Shifter Fated Mates: Boxed Set

by Mandy M. Roth

  He withdrew, heard her moan. Once, twice he slapped her ass. “I’m getting tired of this game, but I bet I’d feel better if I had to spank it out of you, than if you withheld it.” Again his hand landed, but this time he smoothed it over her bottom, over the pink hand prints he’d left. Lo thrust back into her, balls deep and stilled.

  She pulsed around him and he gritted his teeth, pulling out, then thrusting back in. Slow and deep. Just as he felt her tightening, he stopped, changed the tempo.

  “Ree?” he whispered, nipping her shoulder, wanting to hear her beg, hear her scream his name, wanting to slam into her until nothing else mattered.

  But he waited, swatted her ass again, felt her fist around him and moaned himself.

  “I think…I think…”

  He leaned close, brushed the hair from her face as he moved out and in. In her ear, he whispered. “I’m going to mark you.”

  She started to shake her head. Then nodded.

  He froze, frowning. “Is that what you want? Me to make you do it?” Anger batted at him. “Why can’t you give me anything?” He thrust back into her, hard and fast, hearing her rising cries. He could go at any minute, but he held on. She screamed and vised around him, pulsing, begging him to empty himself in her.

  Instead, he leaned over and bit her on the shoulder, chanted the words in his mind, What I claim, is mine. My wrath on any who trespass.

  She yelled again and he jerked out, flipping her over to stare down into her wide, dilated eyes.

  The room around them shimmered with pale green light, pulsing stronger. He gripped her legs, slid up her body, parted her folds. He ran his fingers up and down, stared back into her shifting eyes and slowly slid into her. She picked up his rhythm, her back arching, her moans heating the breath between them. He kissed her hard and hot, nipping her lips, even as she nipped his. He trailed hot kisses down her neck, shifted so that she arched more, offering her breasts to him. He circled his tongue across her left one, just over her heart. Saw the faint scars where he’d marked her centuries before.

  Damn stubborn woman.

  He thrust hard, high and deep. Her cry filled the air, as he sank his teeth over the old marks and claimed her again. He sucked hard, tasted the faint copper of her blood and sighed. He licked, laved, sealed the marks then shifted up onto his arms.

  “What I claim is mine. My wrath on those who trespass,” he growled.

  She nodded, cupped his face. “I love you, I always have. I’ll announce my acceptance before The Council.”

  He thrust harder, faster, shifted so that each stroke raked him across her clit. Her moans filled his ears. Lo placed a hand over her heart, just as she arched and screamed again. The storm caught them both and shoved them into the vortex.

  And in that instant he saw.

  Children. His and Reya’s.

  Her scream mixed with his yell. They both lay panting until he raised his head enough to look into her eyes, her lashes spiky from tears, the dark brown irises widened and speckled with green light.

  He stared at her, the image of his vision so sharp he could still hear the faint giggles in his mind. Children. A boy and a girl. Theirs.

  He traced his thumbs along her temples. “Why didn’t you tell me of the babies?”

  Shuddering out a breath, she tilted her head on the pillow. “I don’t know. I’m not certain. I might not be. I might. Maybe it’s what will be.”

  He rolled and pulled her with him. Kissing her brow, he said, “Good thing you agreed to go before The Council. I’d have dragged you there otherwise.” Especially now. “And this weekend we’re moving you here permanently. Again. Period. No more staying at your place some nights. I never sleep when you’re not here,” he muttered. And he damned well wouldn’t now that she was carrying their child…or children.

  They’d lost a child once. He’d make damn certain they never did again.

  He expected her to argue on the last, but instead, she only sighed and nodded. “Yes. I don’t sleep either when I’m away.”

  He wondered what else she might be keeping from him.

  * * * *

  Drip. Drip. The leaking faucet was distracting him. Everything was almost ready.

  “Nybras?” a voice asked him.

