Bethany's Rite (6 page)

She twisted and shoved herself against him. He let his
weight settle more firmly over her body.

“You can keep bucking underneath me like that if you want,
but I don’t think it’s having the desired effect.” He rocked his erection into
her belly. “But it is having an effect.”

Instantly, she went still and sank into the mattress.
“Bastard.”

He laughed and lowered his head to nip at the top of her
left breast. “Actually, I’m a direct heir of the royal Ilyrian line.”

“Great. That’s just fucking great. Congratulations. Now get
off me.”

He shifted, pushing apart her thighs with his knee. “We’re
not done talking. You keep interrupting.” He kissed the pulse throbbing at the
base of her neck.

“We can talk in the living room. I promise not to say a word
until you’re completely through.”

He kissed his way up to her ear and tugged on her lobe with
his teeth. “I’ve heard that before. I don’t believe you.” A shudder ran through
her body when he traced the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue.
Pressing his thigh into the juncture of her legs, he felt the warm cream of her
arousal and a sharp flare of lust shot through him.

A long conversation would soon not be an option. He was
already having difficulty concentrating on anything but devouring her delicious
body a thousand different ways. He was going to have to make this quick.
Details could wait.

He lifted his head so he could watch her face as he
explained just who and what she was and why she was forever his.

Bethany wanted to scream. She had just experienced the most
bone-melting sex of her life, albeit the
only
sex of her life not
involving batteries—but she was pretty sure that by any standards, it would
have rated as bone-melting. Maybe beyond bone-melting, though she wasn’t sure
what came after that. And then he had to go and ruin it by being some crazed
psycho with a penchant for cursing virgins. Life sucked and the situation
demanded a good, loud scream.

She looked straight into his eyes, took a deep breath,
opened her mouth—and found it filled with his tongue. His mouth covered hers,
adamantly demanding her response as the kiss continued, hard and hot. The deep
thrusting of his tongue brought back his other, most recent thrusting moves
with a liquefying rush. The fire began just under her skin again as his body
moved on top of hers in perfect rhythm to his kiss. If his purpose had been to
kiss every thought out of her head, he was accomplishing it in spades. He
rocked his thigh insistently against her pussy and she moaned.

He stilled, pulled back and glared at her.

“What?” she asked, arching up to maintain the heated,
glorious contact of skin on skin.

“I’m never going to get through an entire explanation.”

“Totally your fault. I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to. That was a ‘fuck-me-now’ moan if I’ve
ever heard one.”

“Again. Totally your fault.” Damn the man. Didn’t he know
she hadn’t had sex in at least twenty minutes? And had remained a very
frustrated, unwilling virgin for the twenty-five years before that? At the
moment, she didn’t want explanations. She wanted sex.

He didn’t move, just looked down into her eyes like he was
trying to decide something. Her body was burning, and he was laying there like
there might be something else he should do besides fuck her blind. She squirmed
underneath him, desire held in frustrating limbo. A low growl escaped her
throat, and she considered biting him again.

With a smile, he transferred both her wrists to one hand.
Then he slid the open palm of his free hand down the length of her inner arm to
her breast where he traced around her areola in ever-shrinking circles as her
nipple puckered tightly.

Bethany closed her eyes and let out another fuck-me-now
moan. Maybe he would get the hint.

His hand settled possessively on her breast. He let out a
breath that sounded frustrated and resigned. She opened her eyes to find his
face set in harsh lines of determination. His midnight-blue eyes locked onto
hers.

“Short version. Years ago the ruling houses of Ilyria
decided that instead of ruling their kingdoms, it would be better to go to war
with each other. They nearly destroyed everything before the gods intervened
and cursed them, fracturing and locking their powers inside a line of Mystics.
The curse can only be broken if, at the seventeenth generation, the eldest
living heir from each of the five houses binds himself to the other four in a
vow never to bring war between their houses again.

“Before you and your sisters, your mother was the only
survivor of one of the last undiluted Mystic lines.”

