Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (29 page)

As he took her lips again, he cupped one breast, his thumb circling the nipple. He tugged lightly on the peak, and lightning sizzled right to her clitoris.

Her back arched, forcing her breast into his palm.

“That’s the way, li’l bear,” he murmured. Slowly, he kissed along her jaw, beneath it, and down her neck. His day’s growth of beard scraped her sensitized skin, sending sparks of craving in its wake.

Breathless, she gripped his rock-hard biceps. The way his wide shoulders blocked the entire sky sent her brain into shutdown.
Ben
. Her voice didn’t work—thank goodness—or she’d be blurting out protestations of love.

Nothing worked except her desperately yearning body. Her hips ground against his heavy erection.

“Nope, my female. You’ll have what you need…when
I
decide.” Taking her wrists in one enormous hand, he lifted them over her head. Her futile struggles made him grin before he slid down far enough to take a nipple in his mouth.

“Oooooh.” His mouth was so hot, so wet. His tongue rasped in teasing flicks over one jutting nub and the other, circling each areola until her breasts swelled and throbbed.

His teeth closed over one nipple, bearing down to the very edge of pain, to an excruciating, spiking pleasure.

Her blood boiled and raged with need. “Please…”

“Soon, darlin’.” Releasing her wrists, he moved down her body. Inch by inch, he tasted her skin. He teased her with scrapes of his stubbled chin, a nip to her waist, a lick up the crease between her thigh and pussy.

Purposeful. Methodical. Until her skin hummed with pleasure, anticipating every touch of his mouth. Her muscles tensed as he neared his goal.

Please, please, please.

His warm breath touched her clit—a glorious warning—and his mouth closed over the swollen nub.

The ferocious pleasure sent fireworks into the night sky. Her hips bucked wildly.

He huffed a laugh and laid his muscular forearm over her lower abdomen, forcing her to lie still.

To take what he wanted to give.

“No.” She actually whined. “No, please. I need—”

His tongue went to work, driving every thought from her brain except the feeling of the heat and wet, the probing, rubbing motions, the circles. A gentle suck turned her brainless, and then he flicked the clit hood back and forth. Teasing.

All the blood in her body rushed to her core, swelling her pussy to a thrumming tightness.

He sucked harder, lashing the tip with his tongue. His callused finger slowly traced a circle around her entrance. She was slick with need, and he penetrated her easily. His blunt finger pressed deeper, stretching her in a way she hadn’t felt since…since her last Gathering.

She shuddered with the memory.

Lifting his head, he studied her, eyes intent. “Does this bother you, honey bear?” He asked softly, even as he pulled back his finger and ever so slowly pressed in again.

The wonder of his controlled gentleness, of his care, melted the earth right out from under her.

“Darlin’?” His gruff voice sent more sensations consuming her.

Her only answer was a futile attempt to tilt her hips.

The laugh lines beside his eyes crinkled. “All right then.” He lowered his head, and his lips closed again around her clit, pulling lightly, even as his finger slid deeper.

Her seething tension grew and grew, boiling away thoughts and words, and any sensation beyond sheer need. He slowly thrust in and out, adding another finger, even as he sucked her clit, his tongue lashing at it.

With a feeling of inevitability, everything within her drew together like the center of a tornado, then exploded outward, whirling pleasure along the terrain and through all the rivers of her body. Her cries were still ringing off the mountain heights when he moved up her body, positioned himself, and slowly, steadily filled her.

Then he stopped.

His shaft was thick, so very thick, and long, and hot… Her neck arched as another climax roared through her.

“Hang on tight, little bard.” His voice was harsh. A muscle flexed in his jaw.

Her world still spinning, she gripped his shoulders. Under her fingers, his muscles bunched to granite as he pulled back and powered in again, deeper.

So much deeper.

He was enormous, filling her almost unbearably full. And yet the feeling was so thrillingly carnal she could only hang on as he increased the pace to a relentless hammering. Her own pulse sang in her ears, filling her world as she came and came again.

