Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance (12 page)

“Hurry, hurry,” Bridget urged her mother. Her voice was breathy, panting, and he knew she was exhausting herself with this, whatever it was they were doing together. Griff’s hands trembled, and he realized it wasn’t his palms, but hers he was feeling. Her little hands trembling, pressed against his.

Impossible.

“Are ye a’righ’, lass?” Griff asked, calling across the pool to her. The images on the water shimmered, as if his voice had shaken it.

“Aye, aye,” she gasped, crying out again, as if in pain. “Oh! I can’t… I…”

“That’s it!” Aleesa announced, looking up in triumph. “I’ve got it all!”

At that, Bridget collapsed.

Griff had her in his arms, before either Alaric or Aleesa could reach her. She was breathing, but too shallow, eyes still closed, mouth moving as if she was speaking, but no words coming out.

“She’s still in the trance,” Aleesa murmured, putting a hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Go put ’er in our bed. She’ll come back t’ye…”

“She’d better,” he growled at the wulver woman. Aleesa blinked at him in surprise, and he knew it was his fault this had happened. He’d been the one who wanted to know, who insisted they find out where the lost packs were located.

But how could he have known it would be like this? Of course, what had he expected? Some chanting, herbs being thrown like they did during the purification ritual, mayhaps a map to appear?

He hadn’t realized he’d be such a part of things, that Bridget would rely on him so heavily during the ritual. Or that it would take so very much out of her. Griff lifted Bridget in his arms—she weighed hardly anything—and carried her into the tunnel. He ignored Aleesa calling after him. It was full dark, but he followed the light at the end of it, where he passed through the kitchen, the fire burning low. Bridget moaned and her eyes fluttered open briefly as he carried her through.

“Griff?” She half-smiled, putting her arms around his neck, clinging to him. “Ye did’na leave me.”

She made his heart break in half.

“Nuh, lass.”

He put her down on the bed, head on a pillow. She gave a little cry, reaching for him again, and he let her put her arms around his neck, let her pull him close. He kicked his boots off, resting beside her, feeling her heart beating hard against his, like a little bird’s.

“Ye’ll be a’righ,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hairline, smelling her sweetness. He didn’t know if it was true—but he said it anyway. “I should ne’er’ve asked ye t’do this. I’m sorry, lass. I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed, tracing her soft features with his finger. She was so small, like a doll. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. He could have stayed there, watching her just breathing, forever.

“Has she spoken?” Aleesa came in, asking after her daughter.

“Aye, briefly.” He frowned. “Will she be a’righ’?”

“Oh, aye.” Aleesa nodded. “She’s just exhausted. It takes a great deal of energy. She jus’ needs rest. I’ll have Alaric come fetch ’er…”

“No,” he snapped, reaching for the coverlet and pulling it over Bridget’s still form. “She’ll stay ’ere.”

“Griff…” Aleesa warned, her eyes widening. “Ye can’na...”

“I’ll sleep on t’floor,” he told her gruffly, putting a big, heavy arm across Bridget. “But we’ll not be movin ’er.”

“A’righ’.” She sighed. “Call me if ye need anythin’?”

“Aye,” he agreed, not taking his eyes off Bridget’s sleeping face.

Aleesa moved around the room, straightening, coming over to check on her again, a hand pressed to her forehead.

“She’s really gonna be a’righ’?” he asked, meeting Aleesa’s concerned gaze.

“Aye, she will, lad.” Aleesa gave him a small smile, pressing her hand to his forehead for a moment as well. It was small and cool. He felt warm. “And so will ye,
Righ
.”

“
Righ
.” He blinked at her, surprised at her use of the Gaelic word for
King
.

“T’once and future king.” Aleesa sat beside her daughter, looking at them both, thoughtful. “T’will take me a few hours to decipher all the text, but... d’ye wanna know what I saw in t’pool?”

He hesitated. Of course, he wanted to know—it was what he’d come here to discover. Based on whatever she’d seen, he would set out in the morning in search of his kin.

And he would leave Bridget behind.

That thought made his bones hurt and he looked down at her again, those russet colored lashes still against her pale cheeks, her lips pink, slightly parted, her breath still coming too fast.

