by Eve Langlais
He moved back to position himself at her entrance, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly along her crease and against her still–throbbing clit a few times before abruptly thrusting into her passage all the way to the hilt. Miriel cried out and arched up against his groin as a sharp jolt of pain shot up her spine, but then she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and reached up with trembling arms to pull him down flush onto her body.
Kirion paused for a moment, his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against her own, allowing her to adjust to the considerable girth stretching her virgin passage. His fingers had loosened her somewhat, but she was still incredibly tight. Only when her trembling slowed and she began to squirm a little beneath him did he open his eyes and begin to thrust his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.
Miriel’s fingers clutched at the robes covering his back as the king’s deep, powerful thrusts rubbed against sensitive places inside of her that she never knew she had, stoking the flames of her pleasure once again. She could almost feel his eyes touching her as he watched her face intently without ever once losing his rhythm.
She struggled to hold his gaze, wanting to see the moment of his climax, to maybe see him lose a little of that powerful, kingly demeanor and know it was she that had made him lose it. As if reading her thoughts, Kirion smiled and lowered his head to kiss her breathless, his hips beginning to increase their speed until he had once again stroked her into climax. It wasn’t until he gave one final, heavy thrust and a flood of warmth coated her passage that Miriel realized she had closed her eyes as she came, opening them in enough time to see Kirion’s face contort for a few beats in ecstasy.
His face in passion was as beautiful as his smile.
Chapter Seven
It was perhaps lucky that this had occurred within the human realm. Miriel imagined that they would have been half–frozen by now if Kirion had dared taken her while lying among the drifts that currently surrounded the Lithviri palace. As it were, the flurries of snow the wind blew across their partially exposed bodies as they lay intertwined on top of her cloak felt as gentle and pleasant as a cool breeze instead of painfully bone–chilling. She had often lamented her shadowy state while exploring the human realm, but after tonight, she would never complain again.
“Can you tell me,” Kirion said, breaking the comfortable silence of the sated that had fallen between them, “how a human child ended up as the Lithviri princess?”
Miriel lifted her head from his chest to look up at him. She knew this question would come and had prepared herself for it.
“The king found me wandering around the Inbetween when I was five,” she replied, “hungry, thirsty and scared in a place that might as well have been on a different planet.”
One blond eyebrow arched higher. “The Inbetween? How in the name of the High Powers were you able to enter without the help of a Sidhe?”
“I honesty do not know. Father believes that I stumbled upon an old doorway that had been forgotten. All I know is that one moment I was running through the woods behind my house, and then between one blink and the next, I was suddenly running across a field of wildflowers beneath a gray sky.”
Kirion absently stroked her hair. “Young as you were, were you unable to name your home?”
Miriel shook her head. “Had he taken me back into the human realm through a doorway of his own making, it would have been impossible to find my home again no matter how long we searched.” She gestured to the decorations all around them. “It is the same reason why I knew the meaning behind all of this. This society, this era of human history is very close to the one where I was born.”
His hand stilled. “A human child of the future…”
“Yes, though we did not discover this until Father began to take me into the human realm after a couple of decades of living within the elven realm, and I realized it was the human realm as it had been several thousand years in the past. Thus, there was no doorway besides the one that had initially brought me across time and space that could send me home, and it was never found. The Rift we crossed on this night to come here may very well be the same one, but it does not matter. The family I left behind was an abusive one, and I have no desire to reclaim my humanity.”
“Then why come here at all?”
Miriel smiled sheepishly. “I suppose for sentimental reasons. The season of Christmas and all the spectacle that surrounds it was something I loved as a child. It was the one bright spot within so many dark memories.”
Kirion shook his head. “I find it remarkable that Arandur and Isilya have managed to keep the secret of your human origins for so long.”
“Only they and Elion know the truth. Father performed the transmutation on my body, himself.”
“He is an exceptional mage,” Kirion agreed. “I must be certain to thank him thoroughly for the extraordinary gift he has provided me.”
Miriel wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Gift?”
He leaned down and kissed her softly on the nose. “My new bride.”
“You–are that certain that you want me?” Miriel asked, suddenly feeling bashful.
“Did I not just prove to you that I was?” he said, his hand trailing down her back to squeeze her bottom playfully.
Rather than feel embarrassed, his actions brought a smile to her face. “I must warn you that my mother is quite content in having me unwed and living in the palace indefinitely.”
Kirion smiled and hugged her more tightly against his chest. “Then perhaps it is fortunate that we have the whole of winter and spring to change her mind.”
–
About the Author
Cristina Rayne is the author of the Claimed by the Elven King series. Download Part One of the first serial for free at select online retailers. For more information, visit her website. or sign up to receive her email reader newsletter.
