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His huge body bent over her, making her feel too small and powerless. Yet, his hand was incredibly gentle as he caressed her breast and teased her nipple. Her insides felt as if he was turning up the fire under a pot on the stove. He nipped her shoulder and nuzzled the back of her neck.
Her fear was smothered by her increasing need, the warmth of his body, his careful touch. It was Shay. How could she be afraid?
“There we go,” he murmured into her ear. “Breanne, I’m going to take you hard. Sing out if I hurt you, but I need to feel you around me, to hear your heart and breath.”
He needed her. Heavens, the words simply washed any resistance away. “Take me. However you want.”
His growl shuddered through her as he slicked his cock in her wetness. He teased at her entrance for a moment, then sheathed himself in her with one hard thrust.
The shock sent her vagina spasming around him, and she gasped.
“By the God, you feel good, Breanne.” His voice was low and harsh as he pulled out and slammed home again.
Her eyes tried to roll back in her head as sensations blasted through her. He felt different in this position. Deeper than normal, hitting new spots.
“Hang on, little wolf.” As if following his own orders, his hands closed on her hips in an inescapable grip, and he yanked her back onto his cock with a hum of pleasure. Hard. Fast. Determined. He took her as he’d said, holding her as he wanted. Thrust after thrust.
“More,” she whined.
He nudged her legs farther apart, going even deeper, and the relentless rhythm started a pulsing inside her. Pressure built as her center coiled like an overwound spring. She tightened around him, needing more.
He chuckled and slid one hand down over her clit, teasing her with insistent fingers into mindless need. Each plunge of his cock shoved her against his hand.
She moaned and shut her eyes, feeling only his slick heavy erection moving in and out while his firm finger stroked her clit.
As his shaft pushed deeper, as his finger stroked harder, faster, his teeth closed on the back of her neck, and the bite of pain ripped right down to her core. For one second everything inside her balanced on a pinpoint, and then the spring inside her blew. Inescapable pleasure slammed outward in blazing wave after wave, until she wasn’t sure where her body began or ended.
He gave a low groan. His grip was bruise-inducing tight, and he held himself immobile as his cock shuddered inside her.
Humming his satisfaction in her ear, he laved the pain of his bite, then he rolled them over onto their sides. He curled around her, her back against his chest.
Her arms and legs melted into the mattress as she rested her head on his hard bicep.
He held her against him, his shaft still deep inside her. “Thank you, mo leannan,” he whispered.
She grinned. No—thank you. Not only for the orgasm, but also for the discovery that she could enjoy hard and fast sex. “You’re welcome.” She lifted his hand from her breast and bit his finger. His response was to harden inside her. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“It shouldn’t have been necessary.” He pulled his hand away and set it back on her breast, and she felt her nipple gather into a peak. Funny how stroking herself did nothing, but under his callused palm, her every nerve came alive.
When he rolled her nipple between his fingers, her core clenched around his cock, making him growl in satisfaction. He kissed her hair, pulling her closer. “But you saved others tonight. How did you get so brave? Were your parents warriors?” He winced. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t know, do you?”
“No.”
“What do humans do with their orphans?” He slid out and turned her to face him.
She nuzzled his chest, breathing in the scent of soap and their loving. “Don’t you ever watch television?”
“No. The males treat their females so badly that I want to teach them manners.” His hand fisted, making his knuckles crack. “And everyone is rude.”
She tried to imagine Mr. Over-protective Polite Warrior tolerating a sitcom or even something like Die Hard. A giggle escaped her.
“Orphans?” He reminded her.
“Oh. People are hired to care for a batch of children. I didn’t talk for a long time, so they thought I was retarded, and I didn’t get adopted. I was fostered by a nice couple, but he lost his job and had to move out-of-state. Another one got pregnant, and they didn’t want two kids. I moved around a lot. In my last foster home, the guy tried to…”
Shay’s eyes narrowed.
