Sorcha's Wolf (18 page)

“Inside, now,” he said. He was ready to beg if need be. “Inside, witch, sweet—”

“Sorcha.”

He groaned at the steady, slow glide of her wet pussy along his pulsing shaft. The tantalising taste of that one press followed by the torture of her wet heat rubbing, not encasing his cock, was driving him insane.

“Inside, now! Now,” he gasped when she dug her nails in his shoulders and breathed against his mouth, not kissing him but so close, he could taste her sweetness.

“Say it, say it,” she whispered. Each word came with a hectic breath against his lips and a pass from that incredible body along his. The sharp points of her nipples killed his control.

The need to flip her over, mount her from behind with her ass in his hands as he hammered home, teaching her with each thrust who owned her, pounded in his head, urging him on. But this time he resisted and shoved his instincts aside. This time, he wanted
her
to own
him
.

She lifted away again, allowing him to seat himself so close to where he needed that he groaned louder when she denied him.

“Say it. Say Sorcha,” her lips brushed his then with a low growl, she nipped at his bottom lip.

“Ah, Jesus!” He gripped her too tight he knew, but he nearly erupted. She drove him harder than any whip he’d ever endured, but he wasn’t coming until she did. After several tense seconds, he managed to release one hand long enough to simply tug her hair so he could bite her slim throat.

A sigh escaped her lips, her slow pace increased, and he shifted his hips, readying his desperate body to possess her again. She dug her nails into his shoulders and moved her hips to torture him. He was burning, desperate for what she withheld.

“Sorcha, Jesus, lass, you’re killing me. Now, now.”

Before the words had even been out of his mouth, she cried out and angled herself into alignment with his. It was all he needed.

He slammed his hips upwards, entering to the hilt and came with such force he barely felt her orgasm shudder around his impalement. Stars winked behind his closed eyes. Her soft keening ripped agonising growls from his chest and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her too tightly as he pumped everything he had deep inside her. Finally, he relaxed back on the bed, but kept his arms around her.

“You’ll never wash me off, now, witch,” he told her breathlessly.

Chapter Nineteen

Sorcha woke feeling more relaxed and satisfied than she’d ever known possible. Alex’s bigger form snuggled tight along every inch of her body. He’d wrapped one big arm around her waist and his head rested so his warm breath fanned her temple, while he’d even curled his leg over hers. She felt covered by him.

After she’d so boldly taken him, he’d made love to her again, taking his time to drag her through multiple orgasms until she’d begged him to stop. Then he’d given her what he’d called ‘
one more go’
before letting them both fall asleep. She could still feel him, still hear his low guttural sounds and the love words he’d used on her that last time to ease her into a powerful climax just from him rocking her on his thick erection.

Still, doubts worried her peace
.

She laughed softly and felt Alex stir behind her.
Was she one of those women? Always analysing every detail of her life? Her man?
She was. He held her, made love to her, and protected her. What more did she want?

She had no idea at this point. But she knew while she might not be able to wash
him
off, he’d never be able to rid himself of her scent.

“What are you laughing at, wit—”

“Sorcha.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck, surprising her. “Bothers you, eh? This ‘witch’?”

“Yes, I have a name. You have a name. I use it.”

“Aye, and when first we met, you knew my name. How was that?”

“I just did.”

He moved his hand and squeezed her breast with a low growl. Goddess, that sound was lovely. He nudged her and she finally said, “You’re notorious.”

“You called me Lykae too.”

She twisted her head and met his dark, chocolaty-brown eyes. He watched her closely, his intense expression not hidden even if half his face was behind her shoulder. He pressed a hot kiss to her shoulder blade, but he watched her, waiting on her response like it mattered.

A memory from the alley surfaced slowly. She had called him a Lykae after he’d called her witch. She’d also called him a bastard, and maybe a lunatic, the memories were a bit of a blur. “I did. You kidnapped me using demon hunters. I might not have been as polite as if you’d stopped by for tea.”

He grinned then something caught his attention over her head. “Shit! It’s daylight out. Up, up, witch.” He rolled off her, landed on his feet, and went back down for his pants she guessed when he sprang back up with his jeans in hand.

“Daylight?”

“Up, hurry. We meet the next contact today.”

She stood, sucking in a breath at how tender she was in certain embarrassing places. They certainly had enjoyed themselves, she thought with an inner smile. She spotted a red mark on Alex’s chest, and the smile broke free. He saw it, and paused to look at what had her smiling, then shot her a swift, sexy grin. The smile hit like a sucker punch of lust. She wanted him. Now.