  He turned, his gaze raking over her. No longer in wolf form, she’d morphed into a man. Selinna was too powerful for her own good. Not only was she a werewolf, but she had the ability to morph into any she’d harmed. Didn’t have to kill them to morph into them, just harm them. In her case, he knew she usually killed. She liked it. As a morpher, she could become anyone. Not a simple, or even complicated, glamour—the art of creating an illusion. No, Selinna’s power allowed her to become whomever she wished.

  Her problem was that her anger controlled her and she let it. Stupid woman

  “Will this do?” the medium build man could have been anywhere from forty to sixty with his ash blond hair, tanned line-worn face and straight gray eyes. Faded jeans and a pull over completed the outer shell.

  One brow rose. “What? You said a male artist.”

  Nybras shook his head. “I know what I said. You look more like a movie star than a trustworthy artist. I want her trusting. No feelings of misgivings or worry. That cat she’s with will sense it.” Nybras brushed his forefinger and thumb across the goatee he had. “I was thinking more along the lines of everyone’s favorite uncle. A sort of grandfather figure. You need to be fatter, yet strong. You work with metals and wood for fate’s sake.” He glanced at Selinna’s male hands. “And make certain you add a few scars.” He stepped closer. “You screw this up for me again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  He’d kill her anyway in the end, but for now she served her purpose.

  The man’s voice hardened. “I want justice for my brother.”

  Nybras tsked. “Selinna, Selinna. How many times have we been through this? You’re brother got what he deserved. If he’d come along after she’d met me, I’d have killed Sael myself. Her cat just did it instead.” He grazed a finger down the male cheek, then tapped it hard once, twice. “Don’t be difficult. Get her alone, get her to drink the potion. I’ll be waiting.”

  Selinna morphed, not as silkily as she used to, but even after her near death, still fluid. It was the only thing he found arousing about the woman. She was beautiful, her long jet hair satin down her back, her face smooth and perfect, eyes as green as the most expensive emeralds. She’d glammed over the scars she now carried from her fall into the gorge last autumn. But he knew they were there, just under the surface. Like her true nature.

  Beauty was often deceiving.

  Beauty was often deadly.

  In Selinna’s case, both applied.

  “What?” she snapped, her long legs pacing away from him, only to return.

  He waited. Drip. Drip. The water pipes were leaking, he’d have to see about that, figure out if it affected anything or not.

  Air and water were paramount down here. The power was working.

  He glanced around the bedroom, into the bathroom and smiled. It hadn’t been easy tapping into Reya’s mind. Her protective shields were strong and he always had to catch her off guard, shift through certain memories so that he’d be able to see.

  At least he’d finally seen all he needed to. Down to every last detail. Not an easy feat.

  He waved a hand in Selinna’s direction. “You get the bath products I wanted?” He walked towards the bathroom.

  She sighed. “Yes, Nybras. Both of them. The other scent is under the counter. The ones she uses now are in the shower, the lotion on the counter.”

  He scanned the bathroom, the tiles differing striated colors of the earth.

  All was ready.

  Poor Ms. Lynx.

  “You know, he’ll have the pride looking for you. And if she’s claimed to be his, you could be in even more trouble with The Council.”

  He scoffed. He was Nybras, descendent of a powerful Jinn father and an Aerial mother. He knew his pow
er and for nearly five hundred years he’d walked and flown the Earth, loved and hated, lived and destroyed. He’d fought in battles, helped plan and plot wars. Still he lived. He’d yet to be mortally wounded, and he took extra precautions to prologue his supernatural life. He’d loved, truly, only once centuries ago—a woman he’d known as Reyanna. A powerful woman who had been his. His to do with as he would. Anything. Everything. Simply because he could.

  He fingered the fist-size amulet of green Amazonite. Rubbing the silky jaded stone, he closed his eyes, and thought through his plans. Amazonite was known for its qualities of clarifying harmful deeds. Whether the user decided to act on those, or change the deeds, aim for destruction or redemption lay in the heart of the wearer.

  He had no use for redemption.

  He simply wanted…craved…lusted… Loved.

  A picture rose in his mind, the mists clearing away.

