Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  Dorian studied Moirae. Her expression and demeanor had changed. Focused determination had been replaced with gaiety and a touch of whimsy. “Have you been drinking?” he asked as the possible reason just occurred to him.

  She nodded and bestowed upon him a radiant smile. “I have. And dancing. For the first time I actually joined that pompous group. You should have seen the shocked, jealous looks of the gossips. I doubt I will be asked to sit with them again.”

  “I see. I’m surprised you made it here at all,” Dorian muttered under his breath, as unfamiliar and possessive emotions swirled within his veins.

  “Me, too! I thought I would never be released to leave. I was dancing so much that my snood fell off. But don’t worry, I brought it so my hair won’t interfere with practice,” she said, dangling the jeweled net that was in her palm.

  Dorian stared at the waves of her chestnut locks daring his fingertips to touch its silky strands. Later, he promised himself. “I’m less worried about your hair than your dress.”

  Moirae’s eyes opened wide and then sparkled with laughter. A fission of anger ripped through Dorian. Until now, he had never seen her this lighthearted. He had always known she would be irresistible with a buoyant spirit, but he had planned to be the reason behind the sheer happiness beaming from her face.

  “I’ll just take this off.” She giggled and started unbuttoning the dark blue corset to reveal the off-the-shoulder particolored kirtle beneath.

  The dress was made of two patterns of brocade. One half was of sky blue patterned with small fleur-de-lis and the other was of rich navy velvet. The sleeves were long and tight fitting, each matching their half of the dress. The expensive, modern ensemble was breathtaking on her and further proof that she was not a mere cousin to a laird from a small, unimportant clan.

  To fight in a dress was foolish, but Dorian needed the activity to calm the desire raging through him. Otherwise it would not be a seduction but an uninspired taking of the flesh he would be performing. “Maybe it is well you wore a gown,” he stated coolly. “You might not always be suitably dressed when you meet your foe.”

  Moirae’s eyes sprang open with surprise, but she did not argue and followed him across the hall to the training room. She unsheathed the broadsword from its scabbard and turned toward him, her soft and jovial features now hard and resolute.

  Not waiting until he was ready, she bounded forward aiming down to make him think she was going to strike in one area while attacking another. Dorian quickly righted his katana and deflected the tip before it could glance upon his shoulder. “Eager, are you?”

  Moirae shook her head, oblivious to her long mane flying about her. “I am merely at a disadvantage in this garment and intend to use all means available to distract you.”

  Dorian circled the tip of her defending blade, but no longer did it disorient her or make her loosen her grip. “Remember, an enemy will use more than just his weaponry skills to gain an edge.”

  “I’m ready,” she replied and Dorian decided it was time to remind her just who was the master.

  He lunged, striking his katana across the weak inside line of her blade and drove his sword straight downward in an attempt to snap her wrist and disarm her. But her grip held, once again proving that her true strength remained unknown to him. Then, with implausible speed, she took her blade and landed it along his own. The threatening pressure was so unexpected and the force of the impact was so significant, it almost worked.

  Determined not to underestimate her inhuman strength again, he extended his arm to its full length, using his height and size to prevent her from returning the thrust. Then he moved the tip of his blade around her bell guard in a tight circle, trapping her blade before swinging it away.

  “Damn,” Moirae cursed in English.

  Before she could retake her weapon, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. The joyful fire that had been shining in her eyes was now an inferno. “The Highlands are not your home and whoever your ‘cousin’ is, he is not your family.”

  “I am no more a Highlander than you are,” Moirae spat back, wrenching free to retake her sword. This time she stood still, eyeing him, letting him take the initiative.

  That evening she had come to Kilnhurst happier than she had been since childhood. She had renewed hope and confidence in herself as a woman. The men at the party had flocked to her, and the women, who had once pitied her, could only look on with envy. There had not been a man present she couldn’t have conquered, but Moirae had not wanted any of them. Ignorant and self-serving, they thought about nothing except their next meal and their perpetually aroused loins. She wanted someone who made her heart race and her body ache with need.

  Tonight, there was to be no training, no fighting, no swords. Just Dorian and his promise. Only he had failed to understand what she was offering.

  Only a fool could have mistaken what she wanted with her dress and her hair. She had pasted on her most enticing smile, which she knew from experience could warm even the coldest of hearts, and yet Dorian had been unaffected. He was not a man. He was something cold, hard, and without passion or physical desires.

  Unwilling to wait any longer for him to make a move, Moirae lunged. “You may look like the giants that live in these mountains, even talk like them, but you are certainly not one of them,” she huffed. “The only Gaelic thing about you is your name—Doireann, which you mispronounce, making me doubt it is even your real name.”

  Dorian stepped back from shock. The accidental accuracy of Moirae’s comment struck Dorian off guard. He studied the dissipating rise and fall of her chest, trying to decide what he should or should not reveal about himself. Since he first came to these mountains, no one had ever guessed he was not a Highlander. His physique, fighting skills, and ability to speak flawless Gaelic were too much evidence otherwise. But he had not fooled Moirae any more than she had him.