Whoa. Not a good story for right now. “Well, I ran away before anything”—much— “happened, and lived with a street gang.”
“Gangs are children?”
“Not always, but this one was just a bunch of kids holing up in a condemned warehouse. Scavenging and stealing.” She smiled. “I was cute, so I made a good pickpocket and shoplifter. And I was great at hotwiring cars.”
“You didn’t stay a thief.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I tried to lift a wallet from a—well, you’d call him a warrior. Sensei taught martial arts, and instead of turning me into juvvie, he put me to work in his dojo.”
He touched her nose. “The courage you already had, but he taught you to fight.”
“Yeah.” She grimaced. “Although it doesn’t do much good against a hellhound.”
By the God, did she have to remind him again? The memory of her in the street returned, so selflessly brave, trying to save a cahir’s life. Herne’s hooves, she could steal the heart right out of his chest.
He studied her pale sweet face with the spattering of freckles. She didn’t fight with the courage of a warrior but with the fierceness of a mother wolf guarding her young. Shay ran his finger over her cheek. He’d seen her cuddling Bonnie’s pups, seen the crayon drawing from another that she’d taped on their refrigerator. She cared. That was her secret: she simply cared. This female had a heart bigger than her tiny body.
And she’d stolen his. He closed his eyes. The inevitability of loving her was like the settling of a mountain. He could tell himself she was merely a lover, and, of course, he would worry over her welfare. But it would be a lie. She meant far, far more.
He sighed, and an odd tightness in his chest relaxed with the admission of what he felt.
Yet…caring for Breanne would create a mess.
Not with Zeb, of course. He smiled and rubbed his face against her fragrant hair. Flowers and citrus; she must have a new shampoo. Zeb was already heart-tied to her, even if he tried to pretend otherwise.
The problem was with Shay. I’m oathbound. None of the reasons he’d given Zeb had changed. Moving with him and Zeb would be too hard on her. But what if she cared for them? He thought she did—although he’d be the first to say he didn’t understand females at all. What was the correct trail to satisfy both honor and needs?
He’d have to think further. And even if he and Zeb wanted to court her, the Law said a female must attend at least one Gather first. Females needed to learn to separate physical reactions from her emotional ones.
But all that was in the future, and she was here in his bed now.
She was chewing on her lip, thinking intently. “How come when Zeb used a pistol, the bullets got through the hellhound’s armor?”
“What?” His brows drew together as he tried to veer from romance to death.
“The bullets,” she said patiently. “How did a pistol kill a hellhound?”
He stared at her. She’d been out there in the street when Zeb shot the hellhound. Her soft little body had been far too close. A memory flashed of his brothers’ savaged bodies. A growl rumbled in his chest.
“What? Shay?”
She is alive. He had to keep telling himself that. Proving it. He rolled off the bed, flipped her on her back, and dragged her downward until her sweet ass was half off the edge. “You shouldn’t remind a male of how close you came to dying, little wolf.”
Her eyes widened as he set her knees in the
crooks of his elbows, opening her to his use. She is alive. He surged home with one swift thrust.
Chapter Twenty-four
Bree stepped out of the kitchen and stretched. All day, she’d been discovering sore spots. Throwing cast-iron pots apparently required different muscles than lifting weights. And sex with an angry cahir…
She put her hand on her stomach. Dear sweet heavens. The sex had been amazing. That he cared enough to be so upset made her all quivery inside.
Don’t get attached, Bree. He wasn’t after a relationship. As soon as he and Zeb finished teaching the cahirs, they’d be off to a new area. She needed to confine herself to gratitude for having met him. Would she have ever recovered enough to have sex if he hadn’t been so understanding and so stubborn?
Yeah, she cared for him, but he didn’t need to know. Instead, she’d…somehow…send him off to the wars with a kiss, and not burden him with the knowledge of how unhappy she’d be.
She sighed. As she shook her head to dislodge the unhappy thoughts, she heard soft classical music. Must be Zeb. She followed the sound to the front of the lodge.
