by N. D. Jones
Bader still gripped Oriana’s hand. Marrok wondered whether the werewolf would willingly release her into his care when the time came.
“Not yet. I have a present that requires a gentle, human touch.”
At the mention of a gift, Oriana’s smile widened. “I don’t see a pocket in your robe. Where on your body have you hidden my present?” Her tone had taken on the low, seductive voice that always had the effect of tempting his restraint. “Will you permit me to search you to find out?”
“Oriana,” her parents half groaned, half scolded.
“Daughter, at least maintain the illusion of decorum until after the ritual … and until you and Marrok are alone.” Matriarch Kalinda reached behind Oriana, pulling her hood over her head. She did the same with her own hood, as did Solange.
Marrok didn’t have to look behind him to know Lita had followed suit, but he did. Lita smiled at Marrok the way she had when he was a boy and she tucked him in at night. She would kiss his cheek and say, “Good night my bright moon.” His mother loved him. Hearing her say the words healed a fissure in his heart he’d pretended hadn’t existed. Marrok loved Lita too, and wished, for the millionth time, that the rift that kept werewolves and witches apart could be mended. He would help Oriana with her research. Hopefully, somewhere in the matriarchal archives, they would find a solution.
Lita moved to stand directly behind Marrok, followed by Io, Zev, and then Alarick, a matrilineal descent hierarchy.
Across from Marrok, Bader kissed Oriana’s hand again before standing behind her, with Solange claiming the location behind him. Only Marrok, Oriana, and Matriarch Kalinda remained where they were. Mother and daughter were equals in their society, and Marrok’s rank would soon match that of Bader’s, making him the second most powerful werewolf in the realms. Marrok couldn’t care less about prestige or power. The only privilege he coveted was that of loving and being loved by Oriana.
“On this moonless night,” Matriarch Kalinda began, the opening lines to the ritual, “we’ve come together to witness the commitment of the sun to her moon.”
Oriana took one step forward.
“Together they are magic, mysticism, and might. They are born as stars, a fusion of heat, light, and life.”
Another step.
“Together they are strength of heart and sincerity of soul. She is every sunrise and sunset.”
Bader’s baritone voice followed Kalinda’s soft, assured tone. “On this moonless night, we’ve come together to witness the bonding of the moon to his sun. Together they rule the sky, a merging of opposites. Unity, cooperation … his moon and her sun are better together.” Bader’s eyes, which had moved from one person to the next, making sure to include them all in his message, shifted to Marrok and stayed. “We are every moonrise and moonset. Every phase of the moon runs through our veins and is felt in our hearts and minds. Do you feel them, Son of Lita of Ironmere City?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know them, Son of Io of Chrome Haven?”
“Yes.”
“Then convince me you deserve the heart and hand of the Matriarch of Steelcross.”
Marrok knew the words that came next in the ceremony. They were simple enough to recite. But Marrok had interpreted correctly the Aku of Irongarde’s unspoken challenge. He wanted a guarantee no werewolf, including Bader himself, could offer a father-in-law, much less the witch he loved.
Marrok had told Oriana, dozens of times, that he’d never hurt her. He’d meant those words with every fiber of his being. He simply didn’t think himself capable of harming her. Realistically though, was that a promise he could keep, regardless of his intentions? The sad, disturbing truth was that he could not. Even as Marrok watched Oriana watch him, her smile dimmer for the gauntlet her father had tossed down, his mind revolted against the possibility of him giving her a reason to walk away from their union.
If Alarick were in human form, he’d likely whisper to Marrok that Bader was an asshole. As convenient as it would be to cast that judgment at the older werewolf, Bader wasn’t an asshole but a father who wanted more for his daughter than what he’d been able to provide for her mother.
