Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Michele Bardsley

  He barely breathed as she slowly walked around him. He knew what she saw on his shoulder blades. Jagged, angry scars where his wings once were. Gooseflesh rose on his skin when her cool fingertips traced over them. No gasp came from her lips nor did she say how sorry she was and he loved her more for it. Cullen closed his eyes when she gently dropped kisses along their ridges. There was no rush to her affection. Instead, she took her time so that he understood how much she cared.

  “Treasa,” he half whispered, half groaned.

  Trailing her fingers softly over his shoulder, she came around, eyes rising to his, her voice as gentle as her touch. “I sense the magic in your scars. I know you hide what’s left.” She cupped his cheek. “Show me.”

  There was no stopping his brogue. “Nay, lass, ye dinnae need to see—”

  Treasa put a finger to his lips, stopping him mid-sentence and shook her head. “You’re right, I don’t need to see them. I want to. I want to see you as you really are, not what you show the world.”

  Their eyes held. Though probably best to leave it alone, he needed to know her reasons. “Why?”

  Her pained eyes again searched his until she finally said, “Because I never stopped loving you, Cullen Stewart. Not once.” She nodded at an area over his left-hand shoulder. “See?”

  His eyes turned to where she pointed and he inhaled sharply. A slender, perfectly shaped pine tree twinkled with greenish blue lights. That tree had been their everything. The place they finally found one another not only emotionally but physically. Long repressed feelings pushed to the surface, taking his wings with them.

  For they had laid together for the first time beneath that tree.

  Chapter Eight

  TREASA SWIFTLY WIPED away the tear that rolled down her cheek as she watched Cullen gaze at the Christmas tree. Head slightly bent, this was the first time he had shown such vulnerability. Even in his despair, he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Her throat closed as she looked at his clipped white wings. Where before they had been as massive and sweeping as the Angel of Death’s, now they barely reached two feet beyond his broad shoulders.

  She wanted to run a dagger across his sister’s throat for doing this to him.

  Cullen stared at the tree another long moment, its light reflecting on his face before his eyes swung her way. When they did, she was prepared and cracked a half grin. “Ya know, I would’ve thought those wings of yours would be black now considering you’re a warlock and all.”

  “It didn’t quite work out like that,” he said. But it seemed her method of approach worked because he seemed far less tense.

  Now to be practical and distracting to smooth over how obvious she might seem. “Apparently not. But look at the bright side.” Treasa did what she had wanted to do since taking off his shirt. She ran her fingers down his washboard abs and eyed his muscular physique with appreciation. “Now they don’t distract from all of this.”

  Cullen caught her wrist and shook his head. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Try to distract me from how upset you really are.” His eyes met hers. “You forget how well I know you.”

  “You knew me a long time ago. Not now.”

  His thumb brushed her face as another telling, unwelcome tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re every inch the woman I knew and more. At least now you’ll cry in front of me.”

  “I’m not crying,” she retaliated and pulled away.

  “Nay.” He shook his head and yanked her against him. “We’re way past being apart from each other.”

  Treasa put a hand against his hard chest. “I disagree.”

  “Maybe your mind does but not your body.” A slow smile curled up the corner of his lips. He knew he was getting his way. “So says the tremble that just ran through you.”

  “You didn’t feel a tremble,” she argued.

  “Yeah, I did.” His hand skimmed the side of her waist and desire screamed through her. “It always starts here, fans out then ends with just a wee tremble of your lower lip.”

  All too aware of his bare flesh, she curled her fingers into the light smattering of hair on his chest and shook her head. “I’m long past trembling lips, Cullen.”

  “Are you then?” He never lost his all-knowing expression as he brushed an adventurous finger over her cleavage, pulling a shiver from her and yes a definite lower lip tremble.

  “Happy now?” she managed, voice breathy.

  “I could be happier.” He offered the sexy pout that used to get her to do anything he wanted. “Much, much happier.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning.

  “Here? Now?” she said. “With everything that’s going on?”

  “Especially because of everything going on,” he murmured. “Who knows how much time we have left?”

  “You bounce back well from unveiling your clipped wings,” she said, cursing her loose tongue. She had no desire to upset him.

  Yet some things about Cullen never changed. While he might have shown her stuff he would rather keep hidden, he was not one to overly reflect. Nor was he one to shy away from what he wanted.

  And right now that was her.

  But she knew—had always known—that he never stopped wanting her any more than she had him. This was a second chance. Here. Now. A place made of memories and new beginnings. Or perhaps even a place of ultimate endings.

  Either way, this was a gift.

  So when he tilted up her chin, she allowed his kiss. Okay, maybe allowed was a stretch. More like she dove head first, sunk into, devoured, and kissed him with as much vigor, hunger and lust as he did her. The long years since they felt this translated into desperation. Fighting to get closer, they touched, stroked and grasped.

  Only when she felt rough wool, did she pull back, panting as her eyes raked down him. “Holy heck, you’re wearing your plaid. When did you put that on?”

  “When you weren’t looking.” He winked and grinned. “For old time’s sake, aye, lass?”

