The use of his nickname for her brought the first rush of violent color to her cheeks, and his smile widened. He’d scored a mark, and he couldn’t help but feel satisfied at her reaction. She’d always hated that particular reference of his to the cold nature he’d continually accused her of having, and so he took it upon himself to throw the vicious little nickname in her path at every opportunity.
“Let me go,” she said in a low, clear tone, and just the sound of her husky, lilting voice seemed to stroke him like a physical caress. Gods, but he hated this.
“Nae,” he muttered, shaking his head, glad that he’d finally managed to curb his beast, at least enough to get his fucking teeth back under control. He wasn’t used to having such a tenuous hold on himself, but knowing that Anissa was watching him with the little mortal had been too much temptation for that primitive side of his lust and his wolf had almost fought its way to the surface. It would have been a disaster, because his beast would have challenged Zarnak for the woman, even though he’d known she was not his. But such was the dominant nature of the wolf, though he couldn’t help but wonder if the animal within him might not have turned toward the ferns instead, and sought a different female for claiming.
It was a chilling thought, considering she despised him.
“An answer, Anissa,” he gritted through the hard line of his teeth, hating the way he could not keep his hungry gaze from drifting to the dark, bruised color of her rosebud mouth, to the softly panting rise of her firm breasts beneath the sapphire velvet of her vest. She had her own battle on her hands, struggling to control her reaction to him, and he couldn’t help but admire her strength of will, even when he wanted to smash it beneath his own and demand she admit to the burning, consuming desire they shared. “I’ll not release you. Not until you tell me what you’re doing following me.”
She made a soft scoffing noise that for some bizarre reason made him want to kiss her. Made him want to take her mouth and relish the wildness of her, drinking down her fiery spirit. Only once before had he ever tasted those sweet, succulent lips, and no matter the women who had come after, he had never been able to destroy the memory of her taste. Just a tender pass of their lips, one single stroke of his tongue within that sweet well and she had run from him, and the rest, as the mortals would say, was history. A bitter history that he knew he would never forgive her for.
And perhaps, more than anything else that had passed between them, it was the memory of that infuriating kiss that he held against her the most, for the gods only knew it had become his own personal hell. He still woke at night drenched in sweat from dreams of that fleeting moment, his cock so hard and aching he felt it would explode from want of her.
“Do not let that ego of yours become so heavy that you crumble beneath the weight, Graedor,” she finally replied, the words seeming to vibrate with a low treble of emotion she couldn’t quite hide, and his lips curled in bitter satisfaction. “Were it my choice, I would stay as far from you as The Wood allows.”
“Is that so?” he drawled, seething inside, wondering what it was about this little faerie that had always affected him to the point that being near her was both an infuriating agony and a heart pounding thrill. Gods, just arguing with Anissa was more exciting than reaming the throat of any other woman—more exhilarating than sinking his dick into a wet passage that failed to hold him the way he knew this one stubborn little warrior would. Anissa, the Soldier Princess of the Fae. How her father hated the life she had chosen, and yet, Graedor could not help but admire her refusal to become some simpering, pampered maiden waiting for others to carry out her whims. “You’ve said before that you wish but to stay clear of me, snowflake, and yet, here you are again.”
“Again?” she echoed, arching one pale brow, trying to appear brave and indifferent. He did not doubt for a moment that she was brave…but the scent of her searing little sex juices and the rapid pounding of her pulse in the base of her throat told him she was far from immune to his presence, and a smug smile curled lazily at the corner of his mouth.
“I scented you on the air yesterday…and the day before,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side as he drank in the sight of her. As always, staring at her brought a strange, warm rush of…completeness to his soul, and it made him want to truly hate her, though he knew he wasn’t capable of it. And that pissed him off even more. “I know what you’ve been doing…and,” he added silkily, lowering his eyes to the where the puckered tips of her nipples pressed against the soft velvet of her vest, “knowing you, I can probably guess why.”
“You think you know me because you see me…but you do not see into my mind, Graedor. You do not see into my heart.”
