by Sadie Moss
Now the wildcat stared up at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. She’d ceased her struggles, her body softening and giving way under mine. Only her chest moved, her perfect breasts rising and falling with her deep breaths.
She licked her lips, and desire roared through me at the sight of her pink tongue darting out to wet those perfect, bow-shaped lips. I clenched my jaw as my cock pulsed, holding myself stock still to keep from grinding into her.
“Mal…”
Willow’s voice was a breathy whisper. The rush of blood in her veins was a siren’s call.
“Malcolm,” I gritted out. It was the only damned thing I could manage to say.
Her brows furrowed, a little line appearing between them. “What?”
“Malcolm. My name is Malcolm.”
“Oh.” She blinked up at me, her mouth falling open.
My hands still held her wrists, and the sight of her lying so pliant and vulnerable—so trusting—beneath me made me ache to claim her.
To make her mine.
To bury my cock inside her soft warmth and stay there for eternity.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I heard Jerrett call you Mal, and I just assumed…” She trailed off, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Jesus. We’ve never even been properly introduced.”
The laugh that burst from my lips should’ve tamed my arousal, but it only served to heighten it.
This was why Willow was so goddamned alluring. She constantly took me by surprise. We were sprawled across the floor of the training room, locked in a very compromising position as a cloud of lust hovered in the space between us, daring one of us to act.
And this insane woman was worried about being proper.
My laugh settled into a rumbling chuckle, and goose bumps broke out across her skin as her breath picked up again. The warm cherry and almond scent that was uniquely her invaded my nostrils, tinged with a combination of arousal and fear.
Smart girl. You should be frightened. Both of us should. Because I’m about to make a very big mistake.
“Wildcat…” My voice was low and thick, and I watched her pupils dilate in response to my words. “When you’re looking at me like that, you can call me whatever you want.”
Fuck. I can’t resist.
My head lowered, my gaze falling to her lips. Willow’s hands curled up reflexively, her wrists flexing against my palms as if trying to reach for me.
“Malcolm!” she gasped.
Whether the word was a plea or a warning, the sound of her breathy voice calling my name snapped the last thread of my self-restraint.
Her face rose to meet mine as I dipped my head lower, capturing her perfect mouth in a kiss. She tasted incredible. Sweet and exotic, like some kind of rare fruit—and underneath that, the tangy, coppery taste of the blood coursing through her veins.
I spread her lips with my tongue, her unique, addictive essence overwhelming my senses as she opened to me willingly.
My fangs dropped, and my lips curled back.
Then I froze.
It had been an instinct I couldn’t control, but fear lanced through me as I realized what I’d been about to do. Gasping, I wrenched my head away from hers, rolling off her.
“Goddamnit. I—”
But Willow wasn’t done.
Instead of letting go, she clung to me as I rolled, ending up on top of me again. Her warm body pressed against mine, the weight nothing, but the contact between us everything. She plunged her delicate fingers into my hair, tugging lightly at the thick strands as her lips met mine in another searing kiss that dissolved my restraint.
She wants more. How can I deny her?
My wildcat.
The thought thrummed in my mind as I skimmed my hands down the back of her body, palming her ass and pulling her hard against me, easing some of the ache in my balls. She gasped into my mouth, a little moan falling from her lips, and I claimed both sounds with my kiss.
I wanted them all. Every hot breath, every tortured moan.
I wanted to own her pleasure.
Fuck, she already owned mine.
She sat back quickly, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head. She gaped at the sight of my chest and abdomen, and a swell of pride warmed me. My appearance had made plenty of women stop in their tracks over the years, but the way Willow’s gaze flickered over my muscles, the way she blushed almost shyly, affected me in a way I hadn’t been prepared for.
Her fingertips brushed over my stomach, and a growl tore from my throat.
Wrapping my arms around her, I sat up and pressed her flush against me, grinding my cock into the warmth between her thighs. Only a few pieces of fabric separated us there, and I hated every single one of them.
My tongue delved into her mouth, as if somewhere deep in that kiss was the antidote to this unstoppable craving.
I rolled us again, our bodies still fused together like two halves of a whole. Bracing myself on my forearms, I buried my face in the crook of her neck, losing myself in her sweet scent. She cried out and bucked beneath me when I licked the soft skin, her nails digging into my back as her legs twined around me.
She was wearing too many damned clothes.
But I could fix that.
The fabric of her t-shirt tore like tissue paper as I ripped it down the front, exposing the light blue bra that had captured my attention so completely.
And who could fucking blame me?
The soft lace cupped her perfectly formed breasts, clinging to the sloping curves and revealing just a hint of her dusky pink nipples. They were peaked, hard, begging for attention.
I lowered my head to capture one in my mouth, sucking on it through the fabric of her bra.
“Oh my God…” Willow’s eyelids fluttered as she tossed her head restlessly back and forth.
My fangs were still extended, and every sound she made urged on the predator in me. I wanted to sink my teeth into the soft flesh of her breast and lap up the blood that welled. But I couldn’t allow myself to go that far. I’d made a vow many years ago, and even though a fog of lust muddled my brain, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I broke that promise.
