“We must hurry back,” he told his mates.
No sooner had he said the words than they were thrust into reality with a violence that took his breath away. Dazed, Hewitt struggled to compose himself. When he recovered, he blinked to clear his vision and found himself lying on the floor, still holding his mates’ hands.
In front of him, the slash in the wall between realms was now visible. He didn’t know if other people could see it, but he felt as if he could touch it if he only just extended his hand. It glowed with an unholy light that beckoned Hewitt forward, hypnotizing him. Perhaps he’d have reached out had his mates not held him back.
“You mustn’t,” Mason told him. “Let it go.”
Tears filled Hewitt’s eyes. He didn’t really know why, but in that moment, when his mind had linked with G’aladon’s, Hewitt had seen far more than he’d have liked. As the gap in the barrier between realms closed in front of him, Hewitt knew without a doubt that his ancestor did have a soul, and Hewitt might have made a very serious mistake in banishing G’aladon to the cold emptiness of the astral plane.
Epilogue
It was almost noon. The sun shone through the foliage, promising a warmth that didn’t quite reach the ground. In the shadow of the trees, a lonesome figure sat, seemingly lost in thought.
The cool breeze brushed through Hewitt’s hair, as if caressing him. The witch appeared to be lost to the world, leaning against the tree trunk and sighing from time to time. Devon watched his mate, entranced and, at the same time, concerned. Since facing G’aladon, Hewitt had lost interest in continuing to manage The Witching Hour. He had told Devon and Mason the reason, the feeling of failure that haunted his soul. Devon understood him completely. Through his bond with Hewitt, he had also experienced that moment when Hewitt had touched G’aladon’s mind. But there was nothing they could do for G’aladon. Sadly, Hewitt’s ancestor was beyond their aid. It had been either them or G’aladon.
Devon made his way to his mate’s side and sat down without speaking. Hewitt didn’t send him away. Instead, he cuddled close to Devon, his hand clutching Devon’s shirt in an almost compulsive gesture.
“I really love it here,” the witch said.
Devon nodded, unsurprised that his mate wouldn’t address the proverbial elephant in the room. He liked it here, too. The woods were quiet and peaceful, providing everything Devon had ever wanted in a home. The Virgin Komi Forest had apparently been Mason’s sanctuary for a long time. As a feral, the other man had mostly lived away from civilization. But since Devon and his mates had decided to move here on a permanent basis, they had set about to build an actual home.
The spirit wolves had agreed that moving would be a good idea for Hewitt’s recovery. The last thing Devon had done before leaving all that behind was sending a message to Roarke through the Tanners. He had no clue if his former friend had received it, since Roarke seemed to avoid the Tanners for some reason. Even so, he hoped the other feral would find it safe to come out of hiding now that the Magistrate had proven that he did indeed have good intentions. For Devon’s part, he wanted to begin a new life, and for that reason, he knew it was time to start mending broken bridges.
For the moment, though, Devon planned to fully focus on his mate. “Coming here was a good choice,” he told Hewitt. “But you haven’t really enjoyed it.”
Hewitt released a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ve really been horrible lately, haven’t I?”
“No, babe.” Devon shook his head empathetically. “You’re recovering from what happened. It’s normal.”
“I just think there must be something we missed, something we could have done.”
“I know.” Devon kissed Hewitt’s temple. “Perhaps there still is, but not now. You have to give it some time, time to heal.”
To this day, Devon didn’t know whether the Spirit Mother had lied to them deliberately or merely hadn’t known the truth. Of course, there was always the chance that G’aladon had been trying to deceive them. Either way, they had all agreed that now wasn’t the time to attempt to reach out to the trapped witch. Lonely and desperate he might be, but G’aladon was also very dangerous. After all, he’d been the one who had created the orcs and ordered them to kill Hewitt. Devon was not inclined to be very forgiving, taking into account that Hewitt had nearly died because of it.
Thankfully, Hewitt didn’t insist. “I know. I’ll try to let it go, at least for now.”
It wasn’t so easy, and they all knew it. But they were building a new life together, one that needn’t be shadowed by ghosts of the past.
As if summoned by Devon’s thoughts, a voice sounded from farther into the clearing. “Dev, I need some nails.”