“Why should I want to look into something so easily swayed, snowflake? It holds no interest to me,” he lied, knowing he would have liked nothing better than to sink into her and discover all her secrets. Not just her body, but her soul. He longed to know and have and hold onto all of it, like an old man who greedily tried to grasp the transient threads of the past, knowing it was futile but unable to squelch the desire.
“Rut on the masses, if you will,” she muttered, “but do not think that I care.”
“You spied on me tonight, and I believe you enjoyed it, Anissa,” he rumbled, refusing to believe that she did not care who he fucked. “I believe you watched, thinking of what it would feel like to be the woman writhing beneath my mouth. I think you want it so badly you can hardly stand it.”
“I watched, yes, but only to ensure you did not do anything to jeopardize that balance.” Her voice came firmly enough, but he was too attuned to her not to notice the faintest edge of a lie beneath her words.
“Anissa, the Proclaimer of the Balance and Truth?” he snorted. “What fucking irony.”
For a moment, she simply looked at him. Looked at him as if she were trying to see beneath his skin, into his mind, his thoughts and feelings, and he struggled not too fidget beneath such intense scrutiny. Finally, she simply shook her head, as if what she had seen or failed to find was disappointing. “For one so powerful, you are so ridiculously blind.”
His shoulders hardened, his free hand fisting at his side. “So you’ve said before. If I’m so blind, why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Because if you cannot discover the truth for yourself, then you do not deserve it.”
“You’ve been following me, Anissa,” he growled, losing ground against his anger, “and I want to know why. Now.”
Lifting her pointed little chin, she glared right back at him, giving as good as she got. “I do not answer to you, Graedor. If you have something to complain about, by all means, take your issues to my father.”
His eyes narrowed, lip curling as he squeezed his fingers tighter, knowing he was just shy of hurting her. “And maybe I’d rather have them from your mouth,” he taunted suggestively.
She inhaled sharply through her nose, ripping her gaze from his knowing eyes to focus intently upon the hard line of his lips. “You’ll never have anything from me.”
“That is where your inexperience shows, snowflake, despite the mating you took with that kitten.” A hard, gruff sound escaped his throat, followed closely by a rumbling growl that vibrated through his chest. “Never tell a man he cannot have a thing, because it makes him take it, whether he wants it or not,” he warned in a low, deceptively quiet voice. He gave her no time to throw his words back in his face, but tugged her closer and sank his free hand into the silky hair at her nape, fisted his long fingers through the fragrant curls, and forced her closer until their mouths were almost touching, their panting breaths melting together in a wash of anticipation that neither of them could hide.
A sound of pure outrage trembled across her lips as he licked them with his tongue, his cock nearly turning itself inside out at the lush taste of her. It should have been impossible, but it was somehow more potent, more perfect and tantalizing and mouthwatering than he remembered, and he growled harder, ready to consume that hot little mout
h. He moved to pull her closer, but with a painful jerk of her head that surely must have wrenched her hair, considering his hold on her, she ripped her mouth from his. He released her, stunned to find silky strands of her hair tangled around his fingers as she stumbled back, her eyes bright with tears—with pain and too many unnamed emotions. The tears as well as that pain gave him pause, knocking him off balance. Then she spat upon the ground, the delicate perfection of her features twisted with disgust.
“Do not ever touch me,” she seethed, and he couldn’t help but notice that her voice trembled as badly as her sharp, delicate chin. “You arrogant bastard! How dare you kiss me with the taste of another woman on your lips!”
His mouth twisted with a wry smile. “And would I not taste the memory of another man’s cum within your quim, Anissa?” he asked softly, recognizing the furious edge to his words. A fury that only this woman could make him feel. “Would I not, were I to eat at your creamy pussy the way you long for me to do, be able to scent the smell of the man you chose over me?” The look of ravaged sorrow that fell over her features was so profound, so wrenching, he almost wished he could rip the words back. “I—”
“No, you are right, Graedor,” she rasped, cutting him off. “All I ask is that you leave me…in peace…please. I know The Wicket Wood is not immense, but we must be able to find a way to live…without meeting…without coming upon one another.”
