Compromising Positions (11 page)

“Look a’me, lass,” he whispered, his blue eyes gone grey with lust. “Look a’me. I want ye t’give it to me. All of it. I want all of ye.”

“Oh Donal,” she cried, feeling something blooming low in her belly, opening like a flower, as he moved faster, grinding his pelvis into hers. “Oh what... what... I... ohhhhh!”

“Do’na close yer eyes,” he insisted, his voice low, throaty, commanding her. “Look a’me when ye give yerself t’me. Ohhh Kirstin, yer so beautiful, so...”

She shuddered underneath him like an earthquake, her body taking over in a way she’d only ever experienced during her change. And this was something else altogether, something uncontrollable. She’d never been more in or out of her body at the same time, even when she was transforming from human to wolf. Delicious waves of pleasure rocked her body, her sex pulsing around his shaft, sluicing juice all down the length.

Donal watched her, his face lost in an expression of awe and wonder, and then he grabbed her shoulders, driving himself into her with three good, long, hard thrusts, burying his cock into her depths and his face into her neck. His seed spilled, hot as a geyser and just as forceful, deep into her womb.

This was the moment they’d both been searching for, and they found heaven and home all at once in each other’s embrace. As he began to withdraw, Kirstin caught him between her thighs, crying out at the loss.

“Do’na leave me,” she begged hoarsely, clinging to him, even as she still quivered with her climax.

“Nuh, lass,” he whispered. “I’ll ne’er leave ye. Not as long as m’body draws breath. Yer mine, Kirstin MacFalon, and ye’ll be mine e’ermore.”

“What did ye call me?” she whispered, lifting the curtain of hair away from his stubbly face as he leaned in to kiss hers, brushing his lips over her forehead and cheeks and chin, soft presses of love.

“Kirstin MacFalon,” he said again, going up to his elbow to look down at her. “Me wife. If ye’ll ’ave me. I know ’tis fast, but ye said ye felt the same way I did...”

“Oh, aye,” she breathed, arms snaking around his neck, her face moving to the soft, damp skin of his throat. “I’d settle for nothin’ less, Donal MacFalon.”

“Do I need t’ask Raife fer yer hand?” He cocked his head, quizzical. “What do wulvers do?”

“Ye do’na e’en need t’ask me, Donal.” She traced the strong, square line of his jaw with her fingertip. “Wit’ wulvers, there is naught any askin’—only claimin’, and ye’ve a’ready done that.”

“Isn’t there some sort of markin’?” he asked.

“Aye,” she agreed, nodding. “But if I’m t’be t’wife of The MacFalon, I should hold t’yer traditions.”

“We should do both.” He caught her hand and turned it, face up, so he could kiss her palm. “King Henry wanted me t’mend the rift at t’border by marryin’ an Englishwoman, but instead I’ll marry t’border b’tween t’wulvers and t’Scots.”

“Seal t’wolf pact wit’ a kiss?” she teased, sliding a thigh over his. Their feet were still wet from the water, but the slant of sun was warming and drying them.

“I’ll seal it wit’ more’n that.” He kissed her, mouth open, tongue meshing with hers, tracing slowly over her teeth, exploring every inch of her.

“Oh Donal,” she whispered when they parted, dizzy with wanting him. “I want ye so much... when can we do’t again?”

“Och, I’m a man, not a wulver,” he groaned as she reached her hand down to squeeze his length. To her surprise—and apparently to his as well, given the way his eyebrows went up—he began to stiffen in her fist. “Ye bring out the beast in me, lass.”

“Good.”

She pushed the man to his back, tracing her tongue over around the mounds of hard muscle on his chest, pausing to flick each nipple, making the cock in her hand swell. The hair on his chest curled around her fingers as she explored every glorious plane and angle, a hand raking over his belly, a delicious, ridged mountain range of flesh. Her tongue traced the dark line of hair that traveled from navel to nest, his snake now rising up, staring at her with its one good eye.

“Och, lass, yer mouth—”

She sucked the head between her lips, tasting his musk, her juices, taking as much of him inside her as she possibly could, all the way to the back of her throat, and still she couldn’t take him all. The man was more claymore than broad sword, a giant mass of swinging steel meant to take what was rightfully his. And she wanted to be taken.

Her fingernails raked the soft seed sacks hanging underneath his cock, and Donal hissed, shifting his hips, pushing himself deeper into her throat so she gagged a little on his length. But she didn’t mind. His hand moved through her hair, guiding her, a hot, steady rhythm they both lost themselves in. She could have gone on forever, worshipping his staff, kneeling at the altar between her mate’s thighs, but he pulled her off, looking down at her with half-closed eyes.