Devon rolled his eyes at his mate’s order. Mason always needed nails, a hammer, planks, or Spirit Mother knew what else. Devon would bet the other wolf actually had everything he required next to him, but simply wanted to see Devon and Hewitt and didn’t know how to ask. Of course, if Devon wanted to be honest, he should be by Mason’s side, aiding the other wolf in building their home. But he’d stolen a few moments to see Hewitt, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Hewitt smiled at him and brushed a brief kiss against Devon’s lips. “We should get out there and lend a hand, huh?”
Devon would have preferred remaining under the shadow of the trees and ravaging his mate. He could bet Mason would show up any moment now. The other man simply couldn’t stay away. But alas, if they kept distracting themselves with sex, they would never finish their house.
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “Come on.”
Both of them got up and headed back toward the clearing where they had decided to build their new cabin. Mason stood in front of it, obviously considering coming to get Devon and Hewitt. He looked quite pleased when he saw them approach.
“Where are the nails?” he asked, arching a brow.
Devon kissed Mason’s cheek then pointed to a table behind them. “Right there.”
Mason frowned at him, and his serious expression was so funny Devon couldn’t help but crack up. In spite of the earlier dark mood, Hewitt burst into laughter as well. It was simply impossible to stay upset when the evidence of their shared future was right there in front of them.
“Laughing at me, are you?” Mason growled. “I’ll give you two a little lesson you’ll never forget.”
And with that, Mason pounced. Building the cabin was once again forgotten in favor of feverish touches and desperate kisses. And as they writhed against each other in the grass, they tore at each other’s clothing, needing naked skin.
As always, Hewitt was the first one to end up nude. Devon admitted he had a fetish for seeing the witch in the buff while he and Mason were still dressed. He loved to tease Hewitt, to bring him to the brink of climax and keep him there for the longest time. If it were up to him, Hewitt would never have to wear clothes, for easy access. But then again, that would be very distracting, and while it might be all right when only the three of them were present, it could bring about unpleasant consequences when they were among others.
Right then and there, none of them had the patience for extended foreplay. Both Devon and Mason got rid of their garments as well, shuddering as the cold breeze hit their sweaty bodies.
Hewitt took up position on all fours and wiggled his ass invitingly. Entranced, Devon reached for the tube of lubricant. Mason threw him the bottle, ever the prepared Boy Scout. Devon opened the tube and squirted a generous amount of liquid on his fingers. His control was already frayed thin. If he didn’t get inside Hewitt soon, he would explode, die of blue balls, or worse.
Devon rubbed two slick fingers against Hewitt’s opening and slowly slid them inside. He groaned as his mate’s body greedily swallowed the digits, as if demanding more. Hewitt pushed back against his fingers, panting. “Come on, Devon. I can take it. You don’t have to be so careful.”
But Devon was careful. To him, Hewitt was precious, like a jewel that needed to be treasured. His affe
ction for Mason was different, wilder, rougher, more animalistic, and reminding Devon of their once-feral nature. The three of them fit together, and Devon would have it no other way.
He scissored his fingers inside Hewitt, seeking that spot that would drive his mate insane with pleasure. When he found it, he relentlessly rubbed the spongy gland, grinning as Hewitt dissolved into incoherent pleas.
At the same time, Devon was very much aware of Mason’s eyes on him. As if urged by Devon’s thoughts, Mason pressed a kiss to Devon’s nape. Devon shuddered, but the lust that coursed through him just urged him to press forward, to continue readying Hewitt. As he did so, Mason’s fingers trailed over his spine until they reached the crack of his ass. Mason stole the lube from Devon, and Devon heard him slicking up his digits. He spread his legs as far as he could in his position, giving Mason better access. At the same time, he deemed Hewitt ready. He retrieved his fingers from Hewitt’s body and slicked his cock up with the remaining lube.
Devon waited a few more seconds while Mason thrust two fingers inside him. Mason was quite expedient with the prep, knowing Devon liked it a little rough. The harsh touch of the other wolf inside him sent tendrils of pleasure over him. Soon, he couldn’t take the wait anymore. He needed to be inside Hewitt, and he needed to feel Mason’s prick branding him.
He positioned his cock at Hewitt’s opening and slowly pushed inside. As he did so, Mason pulled his fingers out, leaving Devon to struggle against a combined feeling of emptiness and the drugging ecstasy of Hewitt’s passage squeezing him. Thankfully, Mason didn’t prolong the torture. Mere seconds later, the other wolf thrust inside Devon, the invasion so harsh it drew a pained groan out of him.