“And if we cannot?” he asked, wanting to grab her by her slim shoulders and shake her until she admitted what was truly in her heart. But a part of him, buried deep down inside, was simply too afraid to discover that too important truth. “Do you forget that you were the one following me?”
Her head lowered, and she stared down at the tall grass covering their booted feet. “Surely you know that it was not by choice,” she answered, and he could have sworn he heard pure devastation in that strong little warrior’s voice.
“Ah, then Daddy has set you to spying upon me,” he drawled, knowing he’d guessed correctly when her shoulders stiffened. “I wonder, is he thinking to marry you off? Seeking to forge a melding with the lycans, now that Duncan is dead? It sounds like some preposterous scheme of his.”
Her head lifted at the sound of Duncan’s name, her eyes glassy with unshed tears that he knew were not for him. “I would rather die than marry you, so you’ve no reason to worry on that score, Graedor. It would never happen. But there is unrest within The Wood because of the strengthening of the Lower Realms, and the fae must keep informed on clan motives and supposed alliances if they hope to protect themselves.”
“Never say never, Anissa,” he argued angrily, hating the sight of her tears, and hating even more that they were for another man. A man he longed to kill, but who death had already claimed. But hating most of all that she would forever fight what was between them because of a man who had not deserved her. “Were I given the right incentive,” he said in a low, purposefully seductive tone as he took a step closer to her, “I might offer your father the protection he seeks.”
Her chin lifted with determination, anger making her eyes all but burn with passionate fury. “I would leave before I allowed him to use me in such a way.”
“You would court death to escape me?” he scoffed, clearly disbelieving. But the look on her face stopped his low laughter, and an icy chill crept up his spine, sickly and cold.
And he knew that she would run again before giving herself to him, even if it meant leaving The Wood. Damn her arrogant little ass.
A heavy dread settled so deeply into the cavernous hole of what should have been his heart, that for a moment he could not react. “You…would not…dare.” He’d meant the words to come out forcefully—a powerful, seething command—not the panicked tone that could be witnessed just beneath their ragged surface.
“No, Graedor?” Her voice was solemn, the look on her fey face making him hurt—making him want to carry her away and keep her safe from herself. “I think you of all people would be surprised at what I would dare.”
“Goddamn you, Anissa,” he rasped, sounding angry, hurt, and hating himself for the telling emotions, evidence of his far too human half. “And what of your people?”
“What of them?” She laughed, though the sound held no humor, only bitter disillusionment.
His voice, when it came, shook with emotion. “They have always looked over you, Anissa. Would you abandon them?”
“You know what the problem with men is, Graedor?” she asked sadly, looking into the thick foliage of the forest at his left, refusing to meet his piercing stare, appearing far too disillusioned for her years. That look made him want to wrap her within the strong comfort of his arms and cherish her, even though he knew it was something he would never do. “They always believe everything they hear—everything they see. But the world is not black and white. Beneath every word lies a thousand deeper levels of truth and meaning. Beneath every action, the reality we try to hide. You say my people have protected me—that they love me. And you know what I say to that, Graedor?” she asked, turning her head to pin him with her shuttered stare.
He shook his head, suddenly wondering if he had both misread and underestimated her from the very beginning.
“Fuck my people,” she softly sneered, and by the time he’d drawn his next breath, she was gone.
* * * * *
Tess opened her eyes to the dappled rays of hazy, shadowed sunlight creeping past the woven edges of a muslin curtain that covered the far round window. She lay upon a soft, down-filled bed, with a thatched roof overhead and whitewashed walls that curved to make a small, circular room. In the corner, just behind a beautifully carved table and chairs, sat a silver shield propped against the wall, a mighty unicorn emblazoned upon its crest. A small smile curled her mouth at the reminder of the man at her back.
