Mistress of the Stone (19 page)

That was all he needed to hear, and his strokes drove them both to completion. He yelled a hoarse cry and then collapsed on top of her.

Luísa breathed hard, barely understanding what had happened. She rubbed her hands across his slick back and closed her eyes. She had surrendered her virginity to a werewolf—and even worse, to an Englishman. May God have mercy on her soul because she knew her father wouldn’t.

Chapter Fifteen

Bloody hell! What had he done? He had no intention of coming inside her—yet he did. It took so little effort on her part to convince him.

Fool! Wasn’t it enough that he’d taken her innocence? He didn’t want to leave her with child too.

He nuzzled her cheek, so soft and wet. Had he hurt her? She didn’t seem ill at ease. On the contrary, she seemed to glow, cuddling up against his chest as if she belonged there. He doubted she even understood the ramifications of letting him stay inside her.

God forgive him. It had never been like this with any other woman. For the first time in his life, he felt at peace.

They lingered in each other’s arms, content for what little bliss they’d earned.

The ghouls had ceased their wails, but something else scrabbled and scratched outside their hut, followed by a soft hoot of greeting. Koko had returned to make his rounds and saluted Daltry when he reached the small window.

Daltry nodded in acknowledgement before returning to his sleepy repose with Luísa in his arms.

The monkey jumped off the window ledge and meandered around the room, picking up Luísa’s shirt, bringing it to his nose for a sniff, and then examining the shiny buckle of her belt. Koko gathered all her clothes into a neat pile then picked through each like a thief at his business.

He seemed unimpressed with the paltry spoils because he pushed them away and headed for her boots. His little paw grabbed one boot and turned it upside down. A slim blade, its handle etched with runes, fell out, bouncing twice before landing tip first into the hard dirt.

Koko’s face lit into an irrepressible grin, and he snatched the knife with a thief’s panache, hiding it behind his back. He looked up at Daltry, but Daltry saw no need to scold him. He was too comfortable to care what the little beast was playing with.

Assured that he wouldn’t be disturbed, Koko studied his prize. He stared at his reflection on the shiny blade and grinned.

Luísa stretched out and rubbed her face at the crook of Daltry’s neck, her fingers knitting themselves on the hair of his chest.
Heaven.
The stirrings welled up inside him, and he was more than ready for a second round.

“Again, my darling?”

“Really?”

He grinned at her. “You’re with a man of rare talent and endurance.”

Luísa giggled and licked her lips in anticipation. “I’ll see these talents, sir. What have you got?”

He held her by the waist and pressed her to the mat. His cock was hard and ready, and she plucked it between her hands and guided him to her woman’s entrance. He had nearly pierced her when she turned and caught Koko playing with her knife.

Luísa pushed Daltry off her. “Blast you, beast! Put that down.”

Koko screamed at her and waved the knife in defiance. Then he did the unthinkable. He stuck his tongue out at her and bolted out the window.

Luísa flung herself out of bed and nearly made it out the door when she realized she was stark naked. She scurried back, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and threw on her breeches and boots, fastening her shirt as she rushed out the door once more.

Daltry yelled after her, but was unable to follow when he found himself tangled in the blanket.

He kicked off the bedding and scrambled into his skivvies, running after her and Koko as fast as he could. His chest still hurt. The puncture had been deep, but fear that Luísa wandered the jungle alone forced him to keep moving. At least it was daylight. He hoped she had enough sense not to cross the fog barrier.

Daltry sniffed the air. He could smell that nuisance little monkey nearby. Koko had evaded Luísa and now swung from tree to tree. Daltry looked up and examined the lush canopy. “Where are thee, you little demon?”

He followed the sound of rustling until it settled on a tree just in front of him. Daltry stepped lightly, slowly, hoping he could lure Koko down with a few soft words.

“Come now, Koko,” he crooned in a sing-song voice. “Come on down, you worthless pile of monkey lint.”

The little monkey poked his head upside down from the tree and grinned at him.

