MacRieve

THIRTY-SIX

That didn’t just happen.

Chloe hadn’t known what to expect for her first time. But she’d never imagined she’d get railed from behind by a werewolf—or that her first lover would dash to the bathroom to vomit directly after.

She lay stunned on the bed, trying to process everything that had just occurred. All she knew for certain was that he was sickened by sex with her, and that she would never repeat this ever again.

At first, she’d thought she could enjoy having him inside her. She’d even been close to orgasm, until he’d started to . . . flag.

He’d known it, she’d known it. And then she’d seen him gritting his teeth, endeavoring to get through it, as if sex with her was a grueling last lap to be completed.

When that hadn’t worked, he’d tagged out with the beast, letting it finish something he was too disgusted to do himself.

Fear had assailed her. But when the beast had turned her over and taken her, it hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought it would be.

She’d even chanced a peek back at MacRieve’s wolven face. It hadn’t been nearly as terrifying as last time. And she’d realized why: the one time she’d seen the shadow of the beast before, it had been wavering over MacRieve’s mask of hatred.

Tonight, the beast had gazed at her with possession, with yearning—as if she’d just become its entire world. It had ached for her, just as MacRieve had said.

Chloe had responded, reveling in its ferocity, because she’d known that she had provoked that intensity. She’d relished the way its claws had gripped her hips, knowing that it was frantic for her.

As frantic as she’d soon grown.

Once she’d relaxed again, the pleasure had returned, just harder, more jarring. She’d been smiling into the pillow because the beast of her fears had been fucking her straight toward the most intense orgasm she’d ever imagined. Just when she’d been on the verge of release, she’d felt wave after wave of its semen shooting inside her. She hadn’t come, but that seed had been like a balm against her every ache—no pain anywhere, not her ankle or her bruised face. Her energy had been renewed. She’d truly felt immortal. Then it had ended. Then MacRieve had returned.

He’d just finished vomiting. She heard him filling a glass of water at the sink.

She’d always considered herself thick-skinned. Rub some dirt on it, right? But with this . . .

There was no upside.

Will lurched from the bathroom, trying not to notice as Chloe stared blankly at the wall, sheet clutched to her throat.

—Allay, comfort.—

How could he comfort her when he still felt like he was suffocating?

He descended the stairs, heading straight to the liquor cabinet. As he cracked open another bottle and took a generous slug, he comprehended the hopelessness of his situation. She would always be a succubus; he would always hate her kind.

Some part of him would resent his mate for eternity, blaming her for things she’d had no part in, blaming her whenever she needed to feed.

My will is no’ my own.

He heard her scurrying to the shower. It sounded like she was frantically scrubbing herself. Not a good sign. And he thought . . . he thought he heard her crying, the sound echoing in the shower stall.

Just as Ruelle had made him cry during his first time, so Will had made Chloe.

She’d never spilled a tear in all those soccer clips, had never cried from his many insults. I’m the villain. Slaoightear. As Munro had warned.

How horrifying for her to be taken by the beast. While Will had experienced unequaled pleasure. Another remarkable milestone for an ancient immortal.

Yet I’m no’ sated. Already he wanted her again. Her strew must linger.

Another throat-burning chug. He sank down in one of the chairs before the waning fire, staring at the embers. He didn’t want to hate her; she didn’t deserve it.

So what to bloody do? Mayhap he needed to talk to someone. Naturally, his first impulse was to call his twin—but Munro would just rail over Will’s treatment of his deirfiúr. So Will collected his sat-phone from the bag he’d left in the great room and dialed Nïx, having no expectation that she’d answer.

She picked up almost immediately: “Are you calling about the ad?”

“Ad?”

“For the gently used Bentley for sale. It has zero miles!”

Well, that explained the backward driving. “It’s me, MacRieve.”

“You-lamey! How good to hear from you! Scotland must be beautiful. I’m currently out with Mariketa, Regin, and Carrow. We’re doing rescue work.”

He swigged, not even surprised she knew his location. “Aye, collecting Order orphans. Malkom Slaine told me.” In the background, Will heard what sounded like a multitude of bairns spatting—demonic wails, baby roars and hisses—and what he thought might be a van rocking on its shocks.

Nïx said, “I’m nodding. We’ve gathered demonlings, ankle-biters, and a couple of centaur foals, just to name a few.”

“I need your help, soothsayer. You and I—we’ve definitely rebroken that bone, aye?” he said, his bitterness undisguised. “Yet it’s still no’ right. I’ve bollixed this up with my mate.”

“I know,” she said sadly.

“I doona want to treat her this way.” He began to pace. “How do I keep myself from hating her just for what she is?”

“Why don’t you work on her hatred of you?” Nïx asked. “Win her and perhaps you can be won over.”

“How?”

“Lykae can be so smooth—charming tricksters who cajole what they want. Woo her, wolf.”

“I doona believe she can be won by me.” Just saying those words brought on a swell of despair.

“You haven’t exactly made it easy for her.”

The back of his neck heated. So Nïx had seen what he’d done to Chloe?

“Yes, I see all, wolf. And by all—”

“You mean some. If you saw enough, then you ken why she will no’ want me again. My beast came out in full force. It was no’ gentle.”

“You need to talk to her, confide in her. Tell her what happened to you.”

“Never.” For Will—a Lykae male from a warrior clan and a line of Sentinels—the only thing worse than being . . . molested by Ruelle for four years would be to admit it to his mate.

How could he even introduce the topic? We need to talk about why I subconsciously despise you. When I came, you see, your last greedy pull harkened back to a time when my seed was taken by one of your ilk.

Because my disgust ruled me tonight, I withheld my claiming bite from you.

The sounds of the bairns’ tiff grew louder, the rocking more pronounced.

Nïx told Will, “Lovely. Demonling horns just punctured the roof of our rental vehicle. Hold, please.” Then to the children, she said, “I told you Bertil would bite if you pull his legs. Now, cut out that caterwauling or Auntie Nïxie will eviscerate you.”

Will thought he heard the witch Mariketa saying brightly, “Ha-ha. Auntie Nïxie meant to say ‘no ice cream.’ ” Then Mariketa snorted. “You might have overcommitted on younglings, Regin.”

The Valkyrie Regin answered, “Dude. Don’t you judge me. And where’s the fucking fire extinguisher?”

“I’ve returned,” Nïx said in a dry tone. “You have much to resolve for yourself, wolf. Don’t make me regret placing Chloe in your care.”

“Why did you? You’re the one who told the witches about her, are you no’? To get her to the auction? If you could find her, then you can find Webb.” At least he’d gotten some measure of revenge against the man—Webb’s daughter had just been defiled by a Lykae beast.

He winced at his thoughts. You sick prick, that’s your mate you’re gloating over! He clasped his forehead, squeezing till he thought his skull would cave in.

“Webb has a role to play with the Bringers of Doom; he’s not to be touched,” Nïx said. “And I helped you because I trusted that you would find your feet with this.”

“What if I canna?”

“Do you know what’s so strange, Uilleam?” she asked, saying his name perfectly. “You have never, in your entire life, done something for which you should truly be ashamed. You think you have, but you haven’t. Not until you hurt your own mate, blaming the poor girl for things she can’t control.”

His mouth went dry. “Will she change?” When Nïx didn’t answer, he said, “She has spirit and courage. Will she change to become like Ruelle?”

“No. But you won’t know that because she’ll be gone.”

His legs felt weak. “Nïx? No!” He sank back against the wall.

“Mark my words, wolf: bury your past, or it will bury you.” Click.