Fury : The Kresova Vampire Harems: Lyra

by Graceley Knox

  From the airport, we head home and I fight the urge to crash as soon as the castle comes into sight. We don't have time. I call a meeting instead, sending someone to fetch Callahan and Brenna and any other shifters that need to hear the latest. I meet them all in the courtyard, having not done much but wash the blood off my face. The deaths of everyone in that house sit like a weight on my shoulders, and I'm not going to be able to rest until we do something.

  Damon and Seamus stand near me. Aura, Reina, and Carver lean on one another, watching me patiently. Carver has a deep frown on his face, worried about more than just what happened, I think. A few of the Daks supporting Aura stand near them. Callahan and Brenna are at the center of a small group of shifters, including the twins, and some who represent packs working with Callahan. It's not a lot of people, but they're all depending on me. I can't let them down. I swallow my nerves.

  "So here's the short version," I say with no preamble, sitting down on the edge of the well. I'm too tired to stand on ceremony. "The Aspen elder going missing was no coincidence, in case you thought it was just luck that Morana swooped in and took over. We don't know what she's planning, but she's kidnapped both the Alder and Blackthorn elders now as well. They were both alive when she took them, but we don't know what she's planning to do with them. Needless to say, the alliance with those clans is probably out of the question. They're going to be busy keeping their own clans from falling apart, and we're just going to hope they succeed because you can bet that if they don't, Morana will do the same thing to them that she did to Aspen."

  There was a worried murmur from the shifters and the Daks.

  "What's the plan?" Callahan asked, cutting through their whispering with his confidence. I nod to him gratefully.

  "We attack," I reply, straightening up, projecting the same confidence as the alpha. "Morana is clearly trying to build up power to make up for the loss of the ring. We have to move fast, before she gets any more."

  "We don't have the men," one of the Daks protests. "Without the other Kresova clans, we're completely outnumbered."

  "We don't have all the supplies we wanted yet, either," adds one of the shifters.

  "I know we're not as prepared as we wanted to be," I say, trying to sound sure of myself. "But we can't afford to wait. We must move now, or we won't get the chance."

  I can see they aren't convinced. Seamus gives me a thumbs up and Aura makes a little shooing gesture at me, encouraging me to go on. I sigh, and get to my feet, standing on the edge of the well to get some height.

  "Listen, we all knew this wasn't going to be an easy fight," I say, searching for the words to make them understand. "But you're all here, anyway. Because you decided it was worth it. That it was worth anything. I . . ." I bite my lip, my hands tight at my sides as I struggle with what to say.

  "Someone told me," I say at last, glancing at Damon, "that part of being a leader is accepting responsibility for anything that happens under your watch. If we lose someone tomorrow because we weren't prepared, that's on me. I accept that. But if I choose to do nothing . . . if we sit on our hands and wait for the opportune moment while every day Morana is gathering more power . . . if we turn our heads and say, 'We just aren't ready yet,' while she kills our leaders, while she steals our homes, while she murders our children . . ." I see the pain of loss in more than one of the shifters' faces, "then all of that is on me as well," I finish, my fists clenched tight. "And I don't know about you, but I would sure as hell rather be responsible for losing someone in the course of trying to do something, of trying to fight, than watch the people I'm responsible for die around me because I refused to act!"

  I see I'm getting through to them at last, particularly the shifters.

  "I say we end it now," I continue, my voice growing louder with confidence. "Before she can find one more spell to protect herself, before she can take one more army to put between us, before she can steal one more child. Finally, after turning the other cheek all this time waiting for the right moment, we make the right moment. We bring this fight to her doorstep, and we make her regret every life she's ever taken!"

  That earns me a cheer. Everyone, even Carver, looks more like they believe this can work.

  "All right," I say, releasing a held breath and climbing down off the edge of the well. "Callahan, you have that map?"

  Callahan brings out the map of Morana's palace and we make plans.