Questions whirled around her mind. Too many to pick a single
one out of the morass to ask. Though she was far from believing any of it, she
couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his belief in what he was saying.

But swimming in the middle of a sexual haze was not the best
time to try and figure out why he had decided to explain his presence with such
an outlandish story. Maybe the guy was into metaphors. Perhaps he was a
Philosophy major and saw life as one big fable of cosmic proportions. Maybe he
had played those imaginary world-building games just a little too often as a
kid.

He squeezed her breast and suddenly she didn’t care.

Wyc’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He closed his eyes and drew
in a long breath before continuing at a clipped rate.

“When the Mystics began dying out, a law was passed that a
female child of that line be matched on her first birthday to ensure she would
not become mated to someone outside one of the royal families.”

“What’s wrong with marrying outside a royal family?”

He opened his eyes and stroked her breast. Plumping it up,
he bit gently at its nipple. “Nothing. But the powers locked inside the Mystics
are only manifested in their male children when the father is a royal.”

“And what happens to a royal when the mother isn’t a
Mystic?”

“Depends on the purity and percentage of Mystic blood passed
down from his fraternal grandmother. Either way, the powers, which were already
splintered, are greatly diminished even more.

“Was your mother a Mystic?”

“Half.”

“Oh my God. We’re related?”

“No. My mother was from a different line than yours. That’s
taken into consideration, among other things, by the Prophets when they choose
a match. In Ilyria, when a man and a woman complete The Matching Ritual, they
are bound together for life.”

He paused to kiss around the side of her breast to the
underside.

“So it’s only to release these powers that we were matched?”

“There are other reasons.” He rolled her nipple between his
fingers and she let out a small mewl of pleasure. “But right now, what you need
to understand is you were, and are, matched to me.”

The last of his words broke through the blood-pounding need
he had created by teasing her breast. They resonated through her with what felt
terrifyingly close to truth.

Something deep in her subconscious stirred, making her want
to believe him, but there were too many impossibilities, unanswered questions.
His story didn’t fit her conception of reality. A reality that involved working
at the local bar and saving money for another semester at college where her
advisor, after taking one look at her transcripts, had told her to get off the
smorgasbord plan and pick a major. In fact, she had taken off this semester to
decide exactly what she wanted to do with her life. Running away with a
delusional foreigner who beat up strange-looking men in alleys was not at the
top of her list.

“I don’t believe you.”

He dropped a kiss on her chin. “You will.”

“You say that like you’re sticking around. What if I don’t
give you that option?”

His eyes hardened, and behind them, she saw a very scary
look of resolve settle into place. She had seen that look before. Right before
he fucked her against her front door.

“Your life is in danger. If I hadn’t been with you at the
café, Enath would have had you halfway back to Ilyria by now.”

“First, I always thought Ilyria was my mother’s name, not a
place—which by the way, I’ve never heard of. And second, the difference between
going with you versus going with Enath would be what?”

“My purpose is to protect you. Enath’s primary purpose is to
force you back any way possible, and keep you hostage for breeding. It’s a very
painful process for the woman when forced to conceive by someone other than her
matched mate. If he can’t get you back to Ilyria, he will try to kill you.”

“Kill me?” The words squeaked past the obstruction fear had
lodged in her throat. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that this man,
as sincere as he appeared, was quite possibly crazy, and forced herself to
speak in a more normal voice. Hard to do with a gorgeous, naked man on top of
you talking about breeding, pain and killing. “Why would he want to kill me?”

“The Sleht are our ancient enemies. A cruel, brutal and base
race that will stop at nothing to gain control of our land. Their evil was
controlled when we held our full power. But as the Ilyrian strength declined,
the Sleht’s increased. Enath is one of their soldiers bred for Mystic
retrieval.”

“Bred?”