  Nybras saw her, bound as he preferred her, begging as he wanted her. Energy charged through him at the thoughts in his brain.

  “On second thought,” he said to the woman behind him. “I have different plans for you. I’ll be the artist. You will get to play a different diversionary role.”

  Soon, perhaps tomorrow, he would be able to see her, smell her, taste her…

  Her body, long and lithe stretched out for him and only for him. Her soft voice floating between them, the way her plush lips made him dream of kisses and more. He loved everything about her.

  He always had.

  Ever since the very first moment he’d glimpsed her, seen her, smelled her.

  “Ah…”

  … The music of symbols and bells floated on the air. He watched the dancers in their diaphanous skirts. The harem moved as one, their bodies fluid and graceful, erotic. Glimpses of skin whispered just under the veils. Yet none of that really moved him. He looked down the food-laden table, ignoring the dancers to see if he were the only one bored.

  Most here were European dignitaries. With his wealth in trading, many sought him out and invitations to his home were coveted. Tonight the ones around the table were of the European political and business elite. Some were here with spouses, more with mistresses.

  Women fascinated him. He enjoyed the art of pleasure. He enjoyed the way women laughed, smiled, the various ways their eyes told him everything.

  There were several here he would enjoy not only making their acquaintance but furthering that acquaintance. Like her. The candlelight shimmered on the woman’s bracelet. He’d noticed her the moment she’d entered as a guest of a widow. He saw her glance down at her hands, saw her play with a beaded bracelet on her fine-boned wrist. He titled his head and studied the rest of her. Her arms, clearly seen from the short-sleeved dress she wore, were muscular—not like most women here. Her shoulders sloped to a long neck, her jaw line soft.

  The face was one of beauty. Her skin was lighter than some here, yet darker as well. She was no Anglo-Saxon, of that he knew. Dark brown eyes seemed almost lost beneath thick lashes, and appeared bored. Her hair, silky and dark as night, was pulled tightly back from her unadorned face. Perhaps she was Spanish or Italian. Yet something told him no.

  Beauty called to him, called within him.

  She was beautiful. She took a deep breath, the bodice of her dress never shifted, her breasts plumping against the lace covered edge of the dark garnet gown she wore.

  Though her head was tilted proudly, something about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, seemed vulnerable.

  He kept studying her, ignoring the diaphanous dancers and their sensuous moves. The music thrummed through his blood until it felt as if no one but she was in the banner draped room with him. The thick spicy incense clouded the air against the ornate, woven tapestries.

  He concentrated, felt a whisper of her pain…heartache. Bitterness. Anger. Hatred.

  And love.

  He took a deep breath.

  Love.

  He knew of love, of desire.

  Pushing just a bit harder, he only got a glimpse of a man in bed with a woman before shields slammed against his intrusion.

  He blinked, realized her dark eyes were narrowed on his, anger blushing her cheeks.

  He raised his cup to her.

  She looked away and ignored him.

  Not only was she beautiful, but she had power…

  He smiled, sipped the heady wine from the golden cup. He would learn all there was to know of her.

  Then, he’d possess her.

  Chapter Four

  …She studied the man beneath her lashes. He was handsome, strong aristocratic features, yet there was nothing soft about him. She could feel the power flowing off of him and caressing her. His eyes were a deep aqua color—like the edge of the Ionian Sea she’d seen before sailing across the Mediterranean. His white shirt wasn’t as stiff as those in Europe. The cravat absent, the vest a woven tapestry versus satins or silks she’d become accustomed to seeing on the males in Europe. His hair, unlike his contemporaries was absent. He was bald. She wondered if he shaved his head like many who wore wigs did. But from here, she saw no stubble. Light sand colored whiskers covered his chin in a perfectly trimmed goatee. He sat across the table from her, yet three people down so that he was placed mid table. No one sat at either end. She’d wondered at that, but didn’t care.