Was this the cottage that Zarnak had spoken of? How long had she slept? Hours? Days? The last thing she recalled was staring up at the verdant canopy of the forest, with a man’s—her man’s—cock, still firm and heavy with want, lodged deep within her body even after he’d fucked her senseless. His warm, sweat-slick body had lain heavily upon her, the sheer exhaustion of the day lulling her into sleep, like enchanted fingers stroking her into warm, rejuvenating slumber.
It was now morning, and still he held her, his body wrapped around her from behind, his strong arms holding her tightly against his solid chest, as if afraid she would be ripped away from him in sleep.
“Good morning, little one,” he murmured huskily in her ear, and that velvety voice stroked her flesh in shivering sensation that suddenly had her pressing her thighs together, trying to control the damp ache pulsing through her sex. Against her full buttocks she could feel the heavy press of his rigid erection, and as he rolled his hips, that hot, hard shaft rubbed its way into the sensitive crease, making her moan.
“G-good m-morning,” she stammered, shivering as a warm, wet wave of desire rolled through her sex, leaving her labia thick and wet with cream. As if he knew exactly what he would find, he pressed his hand between her thighs from behind, growling a low sound of hunger when he found her slick with need.
His thigh pressed against the back of hers, making more room for his wicked fingers as they stroked softly through her folds, rimming her swollen vulva. Then he suddenly shoved one warm, roughened finger up into her, pressing it deep, and she nearly choked on her shock as something thick and voluptuous crawled through her body, as if her hunger for him had stretched to life inside her. She could feel it in the quickening of her breath, the hammering of her heart and the rushing of her blood through her veins. She swallowed, struggling for her voice, when he twisted his finger and rubbed the calloused tip against a spot so sensitive she cried out a sharp, raw sob of sound and jerked in his arms.
Suddenly, at the hazy edges of her consciousness, she had a new memory. One of him laying her gently upon this bed last night. She remembered lying sprawled upon the soft covers, sinking into the giving mattress, watching fr
om beneath her lashes as he warmed water over a fire in the small hearth. She remembered feeling breathless at the way the golden glow of the flames had painted the hard angles and lines of his magnificent body with flickering firelight, making him appear like a bronzed god come down to Earth for her pleasure. His long, silver hair had flowed over his shoulders in lustrous skeins, the darker shades of blue looking black in the soft glow of the orange flames, and he’d seemed to glow with some otherworldly fire that would scorch the fingertips were one to reach out and touch him.
When the water was heated, she’d watched him clean himself using a soft chamois cloth, mesmerized by the provocative sight of his large hands running the square of leather over his long, sculpted physique. Then he’d taken a fresh one from a small chest upon the floor, dipped it in the water, and turned to her. With a look far too tender for such a magnificent warrior, he’d cleaned her, wiping the evidence of their joining away, removing the blood from her broken virginity. It had been intensely erotic, but instead of taking her again too soon, he’d crawled into the bed behind her and wrapped her in the comforting heat of his body, sheltering her.
She trembled now, at the thought, and he held her tighter.
His warm, silken lips pressed a damp kiss against the side of her throat, his finger wickedly insistent within the snug grip of her sheath, where it penetrated her, and as she whimpered, he said, “That’s it, little one. Give it to me. Let me feel this hot little cunt of yours trying to eat my finger. It’s so fucking beautiful, Tess. So drenched and tight and hungry. Tell me what you want, lass,” he rasped, pressing his thick cock between her buttocks and stroking her sensitive flesh until a chilled sweat broke out over her skin, her body burning hot and cold all at once. “Tell me you want me right here, shoved so deep inside that you feel me everywhere.”
“Oh god,” she breathed hoarsely, suddenly filled with a strange sense of overwhelming panic that seemed to be choking her. The next thing she knew, she had struggled out of his arms and was standing at the bedside, staring down at him with eyes that felt far too wide as she took in the long length of him. His eyes narrowed in concern and he raised up to one elbow, one knee bent, and in that low, whiskey-rich voice, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
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