And besides, the bond between us was too strong already. If I drank from her, I’d be lost entirely; I couldn’t afford to let that happen.
So I satisfied myself with using my sharp incisors to tear at the delicate lace of her bra, shredding it in long gashes as I dragged my teeth over her skin, leaving red marks across her breasts.
My marks.
They would fade quickly as her vampire healing set in, but for the moment, she was mine.
The wildcat was lost to her passion now, as helpless against the pull between us as I was. She’d given up on coherent words and was mumbling curses as she threaded her hands into my hair, trying to bring my mouth even closer to her flushed, tortured breasts. Her body worked against mine, and I could feel her heat and wetness, smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal.
The pattern of thin white scars decorating her body stood out against her flushed skin. I ran my hands down her sides as I traced a path up her neck with my tongue and gazed into her stormy, half-lidded hazel eyes.
I was about to claim another kiss when her expression changed.
Willow’s eyes widened at the same time they slipped out of focus, staring past me, unblinking. Her body jerked and went rigid as her breath caught in her throat.
Then she sagged beneath me, her eyelids sliding shut.
20
Willow
Malcolm’s touch was like a tidal wave, crashing over me and buffeting me about in a turbulent sea of emotions.
It overwhelmed me, consumed me, burned me to ash, and resurrected me.
I’d never felt anything like it, and my body’s response almost terrified me. I’d always liked sex, but I’d never felt such an insatiable, uncontrollable need before. Rational thought died an unceremonious death as a man I barely knew—scratch that, a vampire I barely knew—played my body
like a finely tuned instrument, and instead of trying to stop him, I urged him on with everything I had.
I ached to feel his hands and lips all over my body and to explore every inch of his in return. It was torture feeling his hard cock grinding against me and not being able to touch it. I wanted to feel the heat of his naked body against mine. I wanted to feel him moving inside me, filling the desperate, indescribable emptiness in my soul I hadn’t even known existed until this moment.
I was incomplete, and he could make me whole.
Malcolm’s lips were firm and warm, and his sharp teeth sent a shiver of fear and lust through me as they scraped across my sensitized skin. My entire body felt electric, flushed, and almost numb from overstimulation. I couldn’t take this. It was too much. Too good.
Speech was impossible. Thought was impossible.
Nothing else existed in the world—only his hands, his mouth, his sharp breaths, and the scent of leather filling my nose.
Then something changed.
Being surrounded by Malcolm had felt almost like an out of body experience, but this was more than that. I truly was leaving my body.
As if my soul had suddenly become more dense than my flesh and blood, I felt myself begin to sink. I tried to call out, to grab onto him for support, but it was no use. I felt my body jerk, heard the hitch of my breath.
But the body that lay stiff and frozen beneath Malcolm was no longer mine.
I had no body.
Anchorless and heavy, my soul sank. Through the floor. Through the earth.
Into blackness.
The scrap of consciousness that remained of me screamed in panic and fear—a sound no one could hear.
Was I dreaming? Had I passed out from the intensity of sensations and emotions coursing through me? Or had I dreamed about my interlude with Malcolm too? Maybe none of this was real. Was this some aspect of being a vampire the brothers had forgotten to warn me about? Insane, hot hallucinations interrupted by soul crushing darkness?
I tried to cry out again, but I had no voice here. When I lifted a hand in front of me, I couldn’t see it. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the pure blackness surrounding me or because my hand just wasn’t there anymore.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the darkness cleared. I found myself floating under a dim night sky. The shift from sinking to floating made me dizzy, but my stomach didn’t lurch—mainly because it wasn’t there. I had no form that I could see.
Gray storm clouds hovered threateningly on the horizon, but the weather was calm for now. My attention fell to the sight below me.
An old, abandoned building sat in a clearing. Grass and weeds grew tall around it, and vines had started to creep up one side, crawling through the broken windows. The building was large, with a pointed roof and a large tower on one side near the back. A church, maybe?
Before I could take in more details of the structure, I was distracted by movement in the clearing.
Shades.
I hadn’t noticed them at first because their shadowy forms blended so well with the dark, starlit terrain. But there were several of them, drifting fitfully about. Malcolm had told me they’d lost track of the shades they were hunting in New York. Is this where they’d gone? Had there been this many in the city, or had others joined them?
The wind shifted, and the dark clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars. In the waning light, it was impossible to tell if one of the creatures below me was missing a limb. The shades didn’t appear to be aware of me floating above them. I tried to move, to drop lower over the crumbling ruin for a better look, but I couldn’t. Whatever force had brought me here was controlling all this, not me.
Then something new caught my eye. A figure walked among the shadow creatures.
I was too far way to see the person clearly. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though the figure was smaller than the shades surrounding it. A cloak fell over the newcomer’s face, obscuring the features beneath. But whoever it was, they looked human—or at least, humanoid.
I strained to move forward; I needed so badly to get closer. The brothers would be so happy if I could give them some new information about this threat. Once they took care of the shades, once they figured out what the creatures wanted with me, maybe I could return to some semblance of a normal life.