Finally, with a guttural roar, he thrust deep, completely to the root.

And froze.

Seconds passed. He seemed elsewhere.

“Ben?”

His gaze met hers and intensified until it penetrated deep enough to touch her mind. Her heart.

“Been a while, li’l bear.” His lips curved. He slid his hand under her ass to pull her against him as his cock pulsed inside her.

Filling her.

Satisfying her demands in a way nothing else could.

Her core blossomed with delight, with the reception of his seed, and her whole body shimmered with physical joy.

His fingers slowly opened, freeing her. As he came down on her, she exulted in his heavy possessive weight.
Oh, I love you, love you, love you.

Lifting up on one forearm, he nuzzled her neck. “Thank you for your trust, honey bear.”

Who wouldn’t trust this male? “Mmm.” Unable to resist, she kissed his cheek, inhaling the masculine scent. So wonderful.

Needing more, she held his face between her palms and kissed him tenderly. Once he knew about her past, he might turn away, but for now? Now he was all hers.

He cooperated, then took control, driving every thought from her mind as her body recovered and demanded more.

A happy, four-more-orgasms time later, she realized the sizzle in her blood had waned. Slightly.

Raising her head, she looked over his shoulder. The moon was markedly lower.

He followed her gaze. “Time we got moving. Ryder’s worried about you, as are a lot of other people. Think you can shift now?”

She breathed out a sigh. Yes, it was time to face her past. She had courage—she did—even if it occasionally got misplaced for a bit. “Yes. Let’s go.”

*

Predawn mist shrouded
the evergreen branches and swirled around the tree trunks. After getting a cup of coffee—bless Vicki for brewing it strong—Ryder staked out a spot near the trail Ben had taken.

When they’d arrived, Bree had taken them up the trail to where Emma had discarded her clothing. Fear scent had permeated the fabric. Ben had stripped and shifted to track the little bear.

What the hell made Emma run? Ryder’s worry had grown with each passing hour.

The moon was nearly down, and shifters were wandering back into the clearing to warm up before breakfast. The light from the bonfires showed females with cheeks reddened from beard-stubble, swollen lips, and mussed hair. Many shirtless males had bite and scratch marks over their shoulders, backs, and chests.

Beltane was a fun time for most.

Ryder had performed dutifully—the Goddess required no less—but without enjoyment. He hadn’t been able to stop worrying about Emma and had spent most of the night at the trailhead. Her female friends had joined him off and on. They’d been full of questions, wondering where she was. Why she’d left without any word.

Damned good questions.

Around midnight, Calum had stood beside him, his gaze on the trail. Ryder had started to ask if he could locate Emma. But when a Cosantir’s eyes darkened to the color of night, no shifter with a love of life would interrupt.

After a minute, Calum had looked at Ryder and said he wanted to see Emma as soon as she returned.

By the God, his request had sounded ominous.

Leaning his head against the tree trunk, Ryder watched the shifters in the clearing. Getting water. Resting. Talking. A few males still clustered around accommodating females, obviously hoping for another quick mating. Vicki, Bree, and a few others were preparing the breakfast feast. Shay and Zeb were building up the Belfires again.

A shrill laugh caught Ryder’s attention. He tensed and turned.

Genevieve.
Still here in Cold Creek. She wouldn’t stop until she got money…and probably revenge, as well. No one who dared to reject her escaped unscathed.

Dressed in a skintight leather skirt and low-cut tank top, she stood next to Sarah and a wolf named Candice, and two females Ryder didn’t know. From the glances cast in his direction, Genevieve was ripping apart his reputation.

How did an honorable male combat something as elusive as gossip? If Genevieve were male, he’d use his fists or claws. But males didn’t hurt females. Ever.

Frustration simmered in his gut.

A minute later, the rustle of brush on the trail caught his attention. Ben appeared. Emma walked slowly beside him, using his arm as a crutch.