They fell into a beautiful rhythm, Mason’s thrusts sending Devon into Hewitt, and Devon sandwiched between his mates in the most agonizingly tortuous experience ever. It seemed that every time he lost himself in their embrace, the sex just got better and better. There was always something novel to discover, but at the same time, they knew each other so well and could exploit wants, desires, and erogenous spots to their whims.
As Mason’s cock brushed over Devon’s prostate, Devon thrust deep into Hewitt, aiming for the witch’s own special spot. By this point, the witch had become lost in ecstasy, pushing back against Devon with everything he had. He was so beautiful that Devon almost couldn’t believe he was real. Mason’s arrogant strength, Hewitt’s amazing loveliness, their joint affection, and the pleasure they showered Devon with, it was all beyond any words Devon could possibly have.
With the intensity of the sensations assaulting him, it came as no surprise that Devon was soon on the brink of orgasm. He needed just one more thing, one last nudge to push him over the edge. Mason gave it to him, suddenly biting down on Devon’s neck. Pain and agonizing pleasure exploded through Devon. Thrusting one last time inside Hewitt, Devon leaned over and buried his canines in the witch’s flesh.
His orgasm triggered those of his mates, and Devon felt it all through their bond. It was so powerful that for a few moments, Devon blacked out. Only Mason and Hewitt existed in his world. Their bond had survived through the darkest times in their lives, and Devon was once more in awe at the gift he had been granted.
When he finally began to recover, Devon found himself collapsed in a pile of limbs on the grass. He was uncomfortable, sticky, and feeling well fucked, but he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. He knew without a doubt that he was completely bewitched, both by Hewitt and by Mason.
* * * *
“Help me.”
Quinn Tanner buried his face in his pillow, attempting to shut out the voice. It had started a few days ago, and it had only grown worse as time passed. It was not the first time Quinn had this happen to him. He was used to it, as his psychic abilities had always been a strong part of his life. At the same time, the feeling of familiarity came from a different source. While the whispering had only started now, this sensation was much older, and Quinn just wished he knew who in the world was making this attempt to contact him. Why couldn’t that person just be straightforward and say what he wanted? More importantly, why did Quinn always feel such pain whenever he tried to reach out as well?
Frustrated, Quinn rolled in his bed and glared at the ceiling. “Leave me the hell alone,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Help me,” the voice just said again. “Please.”
There was only so much haunting Quinn could stand. He threw off the blankets and got out of bed. Outside, it was dark, and Quinn knew all too well that there were things out there normal humans didn’t know about. Quinn’s family was different and had always been so. They understood the paranormal world and were often sought out by creatures that would send others screaming. This time, though, Quinn was stuck.
“Who are you?” he inquired desperately. “Tell me what I can do.”
Oddly enough, the voice didn’t reply, as if surprised Quinn had asked. After a brief pause, it came again, almost hesitantly. “Just talk to me. I need to hear your voice.”
Quinn couldn’t have been more shocked if the ghostly presence had suddenly asked him to dance around naked in the middle of the city square. Still, there was such loneliness in that demand that Quinn couldn’t help but comply. “All right. What do you want to know?”
THE END
WWW.SCARLETHYACINTH.WEBS.COM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A native Romanian, Scarlet was born in 1986 and grew up an avid fan of Karl May and Jules Verne, reading fantasy stories and adventure. Later, when she was out of fantasy stories to read, she delved into her mother’s collection of books and, of course, stumbled onto romance.
As a writer though, Scarlet Hyacinth was born one sunny summer day, when a dear friend of hers—the same friend who introduced her to GLBT fiction—proposed they start writing a story of their own. As it turns out, the two friends never did finish that particular story, but Scarlet discovered she had a knack for writing and ended up starting to write individually. And so, between working on her dissertation, studying for exams, and reading yaoi manga, she started writing the Kaldor Saga. Along the way, Scarlet met a lot of wonderful people who supported her, and in the end, she found her story a home and, in the process, fulfilled a beautiful dream.
Also by Scarlet Hyacinth
Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 2:
Mates in Life and Death
Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 3:
Two Mates For A Magistrate
Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 4:
Three Mates, One Destiny
Ménage Amour ManLove: Spirit Wolves 5:
Star-Crossed Mates
For all other titles, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/scarlet-hyacinth
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Bewitched by Their Mate [Feral 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Page 12