Sanibel Surrender Vampire Werewolf Menage (Fanged Romance Series Book Five) Page 8

  Heath inhaled sharply, sliding a sidelong look her way. “I must confess - I protected you this night and many others like it. Not about to hurt you now, I think I proved that quite well last night, when you were beneath me.”

  “Thanks,” was all she managed to say. “I mean for helping me not the…you know.” His lips twitched, but he said nothing. Then she realized something. “I don’t have my purse.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll get it.” Heath brushed past her and opened her new condominium with another wave of his hand. On any other day, Molly might ask him how he managed his magical breaking and entering. But she had other questions that were more important, and she didn’t know how many Heath would answer before leaving.

  Upon entering, Heath wasn’t very talkative, instead, spending the next few minutes searching every possible hiding place in her tiny place. And as the seconds ticked by, that dream quality state she’d been floating around in for the better part of the night was gradually dissipating. Like the air leaving a slowly sinking balloon, Molly’s body started to sag, so she found a chair and crashed. How could she adjust to the knowledge she’d been given? That she lived in a world filled with vampires. Not just vampires but also a whole society of them, where there were classifications such as soldiers, warriors, and… “Heath?”

  “I’m here for you, lass. How about a drink?” He walked to the mini kitchen, flipped on the halogens, and rummaged.

  “I could use one, thanks.” She was certainly thirsty. No matter how much water she’d downed during the day, Molly hadn’t been able to quench her thirst.

  She glanced around. The place was small, close to six-hundred square feet, housing a king sized bed, a mini kitchen, and a corner seating section with two oversized, leather chairs. To the left was the bathroom, and to the right was a small terrace with a killer view of the Gulf of Mexico. For now, no matter how small, the condo was perfect for her. And private. Molly couldn’t believe these towers were so well hidden from the road. That she’d lived in Fort Myers all her life and had never seen them when she visited Sanibel Island.

  “Here you are, lass.” Heath untwisted the cap on a chilled bottle of water, handing it to her. “You look parched.”

  “I’m sure I look worse than parched.” When the bottle touched her lips, she couldn’t stop drinking until she finished.

  “Another one, then?” he asked as he walked back to the kitchen area.

  “Maybe later.” No matter what had happened tonight, something primal rubbed the underside of her skin, and Molly couldn’t help but stare at the male perfection in front of her. There was so much of him, without a flaw in sight. Dressed in a tan silk-weight pullover, his broad shoulders strained the seams. He’d tucked dark graphic jeans inside saddle-colored combat boots that encased his long, thick legs. His shirt shifted with his movements as he bent down to the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a beer. A bared slice of hard stomach revealed a crisp line of midnight hair, which disappeared beneath his waistband. When he walked to the empty chair across from her, she grew wet, but instantly forgave herself since she personally knew his touch. Perhaps, her mind was trying to find something normal to lock onto, in way of a distraction. As if sensing her desire, Heath raised his chin, arching his black slash of a brow while crossing one booted foot across his opposite knee.

  Watching her watch him.

  Molly reminded herself that she was entirely naked under Ail’s shirt, though Heath didn’t appear to need reminding, considering he’d adjusted himself quite a few times already. She also recalled how good Ail looked without his shirt, which made her even wetter. In a flash, her body heated up another ten degrees with something dark nonetheless familiar. She lifted the neck of her borrowed shirt and swiped her fresh perspiration. Dropping it back to her throat, she saw that Heath had moved closer, leaning her way, dangling his longneck in front of her mouth.

  “Mayhap this cold one will help?”

  “I don’t want to add alcohol to my mental mix.” She held up her hands in protest. “Tonight’s been freaky enough.”

  In a blur, he moved, reaching for a lock of Molly’s hair. Carefully winding it around his long, tapered index finger, Heath studied it. “In this country,” he whispered in a husky drawl that should be outlawed, “you call this color, what?”

  “S-strawberry blonde,” Molly stuttered.

  “Where I come from, men would call such gold as this the end of the rainbow.” Lowering his head, his lips touched her temple. Instead of a gentle brushing of lips, it felt like a brand on her skin. “A treasure.”

