Seeking Her Mates Boxed Set: A Shifter Menage Serial (All Five Parts)

by Carina Wilder

  “Yes…” she moaned. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

  Graeme gripped her hips with powerful fingers and pounded her as she held her other lover inside, his own length a tangle of excited nerves, still pulsing, still releasing its hot seed inside her. Conor was coated in sweat now, glowing with a sort of strength that he’d so lacked only hours earlier.

  Finally he came to rest, his body spent, sucked dry inside her. His fingers still stroked her aching nipples as the other man took her over entirely.

  Grasping her firmly, Graeme greedily slid her off of Conor’s cock, which was slick with both of their juices, and he invaded her slit, taking over the spot that the other man had just occupied as she offered her round breasts to Conor’s happy mouth.

  She was so wet. And so, so tight.

  “I want to explode,” Graeme was growling now, his déor getting what it wanted most, the feral nature of his thrusts intensifying. “I’m going to shoot inside you, like he did. You’re going to be full of our sweet seed, Lilliana.”

  His arm was around her waist, her legs still straddling Conor as she fed him the round breasts which dangled tantalizingly over his mouth. He squeezed them together, taking both nipples between his lips, tenderly pulling at them as she watched him in awe.

  Graeme’s body pulled her backwards magnetically, ramming himself violently into her as she felt his cock surge, pulsing hard, coating her insides once more as Conor’s had done, their heat molten inside her. Raging with her own in a chemical event, like explosives that had come too near a flame.

  The thought of their sweet juices mingling inside her made Lily want to fall over in a heap, but instead she simply allowed herself to slide forward, breasts pressed into Conor as Graeme was pressed firmly into her back. She was at the center of the most delectable sandwich anyone had ever constructed, and it was enough to nourish her for eons to come.

  46

  Dragon Flight, Chapter Thirteen

  Under the shroud of illusion that Merriman had cast over the property, Lily spent the next few days enjoying the sort of freedom that had been such an integral part of her youth at Dundurn. She walked alone in the open air, inhaling the atmosphere that seemed to make up this new, beautiful life of hers, which had managed to settle into something like calm. If only for a few days.

  Always wary, always on the lookout for intruders into her space. But as long as they stayed away, she allowed herself all the joy and fulfilment that one person could absorb.

  Occasionally she was accompanied on her strolls by Conor, or Graeme, or both, and sometimes she left them indoors to bond over whatever masculine rites they liked to engage in. Most of these involved the consumption of ale (as “beer” was too crass a word for such men, who liked to pretend they were far more sophisticated than your average pub-dweller), and laughter over the vast differences in their eras. The barbarism of the Middle Ages versus the superficiality of the twenty-first century; the ridiculous weight of chain mail versus bulletproof vests.

  More amusing to them still were the similarities between their centuries: how little had men and women changed over time, and how little raw ambition had altered. Men still liked to conquer and control nations and land. In their conversations, as in everything else, these two men found themselves on equal footing, neither trying to overthrow the other.

  And so their friendship and bond continued to grow, much to Lily’s delight.

  As she strolled she recalled the days that her mother, Gwynne, had told her about; the early days of her relationship with Rauth and Lachlan in which the two men fought like, well, dogs. Dire wolf alphas, constantly in a battle for dominance, whether gnashing teeth or not.

  A dragon, it seemed, didn’t necessarily possess the same traits as dire wolves. Much as dragons loved power, Graeme seemed even more to be excited by his newfound bond with another man and with Lily herself. There was no indication of a power struggle here, nothing to indicate that he felt threatened by Conor. If anything he seemed to embrace the companionship.

  Lily was grateful to have found two men who exuded strength and yet who were willing to accept one another, differences and all. She only hoped that it would continue through whatever trials lay ahead of them.

  In conversation one day Graeme had confessed to her that he’d never had a friend; not really.

  “My father was, I suppose, my best friend,” he’d said. “But he was my mentor, my instructor. My war-coach. He was all business at times. With Conor I feel as though I have a brother at last.”

  These last words had filled Lily with a joy that was separate from the warmth that she felt when the three were together. She and her brother had always shared such a close bond, and she felt complete, knowing that her lovers had grown to care for one another—not in a romantic way, but in such an intensely fraternal one.

  * * *

  One afternoon, she left them and hiked out to wander towards the woods north of the house, away from the town. She recalled what Merriman a few days earlier, before casting his time-spell over the property:

  “A house—a mansion—will, in a few months’ time, be built on a hill east of here. At the moment it does not exist. Keep an eye on it, as the newly-constructed house will serve as a clue to tell you that the spell of protection still holds. If it disappears, that means that our property has reverted to a vulnerable state and that the Stranieri will be able to attack.”

  As Lily walked, she noted the new mansion on the hill to her right, still visible, a sign of safety and comfort. A soft mist hid it partially from view, reminding her of stories of Avalon, the magical land that King Arthur had allegedly visited throughout his life. It seemed now like she was in an Avalon of her own, magically pulled away from the world surrounding her, safe, happy and protected from its dangers.