“You left your mark, eh?”

His eyes pinned on her shoulder above the blankets she’d tucked around her. She didn’t need to look to spot the bite mark. He’d not marked her like a mate would she didn’t think, but the spot still tingled oddly. He shook his head, very wolf like, and tossed her a pile of clothes. Her boots and the jeans landed on the bed a second later.

“How did you do that?”

“What? The Fay gave them to me, mended and cleaned.”

He tugged a shirt on then rubbed a hand through his unruly hair, watching her curiously, when she simply fingered the material. Stomping into his boots until he had them on, he reached for his sword and buckled it on, crossing the leather so the blade rose over his head. He must not fear seeing any humans out here. But then, what few there were, he could avoid, couldn’t he?

All of a sudden knowing how he got her such perfect clothing was important.
Vital.

“No, not the clothing,
buying
the clothing. How did you know what I wore, what size and all that.”

A memory from yesterday came to her then. A memory of his face as he’d curled her hair around his finger.
Why is your hair curly now and before always straight?

Alex avoided her gaze, busying himself with his weapons instead of looking at her. “I got them for you before we left the country.”

“The US.”

“Aye, the US.”

She walked to him and for the first time, she reached out and smoothed the hair that always fell on his brow. He froze, but didn’t pull away from her touch. Her gaze lingered on his jaw, then she ran her hand along his arm to his hand. “How did you know what size to buy? What style jeans?”

He turned then and with a sigh, drew her nearer, hugging her to his chest. She fit under his chin, she noticed, as if made for him. A choked feeling filled her throat, burning all the way to her eyes. They
were
made for each other.

“I watched you for a wee bit, found out what you liked, what you wore, and bought what I thought would serve you well here.”

When he didn’t go on, she swallowed painfully. “In Scotland.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “We need to go. Can you get dressed while I scout ahead? I will be back within a few hours.”

“Of course. I will be fine.”

He caught her hand, stilling her. “Aye, but you will stay close, here, in this cabin. If anything happens?” His expression turned harder, his eyes so earnest she couldn’t look away. “Scream.”

She wanted to say something, anything, tell him everything, but the ability to speak disappeared when Alex gently took her hand and pressed it to his face once more before turning his head to kiss her fingers. Not done torturing her, he hauled her into his arms and meshed their lips for a too brief kiss.

“You smell of me.”

With that, he shot her a sexy smirk and headed out, leaving her so confused, all she could do was stand there, staring at the scarred, wooden door.

Alex was torn. He’d nearly gone to his knees when Sorcha had touched him. It hadn’t escaped him that she’d never allowed herself to touch him. Today, she’d reached out and tenderly brushed his hair back. He’d wanted nothing more than to sit her pretty bottom on the table, spread her thighs and fill her. Only the thought of her being too tender after the night before had stopped him.

That and worry over another attack.

Torn?

He was in hell.

How was he supposed to let Zith within a continent of Sorcha? As it was, he was close to bundling her up in some tower and not letting her out until he’d either killed the warlock or died trying.

She’d committed herself to this plan. Hell, she’d made and taken that damn potion. How could he do less than try to kill the bastard now? He had to be careful though. The mage had sent one witch after him. He obviously wanted Sorcha, sooner rather than later. Worse, the man knew where Alex would be.

Or thought he knew.

Today Alex was supposed to meet his next contact, not here in this valley, but higher up, in the passes Sorcha had so feared. He was a hundred miles from there now, and the meet was in three hours, not an hour. He cast a look back over his shoulder at the trees hiding their shelter. Sorcha was safe. He’d made sure of it. Now he could head to the meet, without her, and guarantee all was well there before he raced back to her.

Except this was the first time he’d be parted from her. He felt oddly uneasy. A flash of red caught his attention and he fisted his hands at his sides.

Sorcha. Did she never listen to him?

He narrowed his eyes and saw her bend, then rise, only to bend again a few feet farther on. What was she doing? She tossed her hair and suddenly he realised—her hair was straight and short.

It felt like a knife lodged in his gut and twisted. This wasn’t Sorcha. The thought hadn’t completely settled before he leapt from the cliff he’d just gained, nearly falling descending the mountain trail the fastest possible way—and the most dangerous—by leaping from rocky ledge to rocky ledge. He scented the air and a growl broke free.

Jackals.
And this time, they had a demon.