But the more I struggled to direct my consciousness, to move toward the ruins, the farther away I seemed to float. Rain began to fall—fat, heavy drops that flew past me, through me. The scent of damp earth rose up to greet me, along with a hint of something else. Something floral and sweet. Jasmine?
The rain picked up, individual drops turning into sheets of water as thunder boomed and lightning lit up the sky. I was drifting away faster now, leaving the shades and the unknown figure behind. But for a brief moment, the newcomer’s head lifted toward the sky, and I caught a glimpse of pale white skin.
I wanted to stay, to see more, but there was nothing to hold onto. The ruins and the rain disappeared, and I was left floating in the black abyss again.
Damn it. Whatever I’d just seen had been important. If I’d been able to get closer, maybe I could’ve picked up some piece of useful information.
My abilities were failing me, just like they had in the training room with Malcolm. I screamed into the darkness again, frustration at being constantly out of my depth bursting out of me.
But the darkness didn’t care.
It swallowed up my scream and gave nothing back.
Rejoining my body wasn’t gentle or peaceful.
It was like riding a rollercoaster in the dark, unable to see the twists and turns coming but buffeted from all sides, tossed around like a rag doll.
Then my consciousness slammed back into solid flesh, and I woke with a jolt. I sat up, gasping.
I was on the large bed in my new room. For a second, my mind flashed back to the first time I’d woken in this house, and panic flooded my system. But my hands weren’t bound now. I wasn’t held captive.
My heartbeat slowed slightly with that realization as I blinked. Fog still hovered in my brain, and my body felt heavy and numb. What the hell had just happened? Had any of that been real?
A woman I didn’t recognize rushed to my side, fussing over me. “Ah, you’re awake! Not too fast, not too fast.”
She was older, with a weather-beaten face, silver hair, and bright purple eyes. Despite their odd color, they were warm and kind. But when she pressed on my shoulders, trying to force me back down, my panic resurfaced. Too many strange beings had attacked me in the last week, and my survival instincts kicked into high gear.
“No! Don’t touch me!” I slid away from her, scooting toward the other side of the mattress.
A warm hand caught my arm, and my head snapped up. Sol sat on the edge of the bed, his expression serious, his unseeing green eyes trained on my face. He slid his hand down and grasped my fingers gently, stroking his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Sol!” I gasped. My brain was scrambled mush, and his name seemed to be the only word I remembered. “Sol. I… Sol!”
“Shh, it’s all right. You have nothing to fear. You’re safe. We’ll always keep you safe.”
He pulled me into his arms, and I clung to him like a child, allowing his strength and stability to envelop me. He smelled amazing, warm and spicy, and the slow cadence of his heartbeat soothed my own.
As I regained my composure, my gaze slid over his shoulder to the older woman. She’d crossed around to this side of the bed and now stood behind him with her arms folded.
“Well, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she huffed. A Russian accent tinged her words, and she sounded slightly offended.
I pulled away from Sol. “No, you didn’t. I was just startled. Who… are you?”
“Willow, this lovely woman is Yuliya. She cooks for us, looks after our house, and keeps my brothers and me in line, don’t you, Yuliya?”
Sol’s voice was warm as he tipped his head over his shoulder toward
her. Yuliya couldn’t hide her smile when he spoke. She clearly adored him, and I could see why. Even knowing what he was, even having seen him fight, there was something about Sol that made me feel completely protected. When he promised he would keep me safe, I believed him.
The woman laughed, her purple eyes twinkling. “Somebody must do it, eh? The three of you are barely home—and when you are, you make such a mess! Always broken furniture, holes in walls… dirty dishes.”
She poked Sol in the back when she said that last bit, making me suspect he was the worst offender in that area.
Huh. This gorgeous, supernaturally powerful man didn’t like doing dishes. I could definitely relate to that, but something about it still struck me as odd. The image of him padding through the kitchen and slipping an empty bowl into the sink was just so… so human.
As if he could read my thoughts, he chuckled. “I’m not a slob, I promise. Besides, we can’t all use magic to cook and clean like you can, Yuliya.”
Magic?
My brain balked at that word, so I let it float on by. I’d already seen more proof than I needed that the supernatural existed, so why not magic too? But I’d deal with processing that information later.
Yuliya poked him again. “True. True! Which is why you’re so lucky to have me.”
Sol chuckled. “Yuliya was away this past week visiting her coven in Russia. Now that she’s back, don’t hesitate to ask her if you need anything.”
“Yes! Anything you need. Clothes, food, something cleaned, something fixed—I do it all. Goodness, I’ve replaced all the furniture in this house by now. Twice!” She tsked through her teeth. “Boys. They break so many things.”
I was beginning to like the old woman. Something about her presence felt grounding, as if she made all of this more real somehow. She was so solid and down-to-earth, and the way she treated Sol made him seem less like a terrifying creature of the night and more like a regular, if extremely rich, guy. She certainly wasn’t afraid of him.