Daltry stopped in his tracks. “There you are, you naughty boy. Where is Luísa’s knife, eh?”

The monkey hung by its tail and threw out its empty hands.

Daltry scowled at the simian and put his hands on his hips.

Koko laughed, showing Daltry the black-handled knife safely clutched in its left foot.

“Give me that knife, Koko,” Daltry demanded.

Koko screamed at him, bouncing up and down from the branches, daring him to snatch the knife away. He was playing
keep away
, Koko’s favorite game, but not one of Daltry’s.

Daltry jumped up again and again, lunging for the knife that Koko kept just out of reach. The impish monkey laughed with delight, making rude faces at Daltry and even ruder noises.

“Have it your way, you evil beast.” He turned away from Koko, pretending to have lost interest in the game.

The monkey screamed at him once more and raced to a branch just above Daltry’s head. Koko poked his face out of the greenery and stuck his tongue out at his foe.

Daltry returned the favor.

In one sudden burst of speed, Daltry lunged straight up, changing to wolf form within a heartbeat, and scaring the little monkey until he fainted dead away. The knife landed blade side down right next to him.

Daltry fell back on his haunches and changed back as quickly as he could, then lifted the mischievous monkey into his arms. Koko revived almost immediately and offered a sheepish grin.

“Are thee well, beast?” Daltry stroked the monkey’s face.

Koko jumped up and put his arms around Daltry’s neck.

“Hmm, well, that’s what I thought. All is forgiven then.” He scooped up the knife with Koko still attached around his neck and headed out to find Luísa.

Daltry and Koko both sniffed the air this time. East, Koko pointed, but Daltry couldn’t be sure until a woman’s scream made it a certainty.

“Bloody hell!”

They raced toward a clearing on the other side of the fog barrier. Koko jumped off Daltry when they caught sight of a dozen werewolves, some in fur, others in human form.

Daltry leapt into their midst as they closed in on Luísa.
Brave lass.
She held her ground, but there was no mistaking the fear in her scent.

He snarled at Jovis. “Mine, pack leader. The woman is mine.” Daltry pulled Luísa behind him.

“The woman belongs to Saint-Sauveur. He’s claimed her.”

“He hasn’t mated with her. I have.”

Jovis, still in human form, glanced over at Luísa. He looked back at Daltry and smiled. “We’re relaxing the rules, considering the circumstances. Saint-Sauveur has pledged to rid our curse forever, but he needs the girl to do it. For the good of the pack, I am giving her to Saint-Sauveur.”

“The blazes you will,” Luísa spat back.

“Be silent,” Jovis growled.

Luísa peeled the knife out of Daltry’s hand and tilted its point toward the leader. “Mangy dog! Think I’ll bow to the whim of a shapeshifter who has stolen my father?”

Jovis laughed, a cruel sneer painted on his face. “You’ll do more than bow, woman. You’ll bear his young.”

Chapter Sixteen

“You’re making a mistake, Jovis.” Daltry pushed Luísa to the safety of the trees then circled the leader. “Saint-Sauveur is the host to empty promises.”

“The prophecy claims our curse can only be lifted by divine words. Who else can say those words but the French missionary? The prophecy speaks of Saint-Sauveur, and I speak for this pack. The girl is his.”

“No!” One word and Daltry said it with all the might of ownership.

Bugger!
Where did that come from? He’d never been so possessive over a woman in his life. It was more than protecting the sorceress’s scion. No woman was safe around Saint-Sauveur.

“Mind your place, wolf, unless you’ve decided to leave our pack for good. I have been too lenient with your wanderlust. You must either prove allegiance to the pack or be exiled forever. These are your only choices.”

Daltry’s upper lip curled. “There’s another choice, isn’t there, Jovis?”

Jovis’s body wobbled a little and the wisps of gray in his beard betrayed his true years. He was too skinny and too flabby to attract a mate, even if he had been an alpha—once. But he’d hung on, hoping to retain his title a little while longer, so that history wouldn’t remember him as weak.