  "If we're lucky, we'll take her mostly by surprise," I say. "But she'll still be well guarded. Our goal will be to drive a wedge in here, near this entrance. If we can take that courtyard early, we can dig in behind their outer defenses and retreat from there quickly if we need to. I'm thinking we put werewolves out front . . ." I see the wary glances the shifters give me and hold up my hands to hold off their suspicion.

  "Most vamps haven't fought a fully shifted werewolf in close quarters. Sheer intimidation alone makes it worth it. If we position the ranged fighters behind them, the wolves can keep the enemy at a distance to be picked off. They'll have to stay in tight formation. Drop or retreat on queue when the ranged group is ready to fire."

  "We can do that," Callahan says with a nod. "We're pack fighters. Moving as a unit is in our nature."

  "Good," I say, relieved. "Then our faster hand-to-hand vamps form two units on either side to try and keep the enemy contained, drive them in toward the wolves and into range of the guns and crossbows. Once we have the courtyard, I'm going to take a small team into the house to go after Morana herself. You can bet your ass she won't be coming out to fight us herself as long as she has cannon fodder to throw at us."

  "I'm going with you," Damon says at once, and I smile. At least he's talking to me.

  "Of course," I agree.

  "And me," Aura adds.

  "If Aura's going, so am I," Carver says.

  "I figured," I say with a sigh. "So me, Aura, Carver, and Damon will head inside to find Morana."

  "As usual, I will miss all the fun," Seamus said, faking resentment. I grin.

  "Oh, you'll have plenty of fun," I tell him. "I want you working with the ranged group. See what kind of enchantments you can work up for the bullets and crossbow bolts. Something to poison them or make them avoid our people."

  Seamus inclines his head thoughtfully. "Aye. I think I could do that."

  "It's not far from the courtyard to Morana's throne room," I continue. "If we're lucky, she'll be there and we can drive her outside and into the jaws of the army."

  "If we aren't lucky, she'll have Le Tireur with her," Carver says.

  I nod grimly.

  "Not to mention those weird, savage vampires we fought earlier," Damon says to curious noises from everyone who hadn't been there.

  "Right," I say, worried by the thought. "They're no joke. But if she only has the two—"

  "Three." Carver's frown from earlier is on his face again.

  I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to explain. "Those things . . . I think I've seen something like them once before."

  "Where?" I ask, confused.

  He hesitates, clearly not eager to admit this. "My sister, Jolie," he says at last, quiet and a little ashamed. "Morana did something when she turned her. It drove her completely insane. She was like an animal. She could barely speak, couldn't wash herself, feed herself. But it made her much stronger, more ruthless, and very difficult to kill. I . . . snapped her neck myself, and she did not die. The pair we saw today, they were more controlled, but they had the same animal wildness to them, the same impossible strength. I had hoped she was not capable of replicating what she did to Jolie. But it seems I am wrong."

  Unease grows within me as he explains what had happened to his sister.

  "Well," I say, frowning. "We're just going to have to hope she only has the two and deal with it as it comes up. Without more information, that's our only option. Now, about her other forces. The Aspen vamps don't want to be there, so if we try to avoid killing them maybe we can convince them to switch sides." />
  We talk strategy a while longer, making plans for the supplies we'll need and the transport across the channel into France. Everyone looks eager, hopeful, like they really think this can work. As we hash out the last details, people drift off one or two at a time, either to start preparing or to rest. When Damon excuses himself, I finish up and follow him a moment later.

  "Thank goodness," I say, catching up with him and stifling a yawn. "Now that we're finally doing something, maybe I can get some sleep instead of just lying awake worrying."

  "I think most people feel the opposite the night before a battle," Damon says, and I laugh under my breath.

  "Well, you don't love me for being like most people!" I joke.

  Damon pauses. We've left the courtyard behind, moving into a stone hallway that leads toward my rooms.

  "No," he says, giving me a soft smile. "I love you because there's never been anyone else like you in the world."

  My heart skips a beat, and I think my surprise at the confession must show on my face. He smiles and continues walking.

  "So," I say, wondering how to address the elephant in the room. "About me and Seamus—"

  "It's fine," Damon says. "I understand the position you're in. And he seems . . . fine."

