared down the stairs.

  He started to follow her inside, stopped when Kennedy hadn’t moved to do the same.

  “Is that Cale?”

  Tristan shook his head. “That’s my other brother, Cian.”

  “Does he like playing statue or something?”

  A vise clamped down on his chest. “A sorceress did that to him. He can’t break free.” He headed for the stairs, relieved when she followed.

  “Some kind of spell?” she guessed, and when he nodded asked, “How long has he been like that?”

  “Over a century.”

  “And there’s no way to free him?”

  They reached the hall, and he headed for Briana’s room. “We’re working on it.”

  Fully dressed, Briana stepped into the hall before they reached her door. “I guess you told her everything, huh?” Her gaze zeroed in on the mark on Kennedy’s neck, and she arched a brow, silently asking if everything included the truth about their bond.

  He gave a subtle shake of his head, but Kennedy caught the cryptic look passed between them. “What?”

  “I’ve got something that will help.” Briana nodded to the puncture marks on his mate’s neck.

  Kennedy probed at the healing bite mark. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, actually.”

  Briana nodded down the hall. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  With a suspicious look, Kennedy jerked her thumb in the opposite direction. “I need coffee, so come and find me when you’re done.”

  “You didn’t tell her?” Briana hissed the moment Kennedy was out of earshot.

  Guilt gave his stomach a good, hard nudge. He ignored it. “I think learning what we are is a big enough shock for one day, don’t you?”

  Briana scoffed. “Seeing as you’re not a woman, I think you might be seriously underestimating how big a deal being claimed can be.”

  Not wanting Kennedy to get too far away, he started for the kitchen, choosing not to acknowledge Briana’s are-you-out-of-your-mind glare.

  “How did you explain that to her anyway. Just a love bite?”

&n
bsp; “Things got out of control.” And then some. “I hadn’t exactly planned on it.”

  “Remind me to step out of the line of fire when you break it to her like that.”

  Curious and just a little bit worried, he had to ask. “Think she’ll be mad?”

  Briana’s expression said it all—he was a dead man. “Forgetting for a moment that she’s human, what woman wouldn’t be thrilled to know she’s been bonded to an immortal for the rest of her life without her consent?”

  Tristan winced. “It won’t be pretty, huh?”

  “Assuming she lives long enough to hear it.”

  The cat growled first, then the man.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She blew out a breath. “She’s been marked. Short of finding out who engaged the wraith to take her out, there’s nothing much to be done except give Lucan the dagger.”

  He whirled around. “And leave Cian trapped like that?”

  “At the cost of your mate?”

  Closing his eyes, Tristan curbed the impulse to lash out at his sister for the impossible position he was in. “I know.”

  Briana stopped just outside the kitchen. “Where’s Cale?”

  “He never came back last night.”

  “That’s not like him.”

  “Keeping tabs on him?”

  His sister rolled her eyes. “He always tells me when he won’t be home by dawn.”

  “Why don’t you try tracking him down.”

  She nodded. “What about you?”

  He’d spent most of the time Kennedy had slept working out a game plan. “I’m going to find out who’s using Lucan to get the dagger. Dolan was watching her closely last night.”

  “Dolan?” Having overheard them, Kennedy stepped into the hall. “You think he could have something to do with this?”

  “After the way that Fae was watching you? Yeah.”

  “Fae? Another immortal race?”

  Surprised they hadn’t touched on the subject of the Fae during that afternoon’s question and answer period, he nodded. “The oldest in Avalon.”