  “A pot of gold?” She fanned herself, her internal flames going higher. “Lately, no one finds me that valuable.”

  “On that notion,” he said hungrily, tucking the lock of hair behind her ear, “you are wrong.” In that same blurring movement, he sat down the beer, drew his hand back and gripped the arms of her chair, almost as though Heath was restraining himself not to touch her. Yet he couldn’t quite pull away, so he kept her caged.

  “F-first question,” she said, squeezing her thighs together. Whether he meant to or not, Heath made her feel small, delicate, and utterly horny. But this wasn’t the time for that. So she forced herself to take a mental step back and recall every aspect of this unbelievable night. Knowledge would empower her. Power toppled weakness. “Tell me about vampires.”

  Heath stiffened, dropping back to his chair. “Whatever for?”

  Molly looked at him, mildly peeved. “That’s all I’ve heard about tonight, all I’ve seen tonight. Vampires are flying over here, disappearing over there.”

  “I won’t specifically call out members of another faction, another species, it’s against honor. However, they did not attempt to humanize themselves in your presence, which breaks their own code, so I…,” he stopped to scrub his hand down his face. “The creatures you saw on the bridge, the flying ones, were a specific race of vampires. They are Gryphs, royal guards for the Dynasty Vampyr Empire, whose only mission in life is to serve vampire royalty.

  Another mind full to process, but she’d just go with it. “So the Dynasty Vampyrs are what, the pinnacle of the vampire hierarchy?”

  “Yes.”

  “So…vampires drink blood.”

  His jaw knotted. “Yes, though Dynasty Vampyrs can only feed from a certain…subclass,” he said vaguely. “However, subservient vampires, which are Species Vampires and Undead, can feed from anyone. Even so, Species Vampires prefer to feed from their Brides. If they find them, that is. But that’s another story for another day.”

  “Feed from their Brides?” She shifted in the chair, curling her legs beneath her body. “So vampires don’t kill?”

  He gave her a pained look, one that turned her blood to ice. “They’re not supposed to, at least, in this century.”

  “In this century,” Molly echoed, knowing she’d hate the answer to her next question. “H-how old are you?”

  He replied almost apologetically, “I was born early on in the fourteenth century, lass.”

  “You’re really from old Scotland?” she asked on a strangled gasp, thinking he didn’t look a day over thirty. “Castles…, lairds…knights…you lived through the Black Death?”

  “And cool summer nights where there was nothin’ better to do than stretch out on my plaid and make love to a bonny maiden atop the long grass, wishin’ I could be with my mate instead, but she wasn’t yet born.”

  Mate? “Are you married?”

  “We don’t wed in the human way.” For a second, he seemed relaxed. “However, my heart, soul, and body belong to my female. Always.”

  Heath belonged to someone, and that thought made her heart plunge. Another disappointment she couldn’t dwell on. So, yeah, opening her legs for him last night had paid in spades. “Back, uh, to those Gryphs. What were they doing?” When he looked at her, those silver eyes searching as if he were reaching inside her soul, she grew sick with fear. “T-they want me?”

  He twisted his wrist cuff a couple o
f times, searching for an explanation. “What I know is that you will never see a Gryph unless he wants you to see him. They don’t show themselves to humans, even mixed bloods. Why three appeared tonight…out in the open…we’re workin’ on it.”

  “Why not just ask them?” How frustrating! “Don’t you vampires communicate with one another or are you like gangs with turf wars?”

  He gaped. “Whatever gave you the idea we are vampires?”

  “Then…you kill them?” she asked hopefully. “Like a vampire hunter?”

  “Not unless I’m bored,” he quipped, going back to the kitchen for another beer. This one, he poured into a glass.

  She knew something worse was coming. “Okay, Heath, let me have it.”

  In an inhuman instant, he moved in front of her, crouching, placing the beer in her hand. “I wouldn’t worry so much about mixin’ your muddled mind with alcohol.” He kept his hand curled around hers, urging her to take a sip so she did. “You probably need somethin’ stiffer to digest the fact that you’re lookin’ at a werewolf.”

  She brought the beer back to her lips and finished it. “Okay…let me see you, Scooby.”

  He cupped her jaw, his thumb swiping foam from her lips. “It’s not like that, furry dogs and such.”