Marrok reached behind him, unclasping the necklace hidden under his silver snare. “New Moon. Waxing Crescent.” One step put him closer to Oriana. “First Quarter. Waxing Gibbous.” A second step. “Full Moon. Waning Gibbous.” Silver necklace in hand, he leaned down and placed his gift around Oriana’s neck, a silver crescent moon with a dangling nebula pendant in the center, a swirl of yellow, pink, purple, blue, and red—the colors of witch magic. “Last Quarter. Waning Crescent.” He kissed her cheek. “Eight phases of the moon, and of my beating werewolf heart. Every phase belongs to you, Oriana. You’re my sol, and I’ll forever be your” —he winked at her— “heavenly body.”
She grinned up at him, suppressing the laughter he saw in her wide, bright eyes. Because Oriana was an unrepentant flirt, she licked her lips, a sensual glide from one corner to the other, her eyes never leaving his.
Her parents couldn’t see her, but his mother damn sure could. Lita’s whisper: “By this time next year, I’ll have a granddaughter to spoil,” was a reminder of how the ceremony would end.
The palm of Lita’s hand settled against the center of his back, her low voice reaching him again. “Well done, son. It’s time for you to shift. She’s ready to take you as her consort, but as the werewolf you are and will forever be.”
He nodded, acknowledging Lita’s words, as well as Oriana’s smirk and raised eyebrow. The woman could be a menace. Marrok wasn’t shy about his body, no werewolf was, but the way Oriana watched him disrobe, through lust-filled eyes, he feared he would embarrass himself. While Matriarch Kalinda and Bader couldn’t see how their daughter looked at him, with open desire, they most certainly could see his reaction to her.
Oriana’s royal blue eyes dropped, not to his lips, as they normally did when she wanted a kiss, nor to his chest, which she loved to snuggle against, but to his dick. She licked her lips again, and his dick twitched. She grinned, winked, and opened her mouth to say something inappropriate, no doubt, but closed it when her mother sighed, “Whatever you’re doing to make Marrok cringe with embarrassment, please stop. No one here, especially Lita or I, want to see …” She gestured in the general direction of his groin.
He swore his brothers laughed at him, as much as they could in werewolf form.
“Marrok, please proceed, so we can complete this ritual. It’s clear to all present that my daughter is incapable of acting the role of a proper matriarch.”
“Trust me, Mother, I’ve been nothing but a proper matriarch, all these years, thanks to Marrok.”
“That’s good to hear,” Bader said, “but more than I wanted to know. I agree with Kalinda. Let’s proceed.”
Lita backed up, giving Marrok space to shift, not that he needed much.
He lifted his face to the sky, to his beloved moon. Willing his body to obey, he began to shift. Bones cracked, beginning at his feet and moving up his body. Falling to his hands and knees, back and hip muscles pushed out, lengthening, contorting, strengthening. Claws formed, knuckles bulged, jaw broke, and the silver snare adjusted to accommodate his thick neck.
All the while, Oriana watched him in silence. He’d never shifted in front of her before. A part of him felt self-conscious, insecure even. Irrational, considering witches were werewolves’ natural mates. Except for the blood-and-magic lust, nothing about werewolves turned witches off.
Oriana had always claimed he didn’t scare her, even when he towered over her, like he did as a werewolf.
She closed the short distance between them, pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart, and he waited for what would come next. Oriana had never used her magic on him, but she would have to claim him as her consort, the same way Matriarch Kalinda had claimed Bader decades earlier. Yet, he sensed no magic emanating from Oriana.
“You’re magnificent, Marrok. Please kneel.”
&n
bsp; Without haste, he complied. Dropping to his knees, he was nearly eye level with his witch. To Marrok’s delight, Oriana pressed her body to his, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him to her.
She felt amazing—soft, warm, curvy.
He returned her embrace, careful to keep his claws away from any part of her.
Oriana kept them there, her small hands stroking his back, his neck, his face. She even kissed his cold nose, sending shivers of need and want through him. “I’ll always take care of you,” Oriana promised. “Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. Our offspring. Every part of you is mine to love and to protect.”
A witch’s pledge to her werewolf mate. More, a matriarch’s oath to her consort.