Shadows Beneath the Falling Snow © Copyright 2014 Cristina Rayne
Home for the Howlidays
A Montana Wolves novella
Chloe Cole
Nicklaus Maslov left Stone Creek, Montana, in his rear–view mirror three years ago and never planned to go back. His pack’s ways are antiquated, and the girl he loves will never be his. But when his father, the pack’s alpha, sends him an urgent message, he can’t deny the protective instinct drawing him back to his hometown, or the lure of the one that got away…
Petra Stevens has had her heart stomped on once and vows it will never happen again. When her former lover and packmate returns to Stone Creek, all the rage and hurt she felt when he’d left comes bubbling to the surface…along with other feelings she can’t control. If she can just avoid him while he’s in town, things will be fine.
But fate has other plans.
Chapter One
“Son of a bitch.”
Nicklaus yanked his parka more tightly around his shoulders and grimaced as another wet glob of snow slid down the inside of his boot. He didn’t miss this part of Montana. Even with his body temperature at a solid three degrees hotter than a normal human, winters here were still as cold as a motherfucker.
He stomped through the three feet of white powder that led up the pathway to his new digs, grumbling under his breath the whole way. If only his brother could see him now. Ivan would’ve laughed his ass off and told him that living in Aruba had made him soft. Maybe it had, but the knowledge didn’t warm him up in the least.
In fact, so far, being back in his hometown was everything he’d imagined it would be when he’d left three years before.
Not good.
Memories crowded in on him like a murder of angry crows, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to fight them off.
“As you can see, the place needs some love. It’s been a while since a family lived here, so it’s a bit rough around the edges. Maybe it’s just me, but I like it that way.” The petite, blond real estate agent tossed a smile over her shoulder that suggested the dilapidated cabin wasn’t the only thing that was looking a little roug
h and to her liking.
He raked a hand over his stubbled chin and squashed down his annoyance. It wasn’t her fault the only place for short–term rent in a twenty–mile radius was this shit–hole. Besides, he didn’t need much. A pot to piss in, a frying pan, some food, and a burner to cook it on would about do it.
And heat. Definitely some heat.
She keyed open the front door and they both stomped their feet to get some of the slush off before she led him into the sparse, dated kitchen.
“I picked up the things you’d asked for and plugged in the fridge for you, so you should be all set. Coffee is in there.” She pointed a manicured fingertip toward a scuffed pair of maple cabinets before holding out her other hand. “And here are the keys. Back and front door share the same locking mechanism, and the second key is for the shed out back. There’s a snow blower in there if you need it, as well as some shovels and such.”
He set down his duffel bag and took the keys from her, forcing a polite smile. All he wanted was to lay his head down and catch ten winks. It had been a long flight, and he hadn’t been able to stop his brain chatter for a second of it.
“I know you said it’s been a while since you’ve been back, and there are a few newer places to eat that have opened up. Moe’s Grill on the corner of Main and Barstow is pretty good if you like ribs and the like, and then a tiny cubbyhole of a place called Caroline’s over on Market Street has fabulous stews and soup, perfect for a winter meal.” She gave him a lingering smile and patted her helmet of hair. “If you need someone to help you reacquaint yourself with the area, you have my card.”
She held his gaze a little too long and he swallowed a sigh. What was it about him that tight–ass, uppity women seemed to flock his way? So not his type, but that didn’t stop them. Maybe it was the scruffy beard that made him look dangerous or something.
He made a mental note to shave when he got the chance, because the less attention he got, the better. In fact, if he could get in and out of town before Christmas without running into anyone he knew besides the man he’d come to see, he’d be happier than a little pig in a brick house.
“I appreciate the offer, Marjorie.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, which felt bony even through the layers of her down parka, and led her toward the door. “And thanks for finding this place on such short notice. I know it was tough on you.”
She waved him off like it was nothing as he swung the door open. “Any time. Call if you need anything…at all,” she said, this time adding a wink to make sure he got her drift.
“Will do.” Not really.
“Also, supposed to be some weather later tonight, so be careful.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped out into the Montana open–air freezer.
He watched her go, blowing out a sigh of relief. One hurdle clear. Only ten more to go.
Hell, that was an understatement. Just dealing with whatever pack business his father had summoned him for was going to count for a dozen.
Maybe after his nap he’d take a run out to town and find one of those new restaurants. A bowl of piping hot stew would hit the spot right now and give him one last reprieve before tomorrow’s meeting.
He cranked up the thermostat and climbed onto the narrow bed that sat in the far corner of the single room cabin. He hadn’t closed his eyes for a second when the memories came crashing down on him again.
Watching as his twin’s casket was lowered into the ground.
The vicious fight with his father.
And Petra. Always Petra.
***
“I’ll take a quart of the Italian Wedding to go.”
Petra Stevens stood behind the bar and swiped a hand over her forehead, taking a quick peek at the clock. More than an hour before closing time and her feet were already killing her. “Sure thing, Mrs. Davis. About five minutes. You want some bread to go with that?”
“Oh, yes. Frank would be so upset if I brought the soup home without it.” The old woman’s nearly toothless grin made Petra want to grin back in spite of her aching tootsies, and she didn’t fight the urge.