  "I don't think that could get much less sincere if you were trying," I say, and he scowls, not looking at me. We were almost to my room. I catch his arm, stopping him. "Talk to me, Damon. You've barely spoken to me since you saw us together. Clearly it's not fine."

  He clenches his jaw, considering being stubborn and refusing to answer.

  "I don't want to go into the fight tomorrow without you beside me," I say softly. "If I've pushed you away . . ."

  He forces himself to relax, shaking his head.

  "I know I have to share you," he says, quiet and vulnerable. "I'm trying to make my peace with it. But seeing you with him that way . . . It's hard. I'm trying, Lyra, I promise I am. But every time he touches you . . ." He raises a hand to my cheek. His thumb grazes my skin, then trails through my loose hair. ". . . it feels like I've already lost you."

  "You haven't lost me," I tell him, my hands on his arms, gazing into his eyes. "You're not in danger of losing me. I love you, Damon."

  "I know," he says, his expression bittersweet. "I believe you. But I've got a lot of old instincts to unlearn. Reminding myself that you don't belong to just me hurt sometimes."

  "I'm sorry," I say, my heart sinking. Hurting him is the last thing I want. But even if it weren't for the prophecy, being with him and Seamus, even the possibility of Emmett or whoever turns out to be my third in the future, it makes me happy. I don't want to give up that part of myself. If it didn't feel so right, like a piece of my identity I'd never known was missing before had suddenly fallen into place, I would abandon it in a heartbeat for him, prophecy or no prophecy.

  "You don't need to apologize," Damon says, his hand still in my hair. "I'll deal with it. I am dealing with it. You're worth the effort, and a hell of a lot more. I just need you to be patient with me."

  "Take as long as you need," I promise him. "And, I know it isn't the same, but there is a part of me that only belongs to you, always."

  "I don't know. I'm pretty sure I saw Seamus laying claim to that part," he says sarcastically, but in good humor.

  "Seriously," I insist, bringing his hand to my heart. "This is yours. Just yours."

  He closes his eyes, feeling my heartbeat under his palm for a moment, then he smiles at me, accepting it. He kisses me, soft and sweet, and I return it, putting my arms around his neck to draw him closer, raising the heat with a swipe of my tongue. His grip on me tightens and he slides his hands lower on my waist, a low playful growl in his chest. His teeth grazes my lip and I shiver.

  "You know," I whisper, keeping him close. "If you wanted to re-stake your claim on that part, I wouldn't object."

  "Oh yeah?" he says with a chuckle. His hands move from my waist to my ass, squeezing roughly before grabbing me by my thighs and lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist and grab his shoulders with a surprised gasp. He's strong enough to support me easily, especially when he presses me against the wall to grind his hips against mine. "Now that you mention it, I think it would do me some good to mark my territory."

  Chapter 10

  Damon carries me into my bedroom and I barely notice, absorbed in the passionate kisses he's stealing, until my back hits the bed. He follows me down, barely breaking the kiss to breathe, keeping me tight against him as he kneels over me. His hands squeeze my hips, keeping them flush against his own, and I encourage it, grinding against him shamelessly. Heat grows slowly within me with every touch and kiss he presses to my throat, like a fever under my skin.

  I love how eager he can make me in these first moments. Before he's even touched my clothing, when just the pressure of his palms sliding over my thighs or my shoulders can fill me with heat and excitement. My nerves light up, desperate for any sensation, arousal making me more aware of everything, from the slide of the blanket under me to the scratch of his stubble against my cheek, to the delicious, wild scent of him. I want more, to drown in sensation, in him.

  His hands slide under my shirt, the muscles of my stomach fluttering with excitement under his grazing touch, and suddenly clothing is the most oppressive thing I can imagine. We undress as quickly as we can, trying not to laugh at the brief, awkward fumbling of struggling to remove our clothes without breaking our kiss or letting go of one another. The smiles we share don't do anything to decrease my excitement. If anything, it only makes it better that we don't have to be self-conscious around one another.