Her hand found the spot over his heart again. He still didn’t feel her magic. Nipping his ear, she spoke words so low they had to have been meant for him alone. “I will not brand you with the mark of the Aku of Steelcross. I will not burn my symbol into your skin, although you are burned into my heart. You are my moon, as I am your sun. But our life together will be an endless total eclipse, a rare phenomenon we’ll embrace with both hands, fighting to be the exception to the Earth Rift rule.”
She nipped his other ear, and a moan slipped from him. He held her tighter, wanting everything she offered.
“I love you, Marrok.” Removing her warmth, she stepped back, every bit a matriarch when she said, “Stand Marrok of Wild Moor.”
He did.
“From this day forward, you will carry the title of Marrok, Cyrus of Steelcross, Consort to Oriana, Matriarch of Steelcross.”
As he looked around at the gathered guests, their faces registered the same shock which washed over him.
His witch had given him, a werewolf of the Black Moon Clan, a title that literally translated as sun. Only witches were named after the magic-giving star. He had no idea what it meant or even what he wanted it to mean.
Oriana had a way of knocking him on his ass without lifting a pretty, manicured finger. There were no words … not that he could speak as a werewolf.
Marrok shifted, quicker than ever. Then he was pulling her to him, kissing her laughing, smiling face. “You don’t need magic to stun everyone around you. I love you, my wicked, little, red witch.”
Oriana smacked his naked ass and jumped them away from Silentdrift Lake, his stomach plummeting to his feet.
Chapter 6: Young Love
July 3, 2240
Steelcross Realm
Steel Rise
They materialized in a dark room, crashing to the floor with a hard thud. Marrok swore, and Oriana could relate. Damn, who knew landing with a six foot, two-hundred-pound, muscular male atop her would hurt so much?
Marrok glared down at her. “I guess you’re going to blame this messed up landing on having gotten distracted as well.”
Oriana’s hands landed on Marrok’s ass with a loud smack. “Yes, it’s your own fault for having such a sexy body. A body, by the way, you’ve refused to let me sample properly.”
“Yeah, right. You aren’t capable of limiting yourself to a sample.”
Marrok settled more comfortably atop her, pushing her ceremonial dress up her thighs and wedging himself between Oriana’s legs. “Your so-called sample sex would’ve had us going all the way.”
“You would’ve enjoyed it, if we had.”
A big hand pushed her dress farther north, holding it in place while lowering his face to her neck. “Hell yes, I would’ve enjoyed it. Right before your parents found out and had me castrated. Matriarchs are supposed to be untouched until they take a consort.”
“I thought you were going to say innocent.”
He kissed her neck. Sucked. Bit. Licked. “There’s not an innocent thing about you except for this.” Marrok’s erection rubbed against her panty-covered sex, setting off sparks of heat and desire.
They moaned, him against her pulsing neck, and her against his broad shoulder.
Marrok did it over and again, rocking into her with his long, hard penis. Yesss. Oriana loved and appreciated how much Marrok respected her, including his insistence on upholding an outdated custom no one, except for heirs to the matriarchy, were expected to adhere to. That didn’t, however, mean she had appreciated the creative ways he’d taken to rejecting her advances. Pride should’ve had Oriana ceasing her flirtations, but stubbornness had proven a greater motivator.
“Are we in Iron Spire or Steel Rise?”
“Steel Rise.” She bit his shoulder, tasting his salty, woodsy flesh. Delicious. “My extraction magic may not be as good as Solange’s, but I am capable of not over-shooting my destination by an entire realm.”
“So you say. At least no one saw us, and we made it to your suite without me throwing up all over you.”
Oriana glanced around the room, difficult when pinned to the floor. But she could see enough to know whose suite she’d jumped them into, and it wasn’t hers. Umm, she’d just keep that fact to herself. No need to worry her consort with inconsequential details that would have him stopping what he was doing with his mouth and hips.
She’d waited years to get him exactly where he was—between her legs and at the hot core of her desire. Oriana had no plans of moving from this room until she was breathless and boneless.
“Rip them.”
The hand that had been exploring the edge of her panties stilled. Yet, she felt a suddenly pointy fingernail and observed Marrok’s irises shift to pink.
“I can see you want to, so do it.”