In the library area, Zeb was sprawled in a chair, reading. The cover of the book held a dead body and a bloody knife. Crazy cahir.
“Little female?” He patted the arm of his overstuffed chair.
She veered around her jigsaw puzzle table and set a hip on the chair arm. Would he answer her questions? Not if he figured out why she was asking.
Even her few moments of thinking made him frown. “Problems?”
“Did you know you’re getting gray hair?” He hadn’t worn a leather band. With a finger, she traced one silvery strand through his long, night dark hair.
“Probably from seeing you try to kill a hellhound with spaghetti sauce.” His voice sounded like a gravel truck when he finished, and his expression had turned ferocious.
Her heart skipped a beat. Yet, he no longer scared her. And he’d oh-so-conveniently introduced the subject she wanted to discuss. Go girl! “Your gun did seem a bit more effective than spaghetti. How come the bullets bounced off before? Did you have a bigger pistol this time?”
“No.” He tugged her hand away from his hair and nibbled on her fingers. The teasing bites sent tingles up her arm. “The trick is to hit it in the eye.”
Was he insane? “With a bullet?”
“A stiletto works, but they dodge so fast that you’ll miss unless it actually has you in its jaws.”
She stared at him. In its jaws? She tried to imagine doing anything except screaming. “A pistol’s a better choice then,” she said hoarsely. “But that’s an awful small target.”
“Fucking small.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, then up her arm. The heat from his lips trickled into her and pooled low in her belly. “Recessed eyes mean you have to shoot straight-on.”
“What?” Her skin wakened and her breasts grew heavy. “Oh. Right. Straight-on.” She tried to pull her hand away. How was she supposed to keep her mind on—?
He yanked her arm and toppled her into his lap. Ignoring her half-hearted struggles, he arranged her with ruthless hands until her shoulder pressed against his hard chest. His left arm supported her back as he settled her legs over the armrest. With her right arm pinned between them, she couldn’t get out of the chair. Her heart rate increased, but she wasn’t scared. Much.
“Better,” he rumbled, rubbing his chin on the top of her head. “I got a kink in my neck with you up there.”
Uh-huh. He probably just didn’t like anyone above him. Cahirs’ attitudes went way past macho.
He shifted his arm behind her back so his palm could curve over her ribs below her breast. If he moved it up…
She pushed at his hand but he laced his fingers through hers. Her every breath rubbed the underside of her breast against his knuckles, and arousal flared inside her.
How the heck could he turn her on when she was sleeping with Shay? Lo—cared for Shay? Don’t go there. “Uh.” What were the darned questions?
“Yes?” His half-smile was filled with satisfaction.
“If hellhounds live in cities, how come the news doesn’t report torn-up bodies?”
“A hellhound doesn’t leave anything alive. If it only kills one, it’ll carry the body away to finish over the course of the night.”
Oh God, Ashley.
As she blinked back tears, he hugged her, and the slow thud of his heart was as comforting as his hard arms around her. “I’m sorry about Nora, cariad.”
He could be so sweet. She rubbed her wet cheeks on his soft flannel shirt. “How come hellhounds don’t overrun the world?”
His right hand stroked across her hip and down her thigh. Warmth followed in its wake. “They’re only in hellhound form at full moon. Rest of the time, they’re human—and so violent that they tend to get killed by your police.”
When he stroked up the inside of her thigh, her body seared with heat. His fingers paused an inch from her pussy to make teasing circles. Even though she wore jeans, she felt exposed. She tried to disentangle her fingers from his other hand, but he merely increased his grip.
“I touch only your leg, little female,” he murmured into her hair. “Or is my touch loathsome to you?”
She tipped her face up to answer, and his mouth came down on hers. Gently. Firmly. His tongue swept inside and out before she could adjust. He sucked on her lower lip, then traced it with his tongue.
Oh heavens.
He leaned her back farther, so he could take her mouth more fully, nuzzling and sucking and penetrating.
