Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (7 page)

“Mine,” they both growled in unison, breaking the spell that held them captive.

Pulling away, Moira stared back at him with big, wide eyes for the longest time. Then her expression softened, and her swollen lips quirked up on one side into a half smile. “Well, I guess we have an answer to that question.”

“Why was my favorite hoodie in the trashcan?” Brock held up a faded and tattered sweatshirt, petting it lovingly while he glared at Moira. “Well?”

“What were you doing in my room?” she shot back.

“Please,” Koba begged with a tired moan. “Don’t start again.”

Of course, they both ignored him. “What did you do to my shirt? You killed it.”

“Did you just answer your own question?” Moira jumped up from the bed and stomped over to Brock, poking her finger in the middle of his chest. “Stay out of my room.”

“Stay out of my closet.”

Fed up with their childish behavior, Koba rolled out of bed and left the room. Neither of his mates even noticed his departure. For the love of everything holy, he wished they’d just tear each other’s clothes off and find more productive ways to relieve all of that aggression.

Maybe he’d just go check on the team and find out if they’d learned anything new. If nothing else, maybe Casey would have a job for him to do. Anything was better than sitting around and waiting for his mates to implode.

* * * *

“Ugh!” Moira threw her hands in the air and growled. The man completely infuriated her, and worse, she knew he was doing it on purpose. “I don’t have time for this. I have to finish cooking d—shit!”

Shoving past Brock, she darted down the hallway toward the kitchen and skidded to a halt in front of the stove. All the burners had been turned off, and the tortellini sat in a colander in the sink.

“I didn’t do it. Whatever is wrong with it,” Brock clarified, “it wasn’t me.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“In that case, it was
all
me.”

Moira smiled in spite of herself. Then before she knew what was happening, she was leaning against the counter and literally falling over with laughter. Why was she trying so hard to fight the inevitable? Brock owned her heart and soul, always had, and no amount of denial would change that.

“What are we doing, Brock?”

Draping the sweatshirt over the back of one of the chairs, Brock shrugged. “Foreplay?”

It was such a typical male response that Moira felt another fit of laughter bubble up in her chest. “I’m serious,” she said once she got control of herself. “This isn’t us. With those things on the loose and all of these unanswered questions, we can’t afford to be fighting each other.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” Brock moved a step closer. “Why was my sweater in the garbage, Moira?” By the time he’d finished speaking, he was standing so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. “Just tell me that one thing.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what?” Brock took the last step, trapping her against the counter. “What didn’t you want me to know?”

With nowhere to run, no place left to hide, Moira had no alternative but to tell the truth. “I didn’t want you to know that I’ve worn that sweater almost every day since you left. I even blasted the air conditioner in the summer so I could wear it at night.”

“Tell me the truth, Mo.” His strong hands settled on her hips and jerked her closer. “Did you honestly stop loving me?”

Her heart beat faster, her breath hitched, and her throat constricted, making it almost impossible to form words. “You don’t just stop loving someone, Brock. I was angry. I wanted to forget you.” She sniffed audibly and slapped at his chest. “You’re like a damn leech, though. You burrow in and won’t let go.”

“Then why are you still fighting me?” His hands inched their way up under the hem of her tank top, the rough calluses of his palms smoothing over the skin on her belly. “Stop fighting me, Mo.”

Why
was
she fighting so hard to hold on to her anger? Really, Brock hadn’t done anything wrong—if he was telling the truth. She’d never known him to lie, though. He hadn’t forgotten her, had risked much more than his pride to come back for her.

Dropping her brow to his chest, she rolled her head from side to side and groaned. “I have no idea. I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do.” She didn’t want to be one of those women who forgot every bit of hurt she’d felt just because her white knight had returned. In her desire to be strong and independent, perhaps she’d taken it a bit too far in the opposite direction.

“Stop being such a brat and kiss me. You always overthink everything.”

The minute she lifted her head, Brock’s lips were on hers, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, reestablishing his claim. One hand tangled in her hair while the other fisted the fabric of her top against the small of her back.

It wasn’t sweet and gentle, coaxing, or hesitant. Brock dominated every aspect of the kiss, taking what he wanted while somehow making her think it was her idea. He’d always been tricky that way, but she’d never complain.

“No more, Mo,” he rasped as he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head up under his chin. “No more running. No more fighting.”

“We have to tell Koba.” Not knowing what his reaction would be was nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t about her. “He has a right to know about me. I can’t lie to my mate.”

“He’ll understand, and I’ll be right there with y—” Brock stopped abruptly, gripped her upper arms, and pushed her back from him. “Did you say mate?”

“Yes.” Warmth and happiness invaded her just thinking about the kiss she’d shared with Koba in the bedroom, and she shivered down to her bare toes. “Definitely
our
mate.”

Brock didn’t seem as ecstatic about the news as Moira had anticipated, however. “That’s great. I mean, really great.”

“Cut it out. What’s wrong?”

Brock glanced around the kitchen as though searching for the answer. “Where is he?”

Something tickled at the edges of Moira’s subconscious. “I think he left the bedroom when we were arguing.”

“Maybe he’s in the shower,” Brock suggested, though he didn’t sound very hopeful.

Ducking under Brock’s arm, Moira darted from the room, calling Koba’s name as she went. “Koba! Koba, are you here? Where are you?” Not finding him in any of the rooms, she hurried back down the hallway, colliding with Brock when he stepped out of the guest bathroom. “You don’t think he left the house, do you?”

“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself, Mo.”

“He’s an unclaimed omega who’s a long way from home!”

Brock dipped his head curtly, took her hand, and pulled her toward the back door. “He’s probably down at the barn with the rest of the team. We’ll find him.”