“I shouldn’t. It’s your first time. I’m supposed to be soft and gentle with you. A werewolf can’t have everything he wants.”
“You can if your witch also wants it. It’s also your first time, but I have no intention of being soft and gentle with you.” Widening her legs, she pushed up, grazing herself against his erection. Then she was kissing Marrok—deep and hard.
Her panties fell away, a single flick of Marrok’s elongated nail having sliced through the silk garment.
“Yes,” she hissed against his ear. “Rip everything off.”
This time, he didn’t argue, not even a silent rebuttal in the eyes that watched her for a consent she’d granted years earlier.
His grin was masculine satisfaction personified. “Hell no, not innocent at all.”
Careful slice after careful slice had Oriana’s ceremonial dress cut to shreds, pieces of fabric on the floor around her. If someone came upon them, Marrok’s big body over hers, his hands holding her wrists over her head, Oriana’s dress torn, and she splayed like a starfish, they’d either draw an absolutely correct conclusion or a horribly inaccurate one.
“We should at least move to the bed. A gentleman doesn’t deflower his bride on a cold, hard floor.”
“You’re a werewolf.”
“Which doesn’t make me a rutting animal who’s so full of lust I’d take you on the floor, no matter how much you tempt me. Up, Oriana.”
He jumped to his feet, scooping her up afterward and depositing her on the big, fluffy bed she’d been on many times. Not in this context, though. The room hadn’t been used in over a year, she rationalized. Changing the linens wouldn’t be enough but she’d have time to set right what they were about to do there.
Oriana was happy to accept Marrok’s weight atop her again. They kissed—unrushed, long, and deep.
“I’ve dreamt of this.” Warm breath caressed a nipple before Marrok’s wet mouth claimed it. “… of tasting all of you …” Tongue rimmed, and lips sucked. “… of having free rein to touch you as much as I like.” A hand played with her other breast, fingers twisting her nipple, pinching with a firm softness. “Your legs around my waist. Your pussy squeezing my dick. Your mouth anywhere you want to put it as long as it’s on me.”
Damn, where had this Marrok been hiding? If he kept talking like this, she’d come from the images alone. Hmm, his voice, deeper than normal, prompted so many sensual ideas.
“What else?”
“So much.”
&n
bsp; “Tell me.” Oriana had never ached this much for him or been this aroused. Her magic sizzled underneath her skin. Electric charges detonated every place they touched, shocking her senses and feeding her arousal.
“Telling is good.” Marrok shifted down her body, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he went. “But I’d rather show you.”
Red irises looked up at Oriana from a head between her thighs. Shit. Could Marrok feel the pattern of shockwaves running up and down her legs?
He sniffed her. Marrok ran his nose along her sex, inhaling her the way he would if he were in werewolf form. There went the electric shocks again, supercharging her center and curling her hair.
“You have no idea how good you smell to me. Or how hard I get from your scent, knowing I’m the only werewolf who’s ever made you perfume like this.”
“Marrok.” His name came out as a low moan. Her legs trembled, and her sex wept for him.
He nuzzled her again. His nose rubbed up and down, getting coated in her moisture. “So sweet, baby. You smell so sweet to me.” Instinctively, her hips rose. “That’s right, mark me with your scent.”
Werewolf sex play, while still in human form.
“S-stop teasing,” Oriana panted.
“Not teasing. Taking my time.”
She wanted to tell him to go faster, to dive in with his lips and tongue before she embarrassed herself by coming from the friction of his nose against her clit. But she didn’t have to because Marrok covered her mound with his mouth and, yes, yes, yes, it felt so damn good to be claimed this way.
Marrok didn’t suck her so much as slurp her into his mouth, all thick, full lips and long, wily tongue. Yanking her forward, big hands on her thighs, Marrok pulled her even more onto his tongue, keeping her pressed to his mouth as he feasted.
Oriana couldn’t look away from what he was doing to her. Her eyes were blown wide. Her mouth was wide as well and couldn’t keep from moaning loudly. Her hand settled atop his head, fingers gripped his scalp, and she gave a little push downward.