Aleesa’s hand touched his, the one flat on the mattress beside Bridget, as if the arm over her could protect her from all harm.

“In the mornin’.” Griff didn’t lift his gaze from Bridget’s face. “I think we all need a good night’s rest.”

“Aye,” Aleesa agreed. She leaned over and kissed Bridget’s forehead, and then she kissed the back of Griff’s hand. “G’nite, lad.”

The wulver woman hesitated as she opened the door, glancing back at the couple on the bed. Bridget stirred, mumbling something, and Griff stroked her cheek, whispering to her.

“Griff...” Aleesa cleared her throat. “I... about what I said t’ye, earlier tonight…”

He glanced at her and saw her meaning clearly on her face. She didn’t have to worry. He’d never felt more connected to a woman—to anyone—than he did to Bridget in this moment. Did he want her? Aye, he did. More than he’d ever wanted anything. But his feelings for her went far beyond the physical. He would protect her with his own life, from now until the end of days.

“I will’na hurt ’er,” he said softly. “I give ye m’word.”

Aleesa gave him a nod, closing the door behind her.

He was hers.

It was a dream, she knew it had to be, but they stood, palm to palm, long cords of rope being wrapped around their wrists—a handfasting. Griff’s amber-colored eyes were shining with love, and Bridget felt more whole, complete, than she ever had in her entire life. She knew that feeling, as a temple priestess, of being filled by light, lacking nothing, but this was a different sort of wholeness. This was a mating, of two halves becoming one, a union of souls. Someone spoke in her dream, of dragons and ladies, the marriage of the opposites. She knew the prayers, had studied them her whole life, but they sounded different to her ears as she faced the man she loved, cleaving her life to his...

The man she loved.

Griff.

He was there, facing her across a shimmering pool filled with moonlight. He was there, always there. Protecting her from dragons. Catching her when she fell. Even when she’d pricked her finger, he’d been there to comfort her. She saw nothing but him now. It was as if the man had eclipsed everything else in her life just by his sudden existence in it. Her conscious mind, the one that told her that this was impossible, that their paths had meant to cross only for a moment and then diverge again, turned away from him. But something deeper in her knew the truth.

This man was hers, and she was his. It had been meant to be, since before time had begun its neverending countdown to nothingness again. If everything was as it should be, then her deeper self, the one that called for him in her sleep, the one that longed for his touch, the one that surrendered to her feelings, sought only that which was true.

She’d never realized she wanted something so much until she woke, sobbing, at the loss of it.

And he was there.

“Shhh, lass, ye’re a’righ’,” he soothed.

She opened her eyes, feeling him stretched out beside her, floating as if they were on a cloud.

And then she remembered. She remembered the ritual at the sacred pool, the way the moon had lit up the words on the reflective surface. She remembered her whole body shaking with the effort to stay still, to concentrate, to keep her mind steady and focused. She remembered Griff’s eyes, glowing red, looking straight into and through her.

“Did we find ’em?” she mumbled, trying to sit, but her head felt thick and heavy on her neck. “T’lost packs? Yer kin?”

“Aye,” he nodded, putting a big hand in the middle of her chest, pressing her to the bed. “I think so. Aleesa’s transcribin’ it all.”

“Does she need m’help?” Bridget struggled again to rise, but Griff’s big paw stayed planted in the middle of her chest.

“Bridget, ye need rest.” He frowned down at her, those amber eyes searching her face. “I did’na know it would be so...”

“Tirin’?” She smiled, closing her eyes again for a moment. “Tis like anythin’ worth doin’ I s’pose... it’s a worthy effort. Like makin’ love or birthin’, mayhaps...”

“Interestin’ comparisons.” Griff chuckled and she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her, eyes dancing.

“Why’m I here?” She glanced around, realizing they were in Aleesa and Alaric’s room, the one Griff had been staying in since he arrived.

“Because I brought ye here,” he said simply. “Because yer mine, Bridget, and I will’na leave ye, ne’er again.”