“Yer mine,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes filled with it, both the longing and the knowledge at once. “I will’na let ye go, Kirstin, not e’er.”

“Ye talk overmuch,” she teased, rubbing the head of him against her swollen, red lips. “How ‘bout ye show me instead of tellin’ me, Donal MacFalon?”

“Oh, aye.” His eyes darkened at her words. “I’ll show ye.”

“If ye can catch me.” She grinned and was off like a shot before he could move, laughing as she heard him swear behind her, struggling to catch up.

She made it into the pack leader’s chambers, almost all the way to the bed before he caught her from behind, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her into his big arms. She giggled and squirmed, loving the way he roughly turned her to face him, hands moving down to squeeze her bottom.

“Caught ye,” he growled in her ear, his erection rising up to nudge her belly, trapped between them. “Now I get t’claim ye.”

“Aye.” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her easily in his arms. Kirstin’s legs went around him, heels digging into the small of his back as he lifted and aimed her, sliding his thick length in, deep and hard, as if he were running her through. Kirstin cried out at the sensation, thinking she would never, ever stop wanting this, craving him, needing him.

Donal moved toward the bed but Kirstin shook her head.

“Like this,” she whispered hoarsely, beginning to move her hips in little circles. “Standin’, jus’ like this.”

He moaned and turned toward the fireplace. The room was full dark, the only light coming from the torch at the end of the passageway. They could barely see each other, but it didn’t matter. Kirstin felt every big, beautiful inch of him as he pressed her to the rock wall beside the big fireplace, driving up inside her with fierce, harsh thrusts that threatened to break her spine against the stone.

Not that she cared.

She was crazed with heat, her nails raking his back like claws, her teeth sinking into the hard, muscles skin of his shoulder. Donal grunted at that, but he didn’t stop pounding into her, the slap of their flesh a hot, rhythmic beat. Kirstin’s sex squeezed and massaged him, and she rocked in his arms, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Yer lil cunny is so tight, lass,” he panted in her ear. Words during mating were new to Kirstin, but she liked them. She liked the way he panted them, hot breath against her ear. “I could ride ye from dusk ’til dawn and still want more.”

“Aye,” she gasped, her walls quivering at his words, the dam threatening to flood. “Oh Donal, do’na stop. Do’na e’er stop.”

“Nuh,” he agreed, but he did stop, just for a moment.

To slide out of her, whirl her around, and bend her almost in half as he took her again, fingers probing between her legs, finding her crevice, and sliding back into the hot cavern of her sex. Kirstin’s hands raked the stone, looking for something to hold onto, bracing herself against the rough thrust of his hips, the sweet torture of his cock up against her womb like a battering ram seeking entrance to something deeper inside her.

“Och, lass, I can’na hold out much longer,” he cried, fingers gripping the curve of her hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Give it t’me,” she urged, remembering his words to her. “I want all of ye. Please. Fill me wit’ yer seed. Please, please, please, pl—”

Her sex was already spasming around his shaft, that unbelievable, quivering wave of pleasure pulsing through her, milking him. Kirstin howled, reaching back as he thrust forward, feeling the hard muscles of his behind working as he buried himself in to the base, shoving her flat against the wall, legs spread, feet completely off the ground, crushing her with his shuddering weight.

He didn’t say anything then. He just picked her up in his arms like a bit of fluff and carried her to the bed. He pulled her on top of him, wrapping them up in the coverlet. It was soft and freshly laundered and they floated on a cloud together in the darkness. She might have slept—must have, because when she woke, there was a fire lit in the fireplace and her mate was no longer in bed.

“Donal?” She lifted her dark head from the pillow, hand searching the mattress for his big frame, but finding only empty space.

“Here, m’love,” he called.

She saw him sitting on a deerskin by the fire, something in his hands.

Kirstin wrapped the coverlet around her and went to him, putting her arms around him from behind, kissing the broad, hard planes of his back, resting her cheek there as she knelt on the deerskin. She had woken, afraid she’d been dreaming, only to find him still here. Questions loomed in her mind, threatening the flood of happiness rushing through her veins, and she pushed them away.

They’d deal with reality later. This, here, now—was all that mattered, all that ever would.

“I found somethin’.” Donal put a hand over hers at his middle, caressing. “Come see.”

“Is it food?” she asked, crawling around to sit beside him. “Because I’m starvin’.”