“Yes. Specifically to track and abduct Ilyrian females who
carry the Mystic bloodline. The Sleht don’t want the prophecy to come to pass
because when it does, they’ll be crushed like vermin. But the prophecy can’t be
fulfilled if there are no Mystics left to marry into the royal line.”

She blinked hard. And again. And struggled to swallow. She
tried not to believe him. Really, really tried. It wasn’t working. Not with the
memory of the horror-movie mutant attack in the alley. And as much as she hated
to admit it, Enath had frightened her to the core, and Wyc had made her feel
safe. Well, as safe as one can feel wedged between garbage and surrounded by
testosterone-enhanced insanity.

“So how did you find me? How did he find me? And what the
hell am I doing in the middle of Iowa if I have psychotic killers after me, and
why hasn’t anyone bothered to let me know this before now?” She was shrieking
by the time she stopped to take a breath.

Wyc cupped the side of her face with his hand, stroking her
cheek with his thumb. “There was an attack and your mother panicked. She took
you and your sisters and ran. Before we could find her, she died and her
daughters disappeared into the foster care program. We’ve been searching for
you for years.”

“Sisters?”

“Three of them. You’re the second youngest. Your mother
disappeared three weeks after your first birthday. That’s why you don’t
remember.”

Shadows of memories that had roamed free through her dreams
and haunted her days shifted and slithered in the back of her mind, glimpses of
faces and voices. Elusive and alluring, but not solid enough to ground his
explanation in a certainty she was willing to accept without further proof.

Still, she had always wanted to be a part of a real family.
Not just a temporary add-on. It was a normal desire, and if he had been looking
for her, he probably knew she had been bounced around and could be using that
to draw her into his deception. Refusing to take the tenderness and concern she
saw in his expression at face value, she narrowed her eyes.

“How do I know you’re not the bad guy in this whole crazy
story you’re trying to sell me?”

He let out a loud, gusted breath that blew her bangs off her
forehead. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. Mystics are supposed
to be known for their excellent intuition.”

“Well, pardon me. But I just found out I’m a sex-cursed
Mystic, have sisters I’ve never heard about, and have maniacs out to breed or
kill me. If my intuition seems a little slow on the uptake, that’s too damn
bad. Personally, I’m feeling the need to start this day over and forget
everything that’s happened.”

His smile, slow and sexy, combined with the gleam in his
eyes, made her stomach dip in a flying-over-the-edge-of-a-cliff way.

“Everything?” he asked, rocking suggestively against her.

She tried to ignore the amazing way his body felt rubbing
over hers and her own body’s rioting response. “If I’m in so much danger here,
why aren’t we running like hell instead of lying here naked?”

“We will be leaving. Soon. And don’t worry, Enath will be
out of commission for at least twenty-four hours. Predators are a very
competitive sect and always work alone. They refuse to share information among
their ranks, afraid that someone else will beat them out of a retrieval.”

“Why?”

“The only thing that gives a Predator value in the eyes of
their people is the ability to retrieve Mystics. Without that, they’re worth
less than spit.

“You’re being hunted, Bethany.” He paused and combed his
fingers through her hair. An oddly comforting action incompatible with his
words.

“Now that you’ve been discovered alive, Enath won’t stop
until he’s found you, or he’s dead. And when he’s dead, there are others like
him who will come for you. That’s why we’re not staying here. I’m taking you
back to my home where you’ll be safe.”

Ilyrians, Sleht, Predators, Mystics. The terms and pieces of
the story swarmed through her head until it all buzzed together and made her
dizzy.

“Is there any possibility you’ve got the wrong person?”

“No.”

Bethany scrunched her eyes shut and pressed her head back
into the mattress. Her life had never been much to speak of in the first place.
There were more ragged edges and frayed strings to it than on her favorite pair
of faded old blue jeans.

Once she turned eighteen and gained her freedom from foster
care, she had started moving around a lot. Tried to find a place to belong, to
get her life straightened out and headed in a specific direction. Any
direction, as long as it kept her from feeling like life was constantly coming
unraveled.