“I’ll put some extra in the bag, then.”
Mrs. Davis settled onto one of the bar stools and Petra shuffled into the kitchen.
“Large Italian Wedding to go.”
Her best friend and business partner, Lita, stood in front of the industrial stove and gave her a cheery thumbs up. “You got it, kiddo.”
Kiddo?
“What’s got you so frigging chipper? It’s going to snow again tonight and then freezing rain all day tomorrow. Business is going to be shit, and you’re back here grinning like a loon.”
They’d had three good days in a row, which was a miracle, but so far, winter was killing them and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. If they’d had any staff besides the two of them and Rosie, their part–timer, they’d be looking at seasonal layoffs.
Apparently, whatever had Lita in such good spirits was bigger than that.
“He called me,” she said, ladling some soup into a pan, a grin stretching out over her gamine face. “Chad. The guy I went out with twice last week? He’s going to pick me up at closing and then we’re going back to his place for hot chocolate and a movie.”
“That’s great. I know you said he seems really nice.” Petra pasted on a smile in return and hoped it looked genuine.
She was happy for her friend. Truly. But Lita was infamous for falling madly, wildly in love and then getting her heart spectacularly broken, to the point that she could barely function.
And then she found a new guy and did it all over again.
While part of Petra admired the tenacity, another part couldn’t help but wonder if her friend had a screw loose. One heartbreak was more than enough for a lifetime. The idea of putting herself out there, again and again, for a guy to obliterate her emotionally seemed like an exercise in masochism.
“Stop making that face,” Lita called over her shoulder as she stirred the heating soup with a wooden spoon.
“You’re not even looking at me anymore,” Petra muttered.
“I don’t need to. I bet a million bucks you’re rocking that pinched, disapproving expression. But guess what?” Her friend met her gaze then, and brandished her spoon in warning. “I don’t give a shit. You know why?” She didn’t wait for Petra’s answer. “Because I deserve to be loved, in love, and happy. And so do you.”
Petra barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lita was forever reading self–help books on dating and quoting them at whoever would listen. After a while, it got irritating, but being that Lita was also really funny, generous to a fault, and the kind of friend who would not only help you hide the bodies, but also torch or dismember them if need be, cutting her loose wasn’t an option.
Still, enough was enough.
“If you promise I won’t have to come over and force–feed you for a week if it doesn’t work out this time, I’ll stay out of your love life. But then you have to stay out of mine.” Petra held her hand out for the soup container Lita was putting a top on, hoping to hurry the process along so she could get out of the kitchen before her friend switched into full–blown lecture mode.
“I would be very amenable to that. Except you don’t have a love life for me to stay out of. So…” Lita shrugged and handed Petra the soup, the playfulness fading from her face. “Seriously, though. Don’t you think three years is long enough, sweetie? I know he hurt you, but it’s long past time to get back on the horse.”
Petra ignored the stab of pain that came with the words and stuffed the container and a mini–loaf of bread into a white bag before spinning on her heels and heading toward the swinging door. “I don’t need a horse. I can walk on my own two feet, thanks. I’ve got to get back to work.”
She pushed through the door and stepped back behind the bar, sucking in a steadying breath. Lita was right about one thing. It had been three years, and that was far too long to allow a man to hurt her. But the last thing she needed was another one to swoo
p in and take up the mantle. What Lita didn’t know was that Petra wasn’t like everyone else she knew, and her kind didn’t love like humans.
Werewolves loved deep and forever and to the point of pain, at times. Breakups just didn’t happen. The only thing that separated true mates was death.
Ergo, Klaus wasn’t your true mate, or he wouldn’t have left you.
Which meant there was someone else out there she could love more than Klaus who was her true mate. And if that was the case? She never wanted to meet him.
Even now, just thinking about her ex made everything inside her hurt. She pushed back the sense of foreboding that slid over her.
“All set, dear?” Mrs. Davis asked, eying Petra expectantly from her perch on the other side of the bar.
Petra nodded, cheeks growing warm. She’d just been standing there holding the soup like an idiot. “Yes, sorry. Let me ring you up.”
She set the bag on the bar between them and took care of her customer, hoping against hope she wasn’t the last of the night. A quick glance out the window cut that thought short and she winced. They still had more than an hour to go before closing but the sky had already gone pitch dark, the rolling clouds eclipsing the moon.
“I’d better get home before it starts coming down.” The little bell on the door jingled as Mrs. Davis scurried out, and Petra shoved aside a rising sense of panic.
An empty bar would be the kiss of death for her psyche tonight. Keeping busy was the only way to stay sane when Klaus was at the forefront of her mind like this.
Her favorite days were the ones where she was running from dawn until dusk. Summertime was best. The restaurant was hopping and by the time she crawled into bed at night, she was too tired to dream. Too exhausted to remember, or miss it at all. The way he smelled. The way he tasted. The way his hands–