Taken by Moonlight (11 page)

With one
arm holding her up, Conall nipped at her neck, at her shoulders, and kissed
each little bite after. He brought his other hand down to her center, and
danced his finger over her sensitive nub.

She moaned
low. His fingers pinched at her lightly and after some seconds of play, he
turned his hands to her breasts. After kneading them and pulling at her
nipples, he kissed her shoulder, her spine, before he released her breasts and
trailed kisses down to the dip in her back. His hand pushed at her shoulder,
and she went forward, her hands falling to the mattress and she adjusted to the
position.

One look at
her on her knees before him, eagerly waiting, and the beast surfaced, and this
time, took over. Conall’s canines lengthened, wicked sharp talons protruded
where blunt nails had been, and he growled.

The air
seemed to crackle around them, and Vivienne felt a burst of renewed energy
shoot through her. Strong hands gripped her waist and she pushed back against
air, whimpering in frustration.

A scream
tore from her throat as his length parted her folds in one quick thrust. One
hand gripped her waist as the other tangled in her hair. She cried out, feeling
a combination of pain and pleasure as he began to thrust against her, his
sweat-slicked body rocking against hers as his pace increased.
I will be the
only one to have you, Vivienne. Only me. Do you accept me as your mate?
His
voice was a torrent of deep unintelligible sounds and low growls, but she understood.

Mate?
Her brain thought briefly to the
word before her emotions took over and she nodded frantically.

“Yes, yes.
Only you.
Please
. Harder.”

His thrusts
grew even stronger, his body slapping against hers so powerfully as to shake
the king-sized bed. Her hand caught a fistful of sheet as she pushed back
against him, feeling her body burn with the need to release.

Like
that, Vivienne?

Something
in her demanded more.

“More.”

His hard
belly, ribbed with deep grooves of his abs, came down against her back as his
hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her. Turning her head, she
looked at him, and was startled by the bright yellow eyes piercing into her.
Vivienne gasped as he went deep, and closed her eyes. She was imagining
things—she was in such a high state of arousal that she was imagining things.

You are
mine, Vivienne.

Yes,
yours. Take me, Con—

Before she
could finish that thought, a sharp pain lanced her shoulder and her knees
buckled before giving out. His arm was below her belly, holding her up now. A
burn started at her shoulder and as he quickened his pace, something strange
erupted inside of her. She was still there, but something else, something much
fiercer, had taken over. He pushed against her again, and she rocked back
against him frantically. A soft growl escaped her lips and then a cry, a
keening, high-pitched sound, left her lips.

Take me,
Conall. Take me completely.
She didn’t hear herself speaking those words but she was quick to accept them
as her own.

A strangled
shout escaped his lips as he pushed forward wildly, his organ seeming to
increase in girth as he came into her. Vivienne’s eyes widened even as her body
demanded more of him, all of him. He reared back and pushed forward again, and
her body stretched further as it tried to accommodate him. Another hard thrust,
resulted in Vivienne’s strangled cry, and every inch of him was sheathed in her
body as heat pulsed through her core. Her body began shaking, quivering,
coming. Vivienne heard a feral snarl, followed by a growl from somewhere in the
distance as her body shook violently.

The world
erupted into sound, but this time, there were no voices. The silent song of the
wind, the rustling of curtains, Conall’s harsh breathing in her ear. Despite
the darkness, she could see the white sheets beneath her, the burgundy
headboard before her. Her own breathing was just beginning to calm when the
voices came once more.

It was
impossible to make out the words, but she knew it to be a chant from the
singsong, lyrical way that it was being said. It grew louder and louder, until
she was no longer moaning in pleasure but from the jolting pain of their
heightened voices. She was briefly aware of Conall’s arm wrapping about her
belly as he carefully lowered them both onto their sides. He was still inside
of her, still hard. The voices hit a high crescendo and she screamed.
Why
are they so loud?
She clutched at her forehead, her temple.

Suddenly,
all went silent, and a mercifully soothing voice whispered to her.
Sleep.

Even if she
wanted to resist it, she couldn’t. She was exhausted, and it offered her
reprieve.

As soon as
Conall reined in his beast, he recognized he had more pressing problems, other
than the fact that he’d just mated a human. He hadn’t completed the ritual, but
from his mating scent on her skin, and his essence still secured in her body,
any non-human being would be able to sense it. She was his. Still, he didn’t
have time to dwell on things that could not be undone.

His human
was not as
human
as he’d suspected. Conall sniffed at her, as a frown
marred his lips. Vivienne smelled human, looked human, acted human, but
something was off. He trailed his hand down the length of her torso as he
remembered what had happened before he’d put her to sleep.

He’d been
inside of her, mind and body, when something unlocked. There was no other way
to describe it. He’d felt its energy, its strength, but had been too far gone
to focus on exactly what it was. Whatever had surfaced had been strong and
demanding and had brought out the dominance of his wolf as he lost control, and
pinned her to him. His brow furrowed. And if that had not clued him to the fact
that Vivienne was more than he’d originally thought, the voices in her head
were a clear indication. He’d remained a silent force in her mind, trying to
locate and understand them, to see if some sort of witchery was involved, but
had found no sources. No energy flowing into the room that would link the
chanting to a witch.

In fact, it
seemed to be coming directly from her, which he knew was impossible. Every
were
and vampire, even warlocks, had been trained and trained well to scent a
witch because most of the times, they were trying to kill them. Vivienne was no
witch. He thought of the possibility of druids before dismissing it. No druids
had walked the earth for centuries, after being locked away for wreaking
absolute havoc on mortals and immortals alike.