  Skin to skin at last, his hands explore me, sometimes rough, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp, more often so delicate it leaves me yearning for more. The barely-there brush of his thumb or his mouth against my lips, the curve of my ear, the hollow of my throat, my wrist, the trembling skin of my stomach, is enough to drive me wild.

  I taste every inch of his skin that I can reach. I trail my fingertips down the backs of his arms and the bones of his hips and mirror their progress with my lips down his throat, the center of his chest. When I feel him, half hard jutting against my stomach, I decide to show him just how much I appreciate how hard he's been trying.

  I push him down onto his back and kiss him, so hard and long that I almost forget what I'm doing. He tries to pull me back to the kiss when I slip downward, kissing his chest. But he doesn't force me when I resist, just frowns in disappointment. I grin at him and pinch a nipple teasingly. He gasps, and I feel him twitch against my stomach. Oh, I'm going to remember that for later.

  But for now I slip down between his thighs, settling over him. His cock fills my hands in a way that makes my stomach do flips of anticipation. I love the weight of him, the heat. He's thick, almost bigger than I can handle comfortably, but I enjoy the challenge, the slow preparation, the stretch, almost as much as I enjoy everything else. But fitting something like that in my mouth is a bit more difficult.

  However, the right lube makes everything better, in my experience. I lean over to rifle through my bedside table drawer, grabbing a bottle and a condom, for later, which I drop on his chest.

  "Hang on to that," I tell him as I warm the little bottle of lube between my hands. "We don't need any quarter-vampire-shifter-Fae-whatever kids running around just yet."

  "Yet?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

  "I like to plan ahead," I reply archly, and pour the lube out over his cock. "Hope you like vanilla."

  I spread the flavored lube over him with slow, firm strokes and he groans, head falling back against the pillows.

  "If my dick smells like an ice cream sundae for a week because of this—" he says, voice strained as he tries to keep up the banter despite my hand squeezing his cock.

  "Mmm, ice cream," I purr, cutting him off, meeting his eye with a heated look. "Sounds delicious."

  He swallows, apparently catching on to what I'm planning.

  I push my hair
back behind my ears as I bend over him, giving him a good, long stroke to watch the precum bead on his tip. Then I run the flat of my tongue over his head, slow and thorough. I feel a small thrill of victory when I hear him curse quietly under his breath. The sweet taste of the flavored lube mingles with the salt of his skin as I tease him, stroking his base slowly while I give his head a thorough tongue bath, a lazy preamble to what I know he's dying for. When I finally wrap my lips around him, taking him into the wet heat of my mouth, I hear him groan, a low needy growl, and it sends a shiver of desire through me.

  I love watching his reactions to this, the flush to his skin, the expressions that cross his face, the sounds he makes. In my experience, anyone who can't see the appeal of giving oral is missing the whole point of sex. If all I was after was an orgasm, I could do it better and faster myself. Watching him come undone beneath me, because of me, knowing how good I'm making him feel, watching any pretense of control or manly stoicism slip away under the sheer pleasure I'm giving him . . . it's better than any single orgasm by a mile. Especially when I know I'll get the orgasm later anyway, and it'll be all the better for how worked up I'm making him.

  I take him deeper, a little at a time, wanting to get at least half of him. I can't cram the full length down my throat. I stroke whatever I can't reach, moving my head to the same beat. His hand slides into my hair, not grabbing or forcing me down farther, just holding me in place. The more I swallow, the more vocal he gets, and the more excited that makes me. I can't resist sliding a free hand back to slip between my wet lips, spreading slick up to circle my clit.

  Suddenly, Damon tugs my hair and I pause, my mouth still around him, to look at him. His eyes are molten with desire, his face flushed and his breathing ragged.

  "Come here," he demands, letting go of my hair to take my arm instead. I let him pull me where he wants me, expecting a kiss. Instead, he turns me around, pulling my hips toward his face. My breath catches, choking on a moan, as his tongue swipes through my folds, hot and wet and perfect.