  “Then show me what it’s like.”

  Heath pulled his shirt over his head and her mouth fell open, her legs nearly did, too. Raising his hand, he traced his fingers over the crimson tattoo she'd noticed on his throat and jaw the morning she’d left Miami. “I spent the last three months or so keeping you from seeing what I'm really like. By what's left of this Druid mark, I'm still prevented to fully transform.”

  "Why, are you being punished for something?"

  Harsh laughter left him. "Punishment is what I feel, though I didn't commit a crime." He then placed his hands on her ankles and pulled them from beneath her body, spreading her legs as he positioned her feet flat on the floor, his touch so familiar to her. And when he positioned himself between her knees, once again caging her in the chair, she couldn't help but to wrap her legs around his waist and to urge his dark, velvet skin against the very center of her. "You ask me if I had a wife, Molly.” He brought his mouth against hers, brushing two words against her lips, "She's you."

  "I'm not anyone's wife." She snapped, though every cell of her being was throbbing for this man to do something to ease her.

  “In your true world, you are.”

  "I don't understand what you're playing at." Right now, she didn't care, either. Her head was literally swimming. All she could sense was scorching need, even her fear at what he claimed to be - a werewolf, hadn’t fazed her. He just looked like a gorgeous man, albeit a huge man, and she was just a woman. And that would work for her, at least, for another night.

  "I am not playin’ at anythin’, Molly. Nature selects our mates. And I’m quite pleased with what I’ve been given.” His mouth traveled down the side of her throat, nipping, further stoking her need. “You have no idea how horrified I was tonight, protecting you. I’ve never before felt that level of fear, and I’ve been through a lot in my long life. I have spent centuries fighting vampires and shifters for every single thing I have, which now includes you. I have watched members of my family die at their hands. Hell, after they attacked our castle, I watched my baby sister take her last breath in my arms." She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling his face to the crook of her neck, wanting to comfort him, wanting him closer. "And all the while, I waited for you, never knowing when you were going to be born or if you were already out there and I just missed you somehow. It's a big world, Molly, and a mate can be just about anywhere." Heath lowered his head, opened his mouth, and surrounded the tip of Molly's right nipple, sucking it through Ail’s thin shirt. Her back arched, forcing more of her delicate tip inside his scalding mouth. "And when I finally found you," he whispered against her tingling flesh, the fabric damp and abrasive from his saliva, "you were married." He went to the opposite nipple, flicking his tongue against the knotted bud. "I was in so much pain, wanting to take you beneath me in the way of the werewolf, wanting to force you to divorce Wilson right away so you would not change your mind later." He nipped softly, pulling the tight nipple with his teeth. "So Gage be-spelled me with this ancient Druid curse to ward off my werewolf. Several moons I've suffered greatly." He brought his hands up, cupping both breasts before burying his face against them. "Just so I don't claim what is rightfully mine," he whispered against her thundering heart. "And that's you."

  “Rightfully yours?” Molly threaded his hair with her fingers, amazed at how different he felt from Wilson, amazed she was touching her dream lover. Yes, yes, she wanted more of this, wanted more of what he made her feel. Unable to refute there was something significant going on between them, something more than just physical attraction, she dared to ask, "How would you know that I'm yours?"

  "Recall the dream you had the first night you came to Miami and deny that you're mine." His big hands moved down, wrapping around her hips. "Recall the dreams you've had nearly every night since you left Miami and deny that you are mine." His fingertips neared the crevice of her ass, wandering, teasing. "Sense the connection you feel while sitting so close to me in nearly next to nothing, and tell me that you're not mine." His hands left her ass, skirted her hips, and trailed up to her rib cage. "You cannot do it, Molly." His thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, making tiny circles all the way up to her damp nipples, stopping just before he touched the needy peaks. "It would be a lie; we both know this, don't we?" Slowly his hands moved down her abdomen, where he found her navel. With his index finger, he swirled the oval dip. The movement echoed in her womb, rushing a fresh batch of moisture down her clenching vagina. "Your flesh burns for me." Her clitoris throbbed mercilessly. "Your body trembles for me." Her trembling thighs slipped down his hips, since she was too weak to hold them up any longer. "When you wake up in the middle of the night wet from our dream, you part your legs," he whispered, placing his lips right up against her ear, "put your fingers inside your pretty pussy and think about me."