  She remembered another thing that Merriman had said: that shifting into their déors was not an option, if the protective shield around the house were to hold. The three were to remain as inconspicuous as possible and employ no special powers if they could possibly avoid it. So Conor’s déor, of course, remained a mystery, and would likely do so for some time to come.

  Among other things, this rule of Merriman’s had meant none of Graeme’s use of random floating sex toys during their love-making, though Lily was the first to admit that there was no need of such items when she had such beautiful objects between both her men’s legs.

  There had been no sightings of the Stranieri, either by the townsfolk or by the occupants of the house or Merriman. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who still had access to the house by some trick of the old man’s, had come by a few times and assured them that all had calmed; that the strangers seemed to have dispersed. It seemed that the entity, or organization, or whatever the Stranieri was, was re-grouping in an attempt to sort out how to deal with what the three mates were now referring to jovially as “The Conor Problem.”

  The third and now most mysterious of the shifters, Conor had been the real target of their aborted attack, though the reasons remained unclear. Speculation abounded but no one, not even Merriman, had come to a definite conclusion.

  Conor was still recuperating, though by all accounts he was stronger than he’d ever been in his life. His body had spread and broadened to such a point that he had to borrow clothing from Graeme in order to accommodate his muscular frame.

  But happily, he was still the same beautiful man Lily had first set eyes on in that London classroom, the same inquisitive and amused glint in his eye. Whatever creature stirred inside him had changed none of that.

  As she walked, Lily revelled in the feeling of peace. There was, she knew, more excitement to come—and not the good sort. But for now, for these precious hours and days, she was happy to dwell in a quiet, lush green paradise.

  On this particular day Merriman had gone off on one of his mysterious errands out of town. Mrs. Fitzpatrick had informed the three of them of his departure that morning while bringing up some fresh fruit and pastries.

  Merriman would quit
e possibly be gone for a few days, she’d told them. And so it seemed that the threesome would stay at the house until his return—they did not want to move on to another destination without his guidance. He was more than a father figure to them; he was a mentor. A sort of alpha in his own world, without the muscles or the brute strength. Merriman’s was the sort of power that came from within and that encouraged reverence.

  But it was becoming clear that Graeme and Conor each possessed traits which lent them dominance and the air of leaders, and Lily felt intensely proud of her mates for it. When they left Merriman behind, she knew that they would find their way.

  A fresh rain had coated everything the previous night, rendering the already green grass richer, glistening a deep hue as each blade shone under droplets of warm water. The trees were coated in a thin layer of moss, which made the forest seem like a fairyland, and Lily often found herself half-expecting an imp to come hopping at her and tell her tales of unicorns falling in love with elf-maidens.

  It didn’t happen, which was probably a good thing as she might have punched it in the face. Imps were well and good, hopping about in fairy tales. But in reality, she pictured little gremlins who begged for a swift kick. The men weren’t the only ones with aggression in their blood, after all.

  She wandered farther than usual, entranced by her surroundings and imagining, as she liked to do, the feet that had walked these woods over hundreds of years. Had any of her ancestors ever seen this place? Or was she the first?

  It seemed that she was floating out of time and space at the moment, isolated in the sort of bubble which Merriman had created, and unaffected by anything else happening in the universe. But she found her mind wandering to her family, hoping that they were safe and sound, wherever they were. She wished that she could tell them about the men, about her happiness. But everything was meant to lead to a life that she could share safely with them; once they found the source of the Stranieri’s power and took it down, she and her mates could return to her era to see them.

  After a time Lily came to a small clearing between ancient trees where she stopped in her tracks, inhaling the scent of fresh air which reminded her of the first hints of spring, and looked up at the sky. Bright blue was breaking through dark clouds, signalling that the rain was finished for now, and Lily extended her arms and spun in a circle, as she had often done when she was a young girl. In the days before she could shift, when she and Rohan were innocent and the entire world was a wonder.

  It made her dizzy and giddy at once, this makeshift spin-cycle, and she kept her eyes up, focused on the sky above. It seemed now that it was the clouds that spiralled and not her, veering in massive circles like a quiet hurricane above.

  But the effect was interrupted as some sort of bird flew over, disappearing from sight as quickly as it had come. She slowed her pace in order to steady a light motion sickness that seemed to be building up inside.

  As she pulled up, her eyes remained fixed upward, where another bird circled overhead; a vulture or a hawk this time. And then another, and another, until it seemed that a menacing flock hovered over her, assessing her location as though she were a dead animal, carrion for their next meal.

  “Looks like it’s time to head back,” she muttered. Inside, something more irksome than nausea worked itself through her. She was sensing it once again, the foreboding impression that had now eluded her for days. A jumbled mass of images invaded her mind, and she knew that once again she was seeing into the minds of others.

  This time there were no words; no talk of a “Him.” Simply a silent communication between déors to say that they had located their prey, and an attack was imminent.

  47

  Dragon Flight, Chapter Fourteen

  Lily made her way back through the trees which she’d already passed, her footsteps accelerating as she went.

  But, she reminded herself: this place was under Merriman’s spell. If there was protection, why did she need to worry about being spotted from above?