  Moving quickly to the right, he swung his blade in an arc until it connected with hers underneath, but again she held on. “You are correct. My birth name is actually Dorus,” he answered, twisting around to try the same move but in the other direction. “I later changed it to Dorian, thinking it more fitting to who I am now.”

  Moirae reacted quickly to his change in strategy and aimed her broadsword upward, deflecting the force of his katana’s impact. “If one lived long enough, I could see the desire to change their name,” she mused through gritted teeth, “but you are not yet of an age to be tired of anything. Losing interest in a place or a type of food or even another person is commonplace enough, but it takes years to become bored of one’s name.”

  Dorian blinked. He knew Moirae was not as young as she looked, but he’d seen enough women to know she could be no more than a handful of years past the age of twenty. And yet her understanding of people was far greater than that of a spawn who had lived an extended life.

  Moirae spun around, and the frustration that once had filled her was being slowly replaced with another emotion—the enjoyment of an honest challenge. “Where are you really from?”

  “Greece,” Dorian answered truthfully, relieved to see by her expression that she had never heard of his home. “It is a mountainous land that at its end breaks into islands, which spread out into three seas.” Spinning on his left foot, he swung his tip toward her weak side. She had not been prepared for the unorthodox move, but her reflexes enabled her to avert his attack. “And where are you from, Lady Destiny ?”

  “I’m unsure,” Moirae answered, matching his movements so that they were slowly going around in a circle, waiting for the other to make their move. “My mother and grandmother moved around a lot when I was young.”

  “And your father?”

  “Died when I was an infant. Supposedly the sea took him,” Moirae said acerbically, moving just in time to avoid his downward thrust.

  “You sound doubtful.”

  Moirae regretted letting him hear her sarcasm. How could she explain t
hat she did not know who she was. That one night, her life, both past and future, changed in an instant as her grandmother whispered her last words.

  Moirae changed the topic to one she hoped would be just as unsettling. “Have you ever been in love?”

  Dorian stood upright in surprise. Taking advantage of the mistake, Moirae lunged with more deftness and speed than he thought possible given the heavy garment she was wearing. He darted to the left, barely missing the point of her sword, which was not nearly as sharp as the katana, but dangerous nonetheless. It would take several dedicated years before Moirae would have the skill set to match his own, even at her accelerated learning rate, but the woman was clever, and her size falsely represented her strength. He would have to pay more attention.

  He gave a quick bob with his chin, acknowledging the cunning maneuver, and then resumed a defensive position. “Many times, my lady. Have you?”

  Moirae smiled enigmatically. “Once.”

  “You are too young to have ever been truly in love,” Dorian replied, rejecting the idea that her heart already belonged to someone.

  “I will admit that my youth played heavily into my feelings,” Moirae conceded.

  “Then what happened? Why are you not married?”

  Moirae glided left, and coming off a high arc, she attempted to push his blade aside. “We saw life differently.”

  Ahhhh, Dorian thought to himself, the fool had not understood her. But then, who besides someone like him, could? “This man, it sounds as if he didn’t love you in return.”

  Moirae’s jaw snapped shut. The truth stung. She pretended to disengage his halfhearted thrust and swung around to attack the opening he had left by stepping in close in an effort to remove the advantage his height gave him. Instead, he surprised her by looping his arm around her waist to bring her even closer.

  “You give your heart too easily, I think,” he murmured with barely checked passion.

  Moirae’s eyes sprang upward to meet the superheated gleam of his gaze, and a slow, powerful wave of lust washed over her. Feeling powerless, she tried to pull free. “That is where you are wrong.”

  Dorian held tight. “I think you have given it to me.”

  Her green eyes clawed him like talons. “My heart is my own.”

  His left hand plunged into her hair, keeping her head near his. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered.

  Moirae swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly held on to his gaze. “I assure you that my heart is safe. I may desire you physically, but that is all.”

  Dorian clasped both swords in his right hand, and bringing them out from between them, he released the handles. The resulting clatter filled the room, but he ignored it. “And I desire you, Moirae. More than I have desired a woman in a long, long time. But understand this, if I have you, make no claims upon me and weep no tears, for we will share nothing more. Promise me.”

  He heard her make a small hungry sound deep in her throat, and she pressed her body against his. “Promise me,” he repeated with barely controlled restraint.

  “I promise,” she whispered, and upon hearing the words, Dorian swooped down and hungrily captured her mouth, his tongue delving deep inside, fervently tangling with hers.

  He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, and as her mouth parted under the gentle pressure, he retraced the path of his thumb with his tongue. His hands moved of their own accord, lightly over her shoulders, following the smooth curve of her back, stroking, caressing. The innocent playful tip of her tongue brought him back, and Dorian realized the passion growing between them was truly new to her. Tonight, he would guide her into a world few ever experienced, for the art of making love required exquisite restraint and consummate finesse. And in return she would take him to a hallowed realm where there were no words, only ecstasy and pure pleasure. A realm he had almost forgotten existed.

  Pulling her tightly to him, he pressed his hips firmly against hers. She let go a soft moan as he let his need for her be known. “Kiss me,” he demanded hoarsely.