“I’ll rustle us up some game.” He chuckled, meeting her gaze in the firelight. “Och, Kirstin, yer so beautiful ye make me chest hurt.”

She smiled at him, bemused. This man said the most extraordinary things.

“Is that a book?” She blinked in surprise at the leather-bound tome in his hands.

“Aye.” He nodded, flipping through the pages. “I got up t’build a fire, and one of the stones at the bottom had come loose from our... uh... acrobatics. When I went to seat it, I found this...”

“Mmmm.” She snuggled closer at the memory, her sex pulsing already, wanting him. How was it possible to want someone so much? “Is that... that’s a wulver!”

The drawing was unmistakable. She recognized the half-wolf, half-human form, and more than that, the drawing itself had been done by a wulver hand. Wulvers were all amazing artists and could draw nearly anything. Their style was definitive.

“Aye.” He flipped to another page and Kirstin squinted at it in the firelight, seeing a drawing of a birthing wulver and her pup.

“’Tis a midwife’s text!” she exclaimed, taking it from his hands and pulling it into her lap. “Look, there are drawings of plants—it’s full of them!”

“Yer pleased?” He smiled as she turned more pages, wishing she could read the text.

“Oh, aye,” she breathed, looking up at him with bright eyes. “Sibyl and Laina’ll be pleased, too.”

“I do’na care ’bout pleasin’ Sibyl and Laina.” He pulled her into his lap, settling her there, and she felt his erection begin anew against her bottom. “I care ’bout pleasin’ ye, Kirstin MacFalon.”

“Ye do please me.” She turned her face to his to be kissed. She would never get enough of this man’s kisses, until the day she died. “Ye please me greatly, Donal MacFalon. I can’na wait to call ye husband as well as mate.”

“And I can’na wait to mate wit’ ye as yer husband.” He used her hair to pull her head back, exposing her throat to his hot, hungry mouth.

“Aye,” she agreed happily, lost in the fantasy of being his, even if the reality of being The MacFalon’s wife meant something else altogether.

“No, I meant it, I can’na wait,” he breathed, taking the book out of her hands and pushing her back onto the deerskin. “I want ye now.”

She opened her arms and surrender herself to him.

Kirstin’s hackles rose before she even knew the man was in the room. She turned to see Lord Eldred standing near the back of the gathering hall. He was dressed as an English lord today, not like the huntsman she’d met him as, but there was no mistaking those keen eyes. They surveyed the room quickly and she straightened when she saw his gaze hesitate as he came to her. A small smile flitted over his features and he gave her a brief nod before turning to someone at his side who wanted his attention.

“Kirstin?” Laina slid into the chair beside her, breathless from her race down the stairs and into the gathering room. “Did ye hear?”

“Hear what?” Kirstin’s attention moved from Lord Eldred—she still didn’t understand why he raised her hackles the way he did—to Laina, although her gaze stopped at Donal, sitting like a king in full dress plaid at the front of the room. The ceremonies were getting close to starting—the hall was filling up with people—and while Donal smiled and nodded to the man who was bending his ear, Kirstin could tell he was impatient.

“Lorien’s back.” Laina told her.

“Aye, I saw ’im.” Kirstin smiled at the memory of the big wulver she’d greeted when he came into the castle. Donal had frowned at the way Kirstin hugged him, the way he swung her up in his arms and kissed her cheek in greeting. “He brought word from t’king.”

“Aye, so y’know ’tis good news?” Laina asked.

Kirstin nodded. Lorien had been happy to give her the news, even before he told Donal, which had irritated Donal even more. But Lorien had been like a brother to her since she was small. They’d grown up together, played together, and yes, so they’d been together, when they were adolescents. For a while, Kirstin thought Lorien might be her true mate, but once she’d seen Laina with Darrow, and now Sibyl with Raife, she knew it wasn’t meant to be. He was a friend, sometimes lover, but not her one true mate. She’d never gone into estrus around Lorien. Her body knew what it wanted.

And it wanted Donal

Lorien had returned safe and well, though, and that made her happy. And he had confirmed what Lord Eldred had told them in the forest. King Henry was honoring the wolf pact. It should have been a relief, but for some reason, Kirstin’s hackles remained raised.

“Does Raife know? What ’bout Sibyl?” Kirstin looked around for both of them.

“I think they know. I’m jus’ so relieved.” Laina gave a happy sigh. “Our bairns’ll be safe from war and strife.”