Her body blazed, as a burning ball of need grew in her lower half. His hand moved up the final inch, palm pressing against her pussy, holding her open, while his thumb rubbed her clit. Exactly where she needed. Wanted. She moaned.
He chuckled, low and deep, and lifted his lips from hers. To her dismay, his hand moved away to rest on her knee.
Her whole body felt sensitive and aching, and she looked up at him, feeling as if she’d stepped into a whirlwind.
His black eyes were hot with hunger, and her hip rested against a massive erection. He kissed her lightly. “I would taste you more…thoroughly, but this is not the time.” When he tipped his head, she heard the rattle of a car approaching the Lodge.
“Oh.” Oh God, what if it was Shay? Guilt carved a path through her pleasure. “What have I done?” How could she have been such a slut?
Zeb frowned. “What?”
She pushed at him. “I can’t believe I let you touch me like that. I’m sleeping with Shay.”
He plucked her hand from his chest and kissed her fingertips. “Brothers share their female. You know this.”
“Yeah. Vicki said, but…” But her knowledge—and reasoning—had disappeared under the onslaught of guilt.
“I knew you’d have a problem, little no-longer-human. I’d planned to stay away, but I saw you in danger.
Her mouth went dry. They both wanted her. And she—she wanted them.
With his thumb, he tilted her chin higher and trapped her gaze. “This is not the time for me to take you, but it will be soon. You decide how you feel about that.”
He set her on her feet and went to answer the door, leaving her staring at his back. Was that a promise or a threat?
* * *
Bree aimed her revolver at the target and squeezed off a shot. As a hole appeared in the bulls-eye, the sound rolled through the mountains. Look at that. Her month off from practice hadn’t messed up her aim. Even better, her weightlifting had improved her muscles, and the revolver felt lighter.
After receiving her part of the barbeque profits, she’d bought bullets. Even if the chance of killing a hellhound was slim, she felt better knowing it wasn’t hopeless.
Yesterday, she’d received a notice that her Seattle lease would end in mid-May. The unexpected reminder had led to such a horrible nightmare that she’d taken a shower at three a.m. Her lips curved ruefully. Shay’d thought she was crazy.
As she care
fully reloaded her pistol, she ordered her thoughts. She needed to return, pack up her apartment, and move out. But she wouldn’t go during the dark of the moon. Nope. She took a shot and nailed the target. And moon or not, she’d be sure she could defend herself.
Aim…fire. She frowned. Her living room was small, and a hellhound would be close. Why was she practicing on a distant target? And an eye was the size of a quarter, not a pumpkin-sized target like what she had now. She needed to rework the firing range.
By piling up logs, branches, and brush, she created something roughly the size of a hellhound. So big. Cold slid down her spine. Stop it.
She secured two eye-sized targets to her hellhound simulation, then backed up. Not bad. If it came through the glass door, she’d be about…this far away. She assumed the proper stance and fired. Missed the eye.
Again and again. One bullet hit. Zeb had made it look so easy, but criminy, an eye was a small target. Mouth tight, she reloaded.
* * *
Sucking on a hard candy, Shay strolled down the dirt road toward the cabins at the end. They were the ones in the worst condition. As the previous owner had grown older, he’d maintained only the closest few. After fixing them first, Zeb was working down the line, grumbling as if the disrepair were a personal affront.
Hammering brought Shay to the current project. Taking a comfortable position against a tree, he breathed in the scents of freshly cut wood and damp forest as he watched his brother work.
A chittering sprite perched on a branch, throwing twigs at Zeb. When a tiny missile bounced off his back, he laughed.
Shay smiled. Damned if that wasn’t a fine sound. Cold Creek was good for Zeb. So was the brother bond. Then there was Breanne. Scratching his shoulder on the tree trunk, he turned over arguments in his mind. Would his brother agree? And if he did, what would Breanne say?
“You going to stand there all day?” Zeb set down the hammer and turned.
“Heard me?”