  Immediately Moirae obliged, teasing his mouth with her lips, awakening every dormant nerve in his body. He groaned, lost in the innocent beauty of her touch, forgetting his promise to make tonight about her. His Lady Destiny had arrived. Their meeting, their inevitable mating, had been fated. Nothing could touch them, neither her past nor his future, only the awareness of the present that enclosed them.

  Moirae closed her eyes as his lips kissed her lightly, feathering over the arch of her neck to the soft spot behind her ear. She craved to savor the moment, to draw it out. How long had it been since someone had kissed her like this? Too long. Perhaps never. For she would remember this burning deep inside, this overwhelming desire to lay with a man and have him know her intimately. It was tempting to throw him on the floor, strip off her gown, and have her way with him there and then. But her strength had deserted her.

  As if he could read her mind, Dorian swung her up into his heavily muscled arms. She couldn’t stop herself from stroking his chest through the thin material of his shirt as he carried her down the hall and into his bedchambers.

  Placing her back on her feet, he turned and closed the door. A small fire had been lit, causing shadows to sprinkle the walls of the cavernous room. It was the first time she had been in his private chambers, and the dark setting reflected his preference for fine furniture and decorations that obviously came from another land. Tapestries had been hung high, depicting both familiar and foreign landscapes and people.

  Moirae turned to ask about one when she was suddenly lifted off her feet. Seconds later, she was crushed into soft bedding as Dorian settled on top of her. Her mind, ready to argue, calmed as his mouth reclaimed her lips, numbing her thoughts to all but him once again.

  Then his kisses moved from her lips and down her neck as the fingers of his free hand unfastened the tie at the back of her gown. He slowly slid the garment down her shoulders, letting his lips follow, leaving a trail of fiery hot kisses along her collarbone at the edge of her chemise, which he soon discarded.

  Dorian sat up to look at her as the firelight cast a warm glow over her skin. He was awestruck by her beauty. He had lived nearly two millennia and yet, in all those years, never had any woman so captivated him mentally or physically. He could pretend that her pull was due to prolonged abstinence, but it would be a lie. He was in desire’s full grip, and the need to possess Moirae, have her cry out his name, was unlike any he had ever known.

  Dorian stood and quickly threw off the remainder of his clothing, enjoying how her emerald eyes caressed his body, her desire becoming evident when she glanced at his straining manhood. He lowered himself slowly on top of her, until he covered her body with his own. His eyes never left hers as he leaned toward her, cradled her face in his strong hands, and gently brushed his lips against her mouth.

  Moirae felt her body once again begin to burn with need. She wanted to be touched, kissed, everywhere, when Dorian’s mouth made its way from her lips down her throat to the valley between her breasts. She gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth and licked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, teasing it until she cried out with want of him.

  When she arched upward, Dorian shuddered in response. He had planned to move slowly, but her impassioned cry caused all thoughts of restraint to vanish and he began to suckle. Using his thumb, he coaxed her other nipple into responding. When it was hard and straining, he shifted and took it into his mouth, relishing how Moirae writhed beneath him. Her response was uninhibited, full of honest passion that stemmed from being alive. Sexual tension seized his insides. His hand lowered, parting her thighs, until he could lace his fingers through the soft thatch of hair between her legs.

  The unexpected stimulus was almost too much, and Moirae twisted and moaned while her hands clung to his shoulders. She arched her hips upward, begging for more. “Dorian, please,” she whispered.

  He complied with her demand, closing his fingers around her heated flesh, letting a single fi
nger trail along the rim of her wet core before sliding into the liquid warmth. Blood pounded in her veins and she began to shake as his fingers lightly brushed her knowingly, probing her with exquisite care. He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, lightly, slowly, deeply, finding all her secret, hidden places and making them come alive with need.

  He dove deeper, and Moirae felt herself reaching another peak. “Oh, God,” she wept, lifting herself against his hand, convulsing as her body took over. Dorian smiled victoriously. The satisfaction he was drawing from her own pleasure was addictive. She was so incredibly hot and wet, and it was because of him. She belonged only to him.

  Unable to wait any longer, he settled himself between her thighs, lifted her hips, and drove forward, filling her completely with one long, powerful stroke. Instinctively, she met his thrust. He began to move, slowly at first, and then with growing need and force, they began to move in a deliberate rhythm.

  When he felt her body begin to peak and go into hard, tight convulsions, his arms clenched around her and he came into her with deep fierce thrusts that carried her right over the edge. Then, simultaneously, his own passion raged beyond his control. An obliterating need unlike anything he had ever experienced enveloped him. Every muscle in his body tightened almost to the point of pain. The sounds he emitted were unintelligible, but every sense, every thought was tangled in the web of pleasure she had spun over him. And then it began. The release welled up from the base of his spine, gathering under Moirae’s innocent cries until, with a great shudder, he came, so violently he was left acutely shocked . . . gasping like a man coming up from near drowning.

  Delirious from pleasure, Moirae wrapped her arms around Dorian as he buried his face in her hair and let go a savage cry as his body shuddered uncontrollably.