Kirstin nodded in agreement, the mention of bairns sending a sharp stab of pain through her heart. She shook it off, glancing back to where Lord Eldred was shaking hands. Her mistrust of him had been based on her fear that he was lying about the wolf pact, that King Henry had actually been behind Alistair’s plan all along. But mayhaps she was being too cautious. If Lorien had returned with word—she still marveled at his travel time, but wulvers could travel very fast, over long distances, without wearying—then she had to trust it.

Didn’t she?

“How did ye hear?” Kirstin asked her pack-sister, frowning. “Did Donal tell ye?”

“No, I saw Lorien jus’ a few moments ago,” she replied. “He came up t’see Darrow. I had to practically tie that man to his bedposts to keep ’im in it, in spite of t’sleep-stuff Sibyl had ’im drink.”

“And how’s Darrow healin’?” Kirstin asked. She’d come to nurse her fellow pack mate and she’d spent all her time so far with Donal. She felt a little guilty about that—but when her gaze found Donal’s and he pinned her with those glittering, steel-blue eyes, she didn’t feel too horribly bad about the way she was spending her time at Castle MacFalon.

“He’s well.” Laina smiled. “Truth told, he’s ready to travel, and itchin’ to get home. We hafta get Raife and Sibyl reunited, and soon, or Darrow’s goin’ t’ruin everythin’.”

“Tell ’im he has to keep up the ruse,” she insisted. Donal’s gaze hadn’t left her, although someone had bent to tell him something. The way he looked at her made her feel as if he was stripping her bare with his eyes alone.

“I promise, I’m doin’ m’best t’distract ’im.” Laina sighed, tossing her long white-blonde hair over her shoulder, turning more to face Kirstin. “And
ye’ve
been distracted yerself these past few days.”

“Aye.” Kirstin flushed, when Donal dropped her a wink and she felt her blush deepen, hearing Laina laugh beside her. Were they so obvious? She wondered.

They’d met for the past three nights at the spring. Donal told her they could spend the night in his room and no one would care—he was the laird, after all—but Kirstin didn’t want everyone in the castle talking, any more than they already were. Besides, their reenactment of Ardis and Asher beside the spring in the wulver den felt right to her. She was at home in the first den—and in Donal’s arms.

“Yer so in love wit’ him.” Laina nudged her with her hip, laughing softly, delighted.

“Aye, I am.” Kirstin admitted. If she couldn’t admit it to her sister, who could she admit it to? She was completely besot. There was no getting around it, no more denying it. She had fallen like all wulvers do—hard, fast and without warning. It was like waking up finding you’d fallen asleep on a charging horse with no saddle and no reins, and you could do nothing but hold on for dear life and enjoy the wild, albeit slightly terrifying, ride.

“Have ye told ’im?” Laina lowered her voice, so the people filling the chairs around them wouldn’t hear. Kirstin was saving the seat beside her for Sibyl. “About... how’t works, for wulvers? Or does he know?”

“I... I do’na know what he knows. We haven’t really talked overmuch...”

Laina chuckled knowingly at that.

The truth was, she was afraid to tell him. More than that—she was afraid of the truth herself. Her body was changing. She could feel it, in every cell. It wouldn’t be long—another week, maybe two—and she would change. And she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

If Donal had been a wulver warrior, they would run off under the full light of the moon when her estrus-time came and mate like the animals they were. But Donal wasn’t a wulver, he was a man.

A very powerful, handsome, and virile man, to be sure. Their lovemaking had been wild, raw and abandoned. Kirstin had surrendered herself to him completely, and he had claimed her as his own. She couldn’t have wanted any more from a wulver lover. In fact, the words he spoke into her ear while he was inside her, the things his hands did to her woman’s body, far surpassed the animal act wulvers performed under a full moon. To Kirstin, their lovemaking left nothing to be desired—just thinking about it made her feel warm all the way to her toes—except for one thing.

Unless they made love while Kirstin was in wulver form, she could never bear his children. She-wulvers only experienced estrus as wulvers. The weight of this fact was like a thousand stones pressing on her heart. The MacFalons were Scots, so they weren’t quite as particular about producing heirs as the English, but Donal was a man, and men wanted sons to carry on their lineage. They wanted daughters they could marry off to their neighbors to create alliances. And she wanted to give him sons and daughters.

She was a midwife—she’d been bringing pups into the world since she was a child herself, attending Beitrus—and the thought of not being able to bear children of her own left her feeling cold and alone. Looking at Laina, she thought of her wee bairn, the sweet, big-eyed, dark-haired Garaith, holding his chubby fists out to be picked up. She remembered the way Darrow had looked when his son was born, how proud he’d been. If she couldn’t give that to Donal, she didn’t know how she could possibly stand it.