The old werewolf proved impotent as a leader and it hurt the pack. Someone should have challenged Jovis for leadership the moment he began making deals with Saint-Sauveur. Someone like…him. Now it would be harder to sway the tribe.

Daltry’s eyes focused on the pack leader. “You’re old, Jovis, and toothless. That’s why you’re so quick to hand over power to Saint-Sauveur. He’s promised you a warm bed and a soft dog to suck your withered husk.” He stared down at Silas, a gamma in the pack who curried to Jovis’s every whim.

The pack murmured among themselves. There was division in the ranks. Some stayed loyal to Jovis and trusted in his decisions, but Daltry saw, too, the dissenters, those who favored a younger, stronger alpha to replace the leader.

His friend, Malachai, would back him, as would Cwen, an alpha female who all but admitted she had chosen him to sire her children. Cwen could be trouble. She was already staring daggers at Luísa. This alpha was not a female to be trifled with.

Everyone else drifted back.

Silas, the sycophant, permanently crippled from the last fight that broke out within the tribe limped toward the pack leader. “Jovis,” he wheezed. “A fight is costly to the pack. We must remain united. No matter what we do with this woman, the pack must come first.” He looked behind him and sneered at Daltry. “This dog is not worth your effort. He’s an interloper, and not a true pack member. He only comes here to nurse on his sister’s teat.”

Daltry lunged at him. “Maggot breath!”

Jovis pushed Silas aside and met Daltry’s challenge. He curled his lip, standing nose to nose against the man who defied him.

Both men stood so close their breath mingled as one.

Silas receded into the shadows, cleaving Luísa to him. “If you want to save your man and your ship, you’ll make him stand down,” he said with cloying softness.

“My ship?” Luísa breathed harder.

“Aye,” said Jovis. “The pirate ship,
Coral
, is on the eastern cove. None too pretty from what I’m told.”

She tugged at Daltry’s arm. “My ship, Xander. They’re here.”

Jovis pulled in front of her face. “Forget your ship, woman. Your crew would be slaughtered before they reached the beach. Your place is with the Frenchman.”

“The blazes it is. I won’t go to Saint-Sauveur.” Luísa’s grip tightened on the dagger. Daltry drew away from Jovis and pulled her behind him.

Silas intervened once more. “Most understandable, mistress. I can see your way of it.” His eyebrows lifted when he turned to Jovis. “Please, master. It need not come to this.”

Jovis didn’t answer him, keeping his eyes on Daltry. Slowly, almost incrementally, each man turned away from the other. The jungle fell silent until a branch snapped above them inciting both men to lunge toward each other with animal reflex, their jaws lengthening and fur sprouting.

Fangs and claws flashed in a blur. They bounced off each other, and Daltry drew blood first, grazing teeth marks down Jovis’s cheek.

Luísa screamed his name, then stilled.

The pack stared dumbstruck as each challenger settled down once more. By the time Daltry returned to Luísa, he had returned to human form.

He held her close to his body and moved away from the pack in slow backward steps. “Slowly,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t run.”

Silas limped toward Jovis and licked the blood off his master’s face.

Jovis softened for a moment, a lover’s pause perhaps, until he hardened his heart once more. He shoved Silas away and growled at Daltry. “Where will you go, Daltry? You can’t hide from Saint-Sauveur on this island. The werehyenas are in league with him too. He has eyes everywhere.”

“Eyes,” Daltry repeated. “And tongues fit only for stroking the egos of a weak leader.”

“Take your woman, renegade, and pray this weak leader doesn’t come back to tear your throat out. We will wait for Saint-Sauveur, and you will answer to him.”

Chapter Seventeen

Sibyl took a detour. She should have paid a visit to Jovis straight away, but she had promised her lover to see him first. Their union had been secret for years, not just from her brother but from the Sorceress as well. The island witch had little sympathy for the affairs of others and even less compassion for those who served her.