The rush of relief swept Ryder’s weariness aside. He set his coffee down and rose.

Seeing him, Ben lifted his chin. “Hey, bro.”

The two were dressed in the clothing they’d left beside the trail. Scratches and scabs tattooed Emma’s face and arms as if she’d torn headlong through blackberry tangles. And fallen. Often. Despite the brace on her leg, she limped badly.

Dammit, Emma.

But she’d returned to them and relatively unharmed, thank the Goddess. With a start, Ryder recalled the Cosantir. A warning was in order. “Emma, the Cosan—”

“Emma,” Calum interrupted in a deep, icy voice. He stood between the Belfires, arms crossed over his chest.

Emma could see
the Cosantir’s austere expression in the light of the flames. Even as her heart sank, fear chilled her blood. The guardian of a territory held the power of life and death, received directly from Herne’s hands.

Gawain must have told him about the Gathering in Pine Knoll.

Straightening her shoulders, she started toward him before realizing Ben was beside her, still serving as her support.
Stupid Emma.
“Ben, he’s angry. Stay back.”

He caught her arm before she could step away. “Nope.” Although worry had driven the laughter from his eyes, he set his hand over hers, trapped her fingers on his arm, and continued forward. Stubborn, stubborn bear.

To her dismay, she realized Ryder walked on her other side. He put his arm around her waist. How could she possibly risk him—both of them?

Ryder’s implacable gaze said she might as well save her words.

When she tried to stop, Ben tugged her along as if she’d been Minette’s size.

Bracketed between the brothers, she approached Calum. “Did you want to speak with me, Cosantir?”

“Aye, Emma.” He studied her silently. His gaze took in her scratched face, scraped hands. Her injured leg was so swollen Ben had needed to loosen the brace. “I gave you a home in this territory. In this clan.”

Her mouth went dry. “I’m grateful,” she whispered.

“Yet you defied our laws, running
away
from a Gathering—the tradition that has kept the Daonain alive for these many generations.” The softness of his words only emphasized his wrath.

“Cosantir, I—”

“Each individual in our race must play a part to keep our people from a slow death. You know this, bard.”

“I do,” she whispered. Her heart pounded so violently against her ribcage she couldn’t breathe. Would he banish her again? Now, when she’d just found a home? She’d be alone once more, never to speak with another shifter, to touch another.

She swallowed down the nausea and managed—barely—to meet his black, black eyes. “Please forgive me, Cosantir. I panicked. I panicked and ran. From someone—not from the Gathering.” When he didn’t move, she offered, “I was trying to return. I just couldn’t move very fast.”

The darkness receded from his gaze. “I know. Your efforts to return are why this is only a warning.”

He knew? Of course he did. A Cosantir could locate any shifter in his territory. He probably knew right where she’d turned and started back toward Cold Creek.

The Cosantir inclined his head and released her from his gaze.

Her knees buckled, and only Ben’s strong hand under her arm held her upright.

“Come, little bear. You need something to drink,” Ryder said.

“Oh, that’s a superb idea,” she whispered. Her throat was so dry she might never be able to swallow again. And still, the moon’s influence started to bubble in her blood, making her far too aware of the warmth of Ryder’s hand in the hollow of her back. Of how tall he was beside her. Of how a night’s beard growth shadowed his jaw.

And of how concern darkened his eyes.

“Ben, got a second?” Joe Thorson stopped him.

“Ah…” Ben gave her a concerned look.

“I’ll get her fed, bro,” Ryder said. “Don’t worry.”

As she continued beside Ryder toward the tables, a lanky shifter approached with a cocky swagger. “Hey, new female.” He stared at her, his cheeks and lips reddening with lust. “I met you at Tullia’s house, remember? I’m Chad. What’s your name?”

Seriously? After the Cosantir almost put her to death, now this…idiot…wanted to flirt? What an insane night. Where was a sturdy tree on which to thump her head? “I’m rather busy right now.”