And how could she tell him? How could she look him in those beautiful, kind ,blue eyes and tell him that, loving her meant he would never have an heir? She wondered, sometimes, after their lovemaking, when he was stroking her hair or just watching her in the light of the fire, if he had put all the pieces together and figured it out for himself. Mayhaps he already knew the wulver ways, as Laina had intimated? But somehow, she didn’t think so.

Because if he knew, she had a feeling he would end things between them as quickly as they’d begun.

And that’s what she was really afraid of. Now that she had given in to herself—mind, body and soul—given into him, she couldn’t imagine losing him.

So she had managed, every time he hinted about moving forward with marriage plans, to distract him, to keep things secret, just a little longer. She had been using Sibyl and Raife as a good excuse—not until things were settled between her pack leader and his mate, she said. Then they could share the news with everyone.

“Ye haven’t talked ’bout it at all?” Laina asked, frowning, bringing Kirstin out of her reverie. “What’ll ye do? Where’ll ye live? How’ll ye—?”

“Shh, ’ere comes Sibyl.” Kirstin stood, welcoming Sibyl into their row of chairs with a hug.

Kirstin noted that Raife was watching his mate closely, although only from the corner of his eye, trying to appear as if he wasn’t. Their latest plan to throw the two together had involved going riding under the pretense of looking for wulver traps—Lord Eldred had been keen to show them the various places where he and his men had begun disarming them—with Sibyl and Kirstin riding behind Donal and Raife.

Donal and Kirsten had planned to ride off and leave the two together alone in the woods, but Kirsten’s horse had spooked at something—Laina claimed it was because she was so close to her estrus, but she didn’t know for sure—and had taken off at a gallop. Donal and Raife gave chase, and by the time they caught her, Raife was so angry he threatened to pull Kirstin over his saddle and wallop her like a pup. Was it her fault the horse had spooked? Then, to top it off, it had begun to rain, and Lord Eldred begged off to go somewhere with his men, while the four of them rode back to Castle MacFalon in silence.

So much for plan B.

They’d moved on to plan C, which they would implement some time later in the week. It had to be soon, though, because while they were still bandaging Darrow’s wound, he had nearly healed, and if Raife came out of the glowering mood he was in and started paying closer attention, he would know they were trying to deceive him. The only thing that kept Darrow in bed was the prospect of helping to alleviate his wife’s discomfort because of her lacking nursling. He was clearly enjoying that part of the ruse.

Sibyl sat beside Kirstin with a smile, but there was no time for small talk. The room was full to capacity with all of the MacFalon armsmen as well as local villagers and several of the guests who had stayed on, after being invited to the wedding of Sibyl Blackthorne and Alistair MacFalon—which had never taken place.

The castle was still full of them, and Moira was busier than ever trying to feed everyone. Kirstin imagined the woman would be glad when they were all gone, which would likely be soon. Right about the time the wulvers left for home. Raife said the guests were staying on only to see if they’d turned themselves into wolves—like they were a curiosity or a freak show—and Donal had reluctantly confirmed as much.

Now, though, they were all crammed into the common room to watch the pomp and circumstance of their new laird being affirmed. He would also name his new guard captain and hunt master this day. After the ceremony would be a great party—poor Moira had been cooking for days and had brought in several extra sets of hands from the village to help her—and Kirstin was looking forward to it.

Beside her, Sibyl fidgeted, pulling at a stray thread at the edge of her plaid. Her nailed were ragged, as if she’d been biting them, and she looked even more pale than usual. Her gaze kept skipping to Raife, who sat on the other side of the hall, as far away from her as he could get, while still being able to keep an eye on her.

Kirstin tried to listen and pay attention, but she kept getting distracted by Donal in his dress plaid. Her mind kept wandering to what he looked like out of it, and that made her feel as fidgety as Sibyl. It wasn’t until Donal introduced Lord Eldred Lothienne to his clan that she really started listening. Up until then, the master of ceremonies had droned on about MacFalon lands and tracts and sections, as if he had to tell them every bit of dirt and rock the new laird of Clan MacFalon owned. Kirstin didn’t know—mayhaps, according to some law, that’s exactly what he had to do, but why subject them all to it?

Lord Eldred shook hands with the laird and Kirstin heard whispers around her about who he was and speculation about what he might be doing there, but no one had to wait long. The man was happy to steal the spotlight, stepping in front of Donal, literally upstaging him as he spoke to the crowd.