  What was she doing here? At this party? She knew. Rosalyn invited her. They’d hooked up in Rome and had spent the last several weeks touring Italy. She deserved it, she knew, but the melancholy that had cloaked her, had grown increasingly heavy. She’d hoped that by coming, she’d alleviate it somewhat. She only accompanied Rosalyn tonight because she was growing increasingly tired of even herself, and her friend had not wanted to attend alone.

  She glanced around the table.

  Most of the guests’ attentions were centered on the veiled dancers. Women enticing men.

  Reyanna almost rolled her eyes at the performance. Not that the women weren’t talented. They were, sexuality all but hissed through the room, teasing, taunting. With each shift of gossamer, each peek of skin, the males in the room seemed to tighten.

  Reyanna strained, closing her eyes and trying to figure out if everyone here was a supernatural, or if it was just her…

  And him.

  Again she looked at him, saw the corner of his mouth, his lower lip fuller than the top, tilt upwards. Was he laughing at her?

  He’d tried to read her. She’d felt him pressing in, knew he’d seen what she’d been remembering. Lorenzo. Her husband. Her mate. Or he had been before she’d found him in bed with another woman and denounced him.

  Sadness and anger pricked her heart, again and again.

  God she was tired.

  Her attention had wavered again. The man across from her narrowed his gaze, again she felt him press against her shields.

  This time she shoved back.

  His half smirk changed into a full grin. Without a doubt he was handsome. He raised his goblet of wine and sipped. When he lowered the cup, the tip of his tongue darted out and licked the nectar from his full bottom lip.

  Reyanna closed her eyes and focused back on the dancers. The tempo had increased, the drums and feet beating a staccato rhythm. The small bells adorning the body jewelry the dancers wore, chimed softly on the heavy air.

  They moved separately, yet as a whole, veils were tossed into the air, more skin was shown, jewels twinkled in the light.

  She breathed deep and caught a whisper of sandalwood and jasmine. Visual enticements as well as scents.

  Or was it just her that smelled it?

  The dancers were wrapping scarves around some of the men, others the women, guest had turned to each other and started to kiss. The air weighed with wants and desires.

  She wanted none of those. Reyanna let her gaze shift and study the other occupants.

  “He’s been watching you most of the evening,” her companion, Rosalyn stated, sipping her own wine. “Perhaps you should give him a bit of
thanks for the evening meal and entertainment.”

  Reyanna turned sharply and looked at the other woman who’d become her friend over the last few months of hell. “What?”

  Rosalyn looked out of the corner of her eyes towards the mysterious man. “His name is Nybras. Everyone wants to come here. His parties are legendary. His power very great in this region. Yet, it’s said he never interacts with his guests other than on a business level.” Her full lips tilted up. “Those looks, my dear, are far from business minded, I’ll wager.”

  A trickle of awareness of him as a male, of herself as a female spiraled down her back. She took a deep breath and watched him as he watched her. Their eyes never wavering from all going on around them. At some point, she felt Rosalyn shift and move away.

  The aqua of his eyes was almost hypnotizing. She wanted to look away, but instead took another drink of the heady wine.

  His long fingers tapped on the tabletop. They stilled, rose and motioned her towards him.

  The music drummed in her head, beat a hot rhythm in her blood. All she saw was his eyes. Moans twined in the air, bodies moved against each other, breathing became heavier around her. She stared and for a moment, saw herself tangled with this man, almost felt the slick hot of heated skin against her own.

  She stood and walked down the table, starting towards him.

  Someone bumped her and she blinked. Her head felt fuzzy. He stood. Long muscular legs encased in flowing pants that gathered at the ankles. Like a sultan.

  Her heart slammed in her chest, a caged bird wanting flight.

  Reyanna turned and walked out of the dining hall and down the darkened corridor. Wall sconces burned shadows along the way.

  Hurry, she needed to hurry.

  “Why?” a deep voice asked just behind her. “You cannot leave.”

  She stopped, turned and faced him, willing her hands and heart to stop trembling. “Why not?”

  That smile teased the edge of his mouth. He walked slowly towards her, a wine goblet still in his hand. “I’ve not given permission for guests to leave.”