  She forgot how hot he looked in the Stewart tartan. “Works for me,” she got out moments before he hiked up her skirts and lifted her. And just like old times, she wrapped her legs around him.

  Kissing the whole way, Cullen walked until he lowered her. As he had the first time they lay together, he whipped off his plaid and spread it beneath their Christmas tree. Treasa released a soft yelp when he lifted her then laid her down. With a flick of his wrist, her dress was gone. His gaze ate her alive before he was over her. As it did so long ago, snow billowed around them as he pressed her hands to the ground. Their lips crashed together as they came home. What else to call it but that?

  Home.

  They were back. Here. Together. Where they were always meant to be.

  “Cullen,” she moaned as his lips trailed down her neck and he palmed then laved his tongue over her breasts. When he locked onto a sensitive nipple, she arched in pleasure.

  “I’ve got ye, lass,” he whispered, hands locked on her squirming hips as he made his way to the other breast. If her Highlander was good at anything, it was leaving nothing unattended. Yet this time was different. Better. More intense. She felt it in his body. In hers. They were desperate to reclaim what was lost to them.

  So instead of letting him work his way down between her legs like he had before taking her virginity, she grabbed his hair. “We’re not teenagers anymore and I don’t wanna wait another second.”

  Their eyes held for a split second. Gone was tender. Gone was careful. They came together so violently that the plaid beneath her skidded down to her lower back and magically temperate snow cushioned her skin. It felt more like a moist down comforter.

  He pressed one hand above her head and the other by her side as his lips found hers. Fingers intertwined, their kisses became both frantic and loving all at once. The glow of the tree’s bluish green lights flickered down on them when he pulled back and stared into her eyes.

  What they did now was made up of t
he past and present. The need to see as they took. The need to watch the other’s eyes as she spread her legs and welcomed him into her body. Not slow and easy like before but a sharp thrust that she was ready for. One that made her arch and gasp. A gasp he breathed in as his lips hovered against hers. Not kissing. Not quite.

  “I love you,” he whispered before he thrust again.

  Another gasp broke from her chest and she had no chance to respond before he started moving. Then she tore in and out of awareness as pleasure washed over her. The sound of his harsh breathing mingled with hers. Grunts, groans, soft sighs. The incomparable feeling of their sweat-slicked bodies twisting together.

  Legs wrapped around Cullen’s waist, she met his pace. Fast and furious, their tongues flicked and tasted, heat simmering and steaming between them as they moved. Searched. Sought. Rediscovered.

  Loved.

  The faster they moved, the closer they got, the louder her cries, and his groans became. They raced toward a pinnacle so great it caused their hearts to slam and her throat to thicken. Powerful, poignant, this moment was far better than any before.

  When he slowed and his eyes again met hers, she nearly came undone. Somehow everything they had lost was right there in his tender gaze. He had been returned to her. She had been returned to him. Slow, so excruciatingly slow, he thrust. His gaze went to her lips when they fell apart. Her eyes slid shut and she simply felt him.

  All of him.

  Inside and out.

  “Look at me, lass,” he whispered. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  So she did.

  There was nothing but love in his eyes. Not anger, bitterness, regret, none of it. All the walls they had built were gone. Now it was just the two of them. A place made of joy and desire. A place where the past was the past and all that mattered was the future.

  Cullen sat back on his heels, kneeling as she straddled him. She brushed her hands over the silky texture of his feathered wings and he trembled. When they moved this time, it was just as passionate but with something far deeper and truer. Something that could never, ever be taken from them. Their thrusts were deep and close, their bodies not sliding but locked together tightly, determined to never let the other go.

  He squeezed her backside and she buried her face against his neck. Sensation built. High. Higher. Then pure rapture. Climax tore through her so quickly and with such vengeance that she cried out and dug her nails into the skin by the heart of his wings. As if he had been waiting for it, Cullen released a low roar and locked up against her, finding his own release. His back muscles flexed as though he tried to close his wings around her.

  They held each other like that for a long time. Lost. Found.

  Together.

  When he at last laid her down it was on his plaid with her tucked against his side. They stared up into the snow covered branches of the dimly lit tree. He stroked her hair and said nothing for several minutes. Eventually, he murmured with a smile in his voice, “Lighting this tree was how I proved to you I was a wizard.”

  “It was.” She smiled as their hands entwined on his chest. “And that bright glow on top was how I proved to you I was a witch.”

  “Aye.” He chuckled. “Interesting how lighting a tree at Christmastide eventually became a custom.”

  “It supposedly originated in upper-class eighteenth century Germany if you can believe it,” she said. “Candles then. Total fire hazard.”

  “Germany? Interesting. Speaking of fire hazards. What do you suppose came of our mad rush to get here?” Cullen steepled his fingers against hers. “Think we burned down the last building we were in with our fireballs?”

  She grinned against his chest. “You know we didn’t, warlock. Neither of our yuletide ghosts would’ve allowed it.”

  “Right, because one way or another they’re all about Christmas.”

  “And kids finding happiness, believe it or not.”

  “Actually, I do,” he murmured. “They’ve proven themselves today.”