She hoped so, especially before someone else did. Yes, Koba could take care of himself in an altercation, but she wasn’t banking on the rest of the pack fighting fair.

More worried than he was willing to let on, Brock jogged all the way to the barn with Moira pacing him every step of the way. Part of him felt ridiculous about getting so worked up over finding his mate. Koba wasn’t just a grown man, but a fairly large man, a lycan,
and
could hold his own against any opponent.

As Moira had pointed out, however, he was also an omega. Packs had gone to war over the right to claim omegas. Koba couldn’t shoot lasers from his eyes, spit acid, or freeze people in place with his mind. Omegas were the peacekeepers of the pack.

With just a little wave of power, Koba could influence a person’s mood, defuse hostile situations before they could escalate, and talk the most hardcore politician into lowering taxes—and make him think it was his idea. Omegas were advisors to the alpha, always by his or her side, and never absent from negotiations.

The barn doors were standing open when Brock reached them, and the building was empty but for some old farm equipment. “Where is everyone?” Moira demanded, stepping up beside him and fisting her hands on her hips.

“Patrolling would be my guess. It’s almost sundown.”

“So, where do we start looking?”

Maybe they should let it go. Koba wasn’t stupid or reckless. He wouldn’t put himself in danger, no matter how upset he was. “This is stupid. He’s not a child. As long as he doesn’t use his power—and I see no reason that he would—nothing will happen.”

The little pulse of calming energy an omega sent out was accompanied by a heavy dose of pheromones that sent most wolves into a mating frenzy. Since Koba’s father was an alpha and they shared the same bloodline, his birth pack would associate Koba’s scent with their alpha, quelling their lust to a controllable level.

If an omega didn’t share the blood of their leader, a claiming bite from the alpha was needed to acquire the same ultimate result. Koba had neither of those securities with the Red Moon Pack, though.

“Rip and Joss are patrolling with them,” Moira reminded him. “That doesn’t really give me a warm, squishy feeling.”

He didn’t have an opinion one way or another about Joss Emerson, but he didn’t trust Rip as far as he could throw him. The man reeked of deceit, and there was a calculating coldness in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of Brock’s neck stand on end.

“Go back to the house, and I’ll look for him.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He’d expected the response, but it didn’t make him like it any better. “Don’t be a fool. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m in no more danger out there than I am sitting at home. You think those things don’t know how to use doorknobs? They might look like monsters, but they’re every bit as intelligent as we are.”

Why did he even entertain the idea that she was going to make it easy on him? Maybe it was time he reminded her which one of them was truly the alpha. Spinning Moira around quickly, he pressed her up against the side of the barn, captured both of her wrists in one hand, and lifted them over her head so that her palms pressed against the wood.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, bucking against him and struggling to get her arms free.

“I’d thought it would be obvious.” Covering her back and grinding his trapped erection against her pert ass, he cupped one firm breast in his unoccupied hand and scraped his teeth down the side of her neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

A quiet moan and sexy shiver was his only response as Moira ceased in her struggles and arched back against him.

“I can’t hear you, baby. Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

“Maybe I should come back later.” Koba appeared in the open doorway of the barn, fully nude and damp with sweat.

“Koba!” Moira wiggled to get free, but Brock still wouldn’t release her.

“Aww, but you dressed up and everything,” he teased his mate. “Come on in. Stay awhile.”

Koba returned the smile, but he didn’t move any closer. His gaze drifted to Moira, patiently waiting for her permission.

Her head dropped back on her shoulders, and Moira moaned provocatively when Brock brushed his thumb over her pebbled nipple. “Yes, Koba,” she purred. “It’s not complete unless you’re with us.”

Brock couldn’t have agreed more.

* * * *

“You are entirely overdressed for the occasion, kitten.” Though the words were teasing, Koba’s tone was forceful and commanding. Moira had never seen the particular side of him, and it made her pussy clench greedily as a wave of desire consumed her.

Brock finally released her wrists but held tightly to her waist to keep her in place. “We’ll have to remedy that.” His large hands moved up to grip the neckline of her shirt and jerked, ripping it right down the middle.

It was barbaric and unnecessary, but the raw display of power made her clit throb and her muscles quiver. A warm breeze drifted in from the open doors, brushing over her exposed breasts and making them tingle.

The scraps of fabric were removed from her arms and tossed aside unceremoniously. “Hold on to me, baby,” Brock whispered against the side of her neck while his hands stroked her stomach.

Stretching her arms over her head, Moira reached back, looping them around Brock’s neck and clasping her fingers together. His hands continued to map her body, petting and groping until she burned with need.

Another set of hands settled lightly on her hips, and Koba’s long, dripping cock pressed against her stomach, slicking her skin with pre-cum. His head dipped forward as though to kiss her, but when she tried to capture his mouth, he pulled away with a roguish smirk.

Again and again, he leaned in and pulled away, teasing her until she thought she’d go mad. Still, he continued his game until her head was turned to the side. When she thought she’d finally win her prize, Brock intercepted the kiss, holding her chin in one hand and ravishing her while Koba lapped at one upturned nipple, bathing it with his tongue.

Sucking the flesh into his mouth, he gripped the hard nub between his teeth with gentle pressure and flicked the tip of his tongue over it. Then he lavished the same attention to her other breast until Moira’s cunt was aching, drenched, and practically begging for attention.

“Don’t move,” Brock ordered. Then he kissed her once more and backed away.

Her legs could barely hold her up, let alone support movement. Where did he think she was going?

Koba laved a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses down the center of her belly, and his hands grasped the waistband of her cotton shorts, tugging insistently until they fell down her