  "Heath." Her knees completely dropped to the sides in a butterfly position. "Please."

  "Not yet." He curled a hand beneath her right knee and lifted up her leg, holding her open. "I understand that you're fresh from your divorce, and the last thing that you would expect is to get wrapped up in a long-term relationship." He brought his jean-clad erection against her pussy, the scent of her arousal reaching both of them. "No one wants to rush you, particularly me." With his free hand, he fisted the hair on her nape, bringing them nose to nose. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or frightened." She tasted his intoxicating breath, the familiarity flooding her mind with images of him bringing her to climax. "However, the longer I stay under these spells, the more I risk myself." He thrust once, roughly between her legs, his zipper striking her right where she needed it - but she didn't come. "And it's a dangerous world for an unclaimed female, for you. I can't say that it's not considered sexist in this day and age, but, in the immortal world, it's so very true."

  When he pulled back, her eyes dropped to his crotch, finding the slickness of her desire evident on his pants. "So, lass, I’m asking you this - can you be with me?" He flicked open the top button of his jeans, and she found her eyes riveted there. "One day at a time, hell, one hour at a time, can you stand by me?" He cupped himself, rubbing her dampness into his pants, his thumb toying with zipper. "If all I can do is protect you, provide for you, and ease your Heat, I'll do just that for now." He brought his zipper down an inch, the wet crown of his penis punched high, past his navel. She gasped as multiple piercings caught the glow of the tableside lamp. "Can you try to accept a centuries old male who is starvin’ for his female?" All she could do was nod, her tongue darting out, wanting to catch that tantalizing, glistening drop at the tip of his head. "My sweet lass, I ache for you. And I know you ache for me, too." He brought his zipper down another inch, the heavy weight of his erection n
ow jutting forward, pointing at her. "That's something you cannot hide from a werewolf. Even without all of this, he said, gesturing toward his stained pants, where her moisture coated them. "I can still smell it."

  "Enough talking, do something about it," she challenged him.

  "Not until you tell me whether or not you're going to try for a relationship with me, with your male." He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. She knew what he was doing, though she couldn't take her eyes away from him long enough to complain. "Tell me," he taunted her, his eyes flashing polished silver.

  “Sure, we’ll take it day by day," she agreed, her breaths becoming choppy at the sight of him masturbating for her. “Why not start tonight?”

  "That's my lass." He growled low in satisfaction, the sound entirely animalistic. "Now, let’s get the rest of this paint off you."

  Chapter Nine

  After he started the shower, Heath kicked off his loosened boots and slid his jeans down his legs. Per usual, he was commando and in the mirror’s reflection, Molly’s eyes dropped to his balls, widening, appreciating what he had to offer her. He relished her eyes on him. “Feel some better?”

  “Yeah, fresher, I don’t really like the taste of beer.” She put her toothbrush away.

  “And I don’t really like you with clothes on, so take off Ail’s shirt.”

  More than wet for him, she didn’t hesitate, tossing the shirt on the granite countertop. Her thighs were slickened by her need. “How’s that?”

  He stood there, looking his fill. Realizing how long he had waited for this moment, and the majority of him didn’t want to rush through it. However, his Beast had other ideas, smashing against the front of Heath’s skull. At this rate, he had no idea how long these spells were going to hold up. “So fookin’ perfect,” he murmured, his brogue thickening with his desire. His female itched to cover herself, her nervousness warring with her pride. Nevertheless, she fought to keep her hands at her sides, instead, cocking her hip provocatively. For someone who was so tough, taking in a night of vampires and werewolves under the barest aid of soothing coercion, Molly was certainly insecure about her body. Heath shook his head at that, realizing that most women were self-doubting in this way, though he couldn’t understand why. They all had a bodily uniqueness of their own, and they should free their minds to enjoy their bodies, their potent sexualities. He would make sure his female clearly understood her needs, and how he intended to see her sated morning, noon, and night. Molly was stunningly beautiful and he told her so directly. Next, he was going to show her.