  “Have they ever.”

  A comfortable silence stretched as they held hands and enjoyed the small glen from their past. Even the full moon swathed by just enough cloud cover that it could still snow was exactly how it had been. When she finally spoke, she meant every last word.

  “I don’t ever want to be separated again.” Treasa perched up on her elbow and told him what she should have centuries ago, even if it broke her heart. “Unless you can get back your wings.” She ran her fingertip along his jaw. “You always had such a good heart and protective nature. If you can put that to good use and help others, I’m not going to hold you back.” Brogue time so that he knew she meant it. “Do ye ken?”

  “I understand.” He dropped a kiss on her fingertip, his eyes never more serious. “But know this. I gave you up once. I won’t do it again.”

  “Then you too easily forget the feeling of God’s love,” she murmured. “Or the feeling of your wings before they were clipped.”

  “I forget nothing.” He placed her palm over his heart. “Especially you. Us. Everything we were and everything we’re going to be.”

  Treasa understood his anger. She felt it too. But it was time to let it go. That meant giving him wings to fly.

  Literally.

  She refused to hold him back if God gave him a second chance. She loved him too much. “You haven’t forgotten why you made the choices you made back then, have you? All the chances you were given to help people. A lot of people. I’m sure part of it was to keep an eye on your sister but…” She pressed her hand more firmly over his heart. “I think it had more to do with the chance to protect far more people than you could ever reach in medieval Scotland.”

  Treasa brushed her lips over his. “You made an obligation to God to help. Who am I, a simple pagan, to hold you back?”

  Before he could speak, she shook her head. “I got to know Grant MacLomain a wee bit when he was here. While you taught me a lot about Christianity, he taught me even more.” She shrugged and offered a small grin. “Though far-fetched, he helped me understand things I couldn’t quite grasp before. Though I’ll always remain true to my gods, I can say with a clear conscience that you should do the same for your god.”

  “Aye, and I thank you for that.” Cullen pressed her palm against his cheek, eyes still with hers. “But I don’t think there’s anything simple about being pagan. And I certainly don’t think there’s anything simple about you.”

  “That’s not what I was trying to say—”

  Cullen put a finger to her lips. “But it’s what I’m trying to say and I mean it.”

  “You always did have to have things your way,” she murmured against his finger.

  His eyes widened. “I think you forget how much of a spitfire you were in the past.” He grinned as she frowned. “Still are.”

  Treasa brushed aside his finger. “I used to be totally mild-tempered.”

  He kept grinning. “Not in the least.”

  “In my defense, I needed to be a little spirited back then. Our childhood wasn’t always easy. Clans fighting clans. English raids.” Her eyes narrowed and she probably said the last thing she should. “But it was always a little easier for you with the might of the Stewarts at your back, aye?”

  “Don’t be foolish.” His grin dropped. “And don’t ever forget that though you might’ve been a village lass and I the Laird’s son, we always fought the same battles. Raised from birth in the same place. On the same side. Fighting the same enemies.” He cupped her cheek. “Friends then much more.” His heart remained in his eyes. “What we are now. What we will remain.”

  Cullen was right. The Stewarts never once made those not born of their direct line feel less than equal. All were treated fairly and taken care of. She supposed her and Cullen being plunked down next to one another at five winters old was just a twist of fate.

  He whipped a rock at her.

  She whipped one right back.

  After that, it became a battle of
wills. He tripped her at ten winters old when she tried to prove she could walk like a lady. She made sure his horse was not at its best when he jousted with a rival at twelve. He made sure the right herb was in her food when the chieftain she was meant to attract came calling at fourteen. A bad day in so many ways. So she made sure that same herb was in his food when the lass he might have married came calling later that year. She grinned. He was green and bedridden for days.

  “You always wanted me for yourself,” he murmured, his grin no doubt reflecting her thoughts. “And I felt the same. No other would have you. Only me.”

  Draped across his chest, she rested her chin on her fist and smirked. “I guess it’s a good thing I tricked you into dancing with me during our fifteenth Christmastide.”

  “You have that wrong.” He grinned. “It was me who tricked you.”

  “However you wanna remember it, love.” The truth was they had managed to convince their partners to dance with each other, conveniently freeing up Cullen and Treasa.

  He traced his fingers lazily over her shoulder blade. “You were so damn beautiful in your holiday dress with that circle of evergreens on your head.”

  “That was the first year you didn’t make fun of the darn thing.” She smiled. “Or my dress for that matter.”

  “It was the first year your head fit correctly in the evergreens.” He offered a shit-eating grin. “It was also the first year you filled out a dress the way a lass should.”

  She had been a late bloomer. “Perv.”

  “Hey.” His eyes fell to her cleavage. “I wasn’t the only guy looking. Just the only one acting on it.”

  “You looked a bit different that year too.” She ran a fingertip down his strong neck. “All sorts of muscles were starting to form.”

  “I was pretty buff years before that,” he informed.

  “Not so much.” She scrunched her nose. “You were all long legs and gangly limbs.”

  “Nay,” he admonished.