She swallowed, breath caught at his words. She had to still be dreaming. She’d fallen back into unconsciousness, where things like this were possible. But she most definitely wasn’t looking up into Griff’s concerned face, feeling his warm breath on her cheek, the long, hard stretch of his body against hers. Those things couldn’t really be happening.

“But ye hafta find yer kin.” She reached up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers, just to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. “What ’bout t’lost packs?”

“I’m meant to lead ’em, Bridget.” His face was pained. “But I can’na deny m’feelin’s fer ye any longer. I want ye as m’wife. My mate. I wanna take ye from this place, this life. Come wit’ me. Be mine.”

She stared at him, eyes wide now, fully awake. This was no dream.

Griff was here, holding her, and asking...

“What’re y’askin’ me?” She struggled to comprehend it. “Ye wan’ me t’come wit’ ye... to find t’lost packs?”

“Why not?” He smiled. “Ye can handle a sword as good as any man I know and yer a fine horsewoman.”

“As good?” she snorted. “Better, I’d wager, than most men
or
wulvers ye know...”

“Aye, aye.” He laughed. “I’m glad t’see ye’ve got yer spark back... I was worried ’bout ye...”

“How long’ve I been sleepin’?” she asked, frowning.

“Jus’ a few hours.”

She blinked at him. “And what’ve ye been doin’?”

“Watchin’ ye...”

“If I go wit’ ye...” She swallowed, trying to let the thought sink in. “I’ll miss t’marriage of Ardis and Asher. The ritual of t’sun’n’moon. I won’t become high priestess...”

“But is that what ye want?” Griff asked, lacing his fingers with hers. Just his touch made her melt, gave her so many doubts about the course her life had taken thus far. “I will’na stand in t’way if that’s really what ye want, lass. I’ll leave righ’ now...”

Griff made the move to go, and that’s when she knew.

“No!” she cried, grabbing his tunic and pulling him back.

He settled back onto the mattress, looking down at her, smiling.

“I think ye wan’ more than this life,” he murmured. “More than what ye’d ’ave ’ere in this temple.”

“How d’ye know that?” She jutted her chin out, defiant.

“I jus’ know.” He touched her chin with one finger, still smiling that knowing, arrogant smile. “I know ye, Bridget.”

“Ye do’na know me,” she said with a shake of her head. “Y’only think ye know me. I’m t’woman ye can’na have. If I gave m’self t’ye, ye’d be gone in t’mornin’ wit’out a second thought.”

His look darkened, and she saw something in his eyes. They turned dark, from gold to the deepest amber.

“Not wit’out ye,” he growled.

“Griff, I can’na leave t’temple,” she whispered. And that was the crux of it, truly. Even if she wanted to go with him, how could she? “I can’na leave Aleesa’n’Alaric alone ’ere.”

“Can’na...?” His finger moved from her chin, trailing down to the hollow of her throat, his touch melting her. “Or will’na?”

“Ye know, I was left ’ere by someone who wanted me t’be trained as priestess and guardian.”

Griff made a face. “Ye do’na know that...”

“But I do,” she protested. “Just like ye knew t’come ’ere t’Skara Brae, t’look fer t’lost packs. I know I’m meant t’be ’ere, fer the marriage of Asher’n’Ardis, when the eclipse comes... I can feel it in m’bones.”

“Och!” Griff rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “More magic and rituals?”

“I know ye do’na understand it, but...” Bridget touched his chin, bringing his face around so she could look into his eyes. “Did ye
feel
it?”

He frowned. “What d’ye mean?”

“When ye were looking a’me, across t’pool tonight...” she breathed, remembering, her whole body filled with the memory. “Did ye feel that?”

Griff shook his head, eyes clouded, but then, she saw something. Just a flicker.

And finally, he broke.

“Aye,” he whispered. His mouth quivered with his confession. “I felt ye. Ye looked a’me, an’ it cracked m’heart wide open, lass.”

“Oh Griff...” She felt tears coming to her eyes, knowing how difficult it was for him to admit the truth. She’d felt it, too.

“How can I leave ’ere on t’morrow wit’out ye?” he croaked out, lowering his head to her breast. Bridget stroked his hair, feeling tears slipping down her temples at his words. “It’ll be like leavin’ m’heart behind.”