  The more she walked, however, the more it seemed as though she were being hunted.

  And had been found.

  “There you are, dearie.” The voice came from behind her.

  Lily turned on her heel. Mrs. Fitzpatrick stood before her, surrounded by lush forest. The older woman seemed oddly foreign in this setting, flanked as she was by the moss-coated tree trunks. She was meant for Land Rovers and baked goods; social gatherings with cucumber sandwiches and delicate china tea cups. Much as she dressed like someone who made a daily habit of riding horses, Lily had never seen her on one, and something inside her told her that this was not where the woman belonged. Not in the least.

  “Yes, here I am,” Lily said. “What are you doing out here in the woods?”

  “I was looking for ye. The men were afraid that you’d wandered too far and I wanted to see about finding you.” A smile had plastered itself on Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s face which seemed forced, as though her muscles were fighting her on the decision.

  “Why didn’t the men come themselves?” Something was working its way up Lily’s spine, telling her that the numbers weren’t adding up. Mrs. Fitzpatrick had headed back to town that morning; why had she even been at the Old House at this hour?

  “They were enjoying their time together, those men of yours, and I wanted a nip of fresh air. Come, I’ll guide you back.”

  “That’s all right,” said Lily, her feet taking root in the damp soil beneath them. “You go ahead. I can get back on my own.”

  “Of course, of course.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick also froze in place, seemingly unwilling to budge. Lily tried to find her way inside the mind that, in that moment, eluded her own. “Only, you see, Lilliana, I was hoping to speak to ye. You know—woman to woman.”

  “About what?”

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick took a step towards her as Lily attempted to maintain a façade of interest. Every instinct was screaming to allow the creature within her to show itself, but she repeated to herself what Merriman had said: no déors.

  “You must know by now that you will be having a child at some point.” The smile remained on Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s face, her teeth looking oddly menacing. As she spoke, the woman’s accent seemed to alter, or else it was Lily’s imagination. It seemed suddenly to be more high-end London than charming countryside.

  “I…” Lily began, who worked at trying to decipher what was taking place in Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s mind. “I suppose…”

  The older lady’s eyes narrowed into something that resembled a snake’s, her pupils seeming to take on a new shape. “You suppose? You suppose that all your hedonistic sexual endeavours might lead to pregnancy? Why, how clever of you to put one and one together and come out of it with two. You arrogant, spoiled child.” The words came out in a snarl now, as though spoken by a being who wasn’t quite human.

  “I beg your pardon? What are you talking about, Mrs. Fitzpatrick? Forgive me, but are you all right?” Lily’s voice remained calm as she attempted to piece everything together. The birds…the sudden appearance of this woman, who’d always claimed to be a friend. This woman whom Merriman trusted. Who was she, really?

  “A girl who transforms into a fire-breather, calling me a lunatic,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick laughed. “Ridiculous. Incidentally, I hope you enjoy the smell of onions.”

  The last sentence made no sense, though given the woman’s apparent state of mind, it was no great surprise. But a moment later Lily understood as she caught a scent: a déor, she thought, or at least a shifter, was nearby. Before she could spin around, some sort of fabric sack was pulled over her head, and Lily felt a sudden weight around her neck, snapping into place; something cold, hard and impenetrable.

  * * *

  As her dragon threatened again to burst forth, it was stopped in its very tracks. Alongside the sack, which smelled of onions, garlic and several random spices, someone had thrust a large iron choker around Lily’s neck. This was an old trick to keep shifters from changing into their déors, and unfort
unately it was a very effective one.

  To change into a large dragon would put too much strain on her scaled flesh and at best slice into her. At the worst, the object would live up to its name, choking her until she had no choice but to shift back to her human form or to lose consciousness. Neither was an appealing option.

  “I don’t understand,” said Lily from within her cloth prison. Her voice remained calm, despite the dragon thrashing around within her. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to show you what it is to suffer,” hissed the woman before her, whose breath was creating a hot, damp pattern on the burlap that covered Lily’s head but did not entirely prevent her from seeing. “As I suffered all those years ago, and continue to suffer today. Women like you, taking our lovers. Our rightful mates. All because you’re some sort of a freak of nature with scales and a vile tail.”

  “But, Mrs. Fitzpatrick—“ Lily attempted to sound innocent, childlike. To charm the woman she’d once felt was charmable. At the same time she tried to work her way into her captor’s mind, to read her and to understand her intentions. But she was met with resistance that once again seemed inhuman.

  Something was being attached to the back of her neck brace: a chain, perhaps, and a moment later she felt a tug as though she were being led like a dog.

  She would not accompany them easily, though. Instead, she stood in place, using her significant strength to keep her feet planted.

  “Come on then,” said a man’s wiry voice, irritated at having to work for this.

  “I don’t think so,” said Lily. “There is no damned way that I am going with anyone.”

  “What are you going to do, Lilliana?” The name came out as an insult; a too-florid assemblage of letters that the young woman had never earned. Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s voice was emerging as nothing more than an ugly hiss now, anger radiating through her very flesh.