Vivienne
shifted slightly, and Conall’s hand splayed across her belly as he quickly
restrained her. Because he’d pinned her, she was still locked to him, and would
be unable to move for some minutes.

As she
settled once more, he returned to his thoughts. It could be a spell, something
cast when she was younger, without her knowledge, or done to her recently.
Witches and druids were the only creatures who spun spells and curses. Anger
ran through his body as he thought of someone casting something against his
mate. Vivienne jerked against him, and Conall remembered that he was still in
her mind. Pulling away easily, so as not to jar her awake, he rubbed his hand
soothingly against her torso.

She
murmured something he didn’t catch, and he continued his ministrations. Why
would someone curse her? As his mind worked the possibilities, Vivienne slept
peacefully in his arms.

The sounds
were coming from behind Drew’s closed door.

Max had
just arrived back at the apartment after two encounters with his boss that had
made him consider quitting, and the sight that greeted him made him pause.
Around the dining table were two empty plates, which contained the remnants of
an evening dinner. It was just before seven, and he briefly wondered if
Vivienne’s boss had actually let her leave early, before the sound of giggling
touched his ears. Although he found it strange, Max thought that Vivienne had a
friend or colleague over. He was standing before her door, about to knock and
meet this mystery friend, when he recognized two things: the laughter was
coming from Drew’s room and the voice he’d heard was very male.

Max took
quick steps over to Drew’s door, knocked, and without waiting for a response,
pushed the door open.

Drew sat at
her desk and swiveled her chair to face him. Her eyes widened and her mouth
opened in shock. She’d curled her braids, and some caressed her face while
others swept down her back. And was she wearing makeup?

His gaze
was drawn to the man who lay on the bed. He looked comfortable, as if he’d been
there before. His arms were spread eagled about her comforter, and his head was
atop a colorful throw pillow as he lay on his belly, watching her. The man
rolled over and sat up when Max marched in, and then he looked to Drew. She
sent him a placating smile and stood, heading over to Max.

“What are
you doing in my room?” Her voice was calm and to anyone else, it might have
even sounded friendly. He sent her a withering glare, which she returned.

“Who’s your
friend?” he asked curtly, looking back to the guy sitting on her bed before
lifting one brow. It was a challenge, one that any man understood.

“Jonathan,”
he began in a deep voice, before pushing his legs to the edge of the mattress
and standing. He walked over to where Max stood, and gently moved Drew to the
side. Extending his hand, he smiled in what some might call a charming way, and
said, “Jonathan Rashard.”

Max’s glare
never softened as he took in the man before him. He was about a few inches
shorter, with a richly tanned complexion, and a very recent fade. He guessed
some girls would find him attractive, too. He looked accusingly at Drew, whose
arms were now crossed below her breasts. Max did a double take and blinked, his
eyes attached to her chest.

What the
hell is she wearing?

Drew was
nicely rounded, with full breasts, a small waist, and flaring hips. She was
built like a pin-up girl, only slightly thinner and taller, and she certainly
did not need to be flaunting herself in that tight and revealing V-neck shirt!
And where were the sleeves on that thing? It was October, not August!

His eyes
lifted to hers. She stared at him curiously, and he knew she’d caught him
staring at her breasts.

“Isn’t it a
bit chilly for that shirt?” He regretted the question the moment it left his
lips because her eyes hardened and her lips pursed tightly.

“Isn’t it a
bit rude to walk into someone’s bedroom without being invited?”

Jonathan
pulled his hand back and pushed it into his pocket, staring at them peculiarly.

“I
knocked,” Max corrected. “If you weren’t so busy,” he paused and looked at
Jonathan, who lifted a brow as he did so, “you might have heard it.”

“Funny. If
you weren’t so rude you would have waited—”

“Okaaay,”
Jonathan suddenly exclaimed, nodding his head as he walked back over to the bed
and sat down. He put on his boots, laced them up, and stood. “I’m going to head
out now. I’ve got some stuff to do at the gallery anyway.”

“The
gallery?”

“Yes, the
gallery. Not that it is any of your business, but Jonathan is one of the
artists for the upcoming exhibit,” she bit out, before turning to Jonathan and
offering him an apologetic smile. Drew worked at a modern art gallery in the
city as a PR representative. She was responsible for the artists, their pieces,
and getting people to show up for events.

“Walk me
out?” Jonathan asked, and she nodded. She rushed past Max, practically shoving
him out of the way as she headed for the living room.

“It was
interesting meeting you, Max,” Jonathan told him, and Max only barely resisted
the urge not to say something snide. He might be Drew’s client, but he was a
man, and from his position on her bed and Drew’s appearance, there had to be
something more.

Although he
couldn’t bring himself to smile, or even lose the frown for that matter, he did
reply. “Yeah.”

Jonathan
nodded and chuckled. “I’ll probably see you around.”

I hope
not.
He might as
well have said it, because Jonathan caught a clue and shrugged his shoulders
before walking past him to where Drew no doubt waited.

Max
released a deep breath and shook his head. Could the day get any worse?
Turning, he walked over to his room and began removing his clothing. He was
going to take a hot shower, then eat—no, he wasn’t hungry anymore. He was going
straight to bed.

Max had
been in the shower for quite sometime, his head resting against the tile as
water trickled down to his toes. The beating spray relaxed his muscles and cleared
his head.