“Mayhaps…” She swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Mayhaps we’re only meant t’have this.”

“This?” He lifted his face to look at her in the firelight.

“This moment.” She touched his cheek, shifting against him, so they were belly to belly. “Tonight. Now.”

“I wan’ more,” he admitted. “I want ye—I want ye
t’be mine
.”

“Aye.” She nodded. “I want ye, too...”

She bridged the gap between them, easily, lifting her face and pressing her lips to his. They were soft, warm. But she felt him hesitating, felt his body stiffen, holding back as she ran her hands over his chest, putting them up around his neck.

“Och, we can’na do this,” he whispered as they parted, and Bridget slid her soft, bare thigh between his. “I promised yer mother...”

“There are no laws ’ere in this temple or among t’wulvers that say we can’na be joined this way,” she reminded him as she rolled toward him on the mattress, pinning him beneath her.

“Nay, but...” Griff protested, moaning when she wiggled her way fully onto him, trapping his erection between them. “Och, lass, if we do this, are ye gonna accuse me of leavin’ ye in t’morning...?”

“We hafta follow our destinies,” she whispered, sitting up on him in a straddle. “Tis as it should be, always.”

He gasped when she unpinned her plaid, pulling it away from her body and tossing it aside. His eyes went from that deep, dark, amber color to a rich, bright red when she pulled her tunic off over her head and threw that aside too.

“Always as it should be, eh?” he asked, as Bridget took his hands in hers, putting them at her waist. His hands moved over her skin and she shivered.

“Always,” she agreed with a nod, moving her hips, feeling his shaft against the seam of her sex through his plaid.

“Then I should be doin’ this...?” His hands moved up to cup her breasts. They were full and ripe, never touched, and he plucked at her nipples like little cherries.

“Oh, aye...” Bridget breathed, rocking faster.

“And this...?” One hand slipped up behind her head and pulled her down to him for a kiss. This was no soft, hesitant thing, but something hard, hot, demanding. His tongue stroked and tickled the roof of her mouth, caressed the velvet walls of her cheeks from the inside, and Bridget looked at him with glazed, lust filled eyes as they parted.

“Oh, aye, aye, definitely that...” She nodded eagerly, wanting more, aching for something, although she wasn’t quite sure what.

“And this?” His mouth moved down to capture her nipple, suckling like a babe, and Bridget almost sobbed at the sensation.

“Aye, aye,” she cried as Griff rolled her to her back.

She ran her hands over him, greedy, mapping his chest and belly with her palms, memorizing every glorious inch of him. She hadn’t been able to get the image of his nude body out of her mind, and now she drank him in as he knelt up to divest himself of tunic and plaid, and she saw him again, stripped bare for her.

“Please, please,” she begged him, reaching for the part of him she hadn’t dared touch the other day. “I want ye inside me.”

Griff hissed through his teeth when she squeezed him, a sound that filled Bridgit with an incredible, feminine power.

“Not yet, lass.” He gave a low groan as he leaned over to kiss her and she felt the full weight of him crushing her against the mattress. She gasped and reveled in it, rocking up, wanting more.

“Please,” she begged, but that would be just the start to her pleas.

Griff spent eons—it was at least that long, she was sure—kissing and touching her body. He explored every inch of her, from nose to navel, front and back, with fingers, then tongue. She felt like a newborn kitten being given a bath, and all the while, she begged him for more.

Please, Griff, please…

She didn’t even know anymore what she wanted, what it was she was asking for.

Then his mouth went lower. He skipped her sex and went to her thighs, rubbing his whiskers there until she was red and raw. Then he turned her over and did the same to her bottom. Her cheeks—the ones on her face—were just as red when he finally rolled her to her back, pushing her knees to her chest, and burying his face in her sex.

“Griff!” Bridget nearly screamed. She bit her lip, remembering Alaric and Aleesa might hear, but soon she forgot all about them. She forgot everything as he pressed his tongue between her aching, swollen lips, flicking a spot at the top of her cleft that made her shake all over when he did.