This time, he might not be fast enough. He might arrive too late. Pure terror ripped through his gut, his wolf—the beast he blamed for his father and brother’s death—broke free, aiding him in clearing a ravine he couldn’t have spanned alone. He landed easily on the other side, his sword out, his gaze already locked on the jackals—once again in their human form—circling the cabin. He felt calm, in control, but more powerful than he ever remembered. His wolf was there, pacing closer, but not doing more than buffering Alex’s own strength. He felt oddly whole, as if a shift in his world had settled a crack he’d not known existed—or more accurately had ignored until now.

Sorcha.

He heard her cry out, a pain-filled sound, and he prayed to all the gods that he’d get there in time. She was his. No one threatened what was his, not any longer. Not man, witch or warlock and certainly not a pack of jackals.

Sorcha shouted and he heard a man yell in pain, then Sorcha’s bright curly hair came into view. She’d dressed in the cream-coloured sweater and soft blue jeans and held two jackals off with a bloody frying pan.
What was she thinking using a frying pan?

He took the hill in a fast rush, half his attention on her. When she cleared the doorway, she stumbled backward, holding the black cast iron up like a shield. Something bright pink hit the pan and Sorcha dropped it cursing and shaking her hand as if burnt.

She suddenly saw him, he knew because she grimaced and clutched her throat, worry filling her expression.

Worry over him
.

He didn’t waste time reassuring her. He couldn’t. The need for blood, anyone’s blood surged through him and he hit the back of the nearest jackal with such force he split the man in two with his first sword stroke.

His fist connected with a head and he used his other hand to slice clean through the bastard’s neck with his claws, letting him drop to his feet as he spun to engage another.

“Alex!” Markee’s shout sent a wave of relief flooding through him, but didn’t slow him from tearing into the jackal’s side and jumping out of the way as the big beast tried to dive in to take his throat. He rammed his fist into the jackal’s gut, took the advantage and sliced the jackal’s stomach open. The man dropped like the first.

He spotted Markee fighting off two more jackals before he turned back to Sorcha. Markee was here. That couldn’t mean anything good. But his aid was welcome now, Alex thought, leaping over a man’s sword trying to take his feet out from under him. He landed low and immediately rolled back up to his feet, stabbing a jackal in the chest. He tossed the man aside quickly and to reach the witch attacking Sorcha.

The redhead—a punk looking youngling—twisted to face him too slowly. He knocked her out with the hilt of his blade, barely slowing to engage another big jackal. The man hit him once, but hadn’t reached for his inner beast. Alex tore him from the stomach to the throat then landed an uppercut that broke bones.

Arms tangled with him and something zipped by his head. A sharp pain hit his thigh, but he ignored it all, centred on one thing—Sorcha.

A jackal had his hands on her, and another man cruelly jerked her to him by her hair. She fought like a wild cat, scratching and wiggling to break free until the man holding her pulled a knife and held it to her throat. She stilled completely. As Alex watched, the beast tipped her head back so far, Alex couldn’t see her face.

His blood felt like it turned to ice. He stopped breathing. His wolf snarled, fuelling him with enough power that he knew no one would be able to harm Sorcha once he got her in his arms.

“Alex!” The unfamiliar male shout drew his attention, but not his focus off the man holding Sorcha. He couldn’t look away, but he paced closer, turning his body but not his head away from Sorcha. Whoever called to him, grunted, sounding like he’d taken a blow, then a struggling sound erupted on his left. Alex ignored it. Whoever called to him wasn’t his concern. Sorcha. Sorcha was his biggest worry.

The man holding her wasn’t Zith, but like the warlock from his past, the man wore the scent of evil like a Death Stalker. Worse, the man smelt of gruesome, tortured victims and blood, as if he’d just risen from a graveyard full of the dead. Alex held back the urge to gag and stalked closer.

One of the downed Jackals rose behind him, but Alex ignored him.

From the corner of his eye he spotted Agni and his gut tightened.

Had the demon come for Sorcha?

Over my dead body.

His wolf, already adding his strength, flexed within him. He’d destroy anyone between him and his woman. Anyone. Sorcha was his.

If he didn’t ruin everything by letting his wolf guide him.

With that thought beating a frantic pulse through his system he attacked.

Sorcha screamed when Alex launched himself as if he’d grown wings. His eyes flashed a brilliant buttery yellow and within her body, a completely inappropriate rush of lust hit her. She shoved her elbow into the mage, twisted away and kicked her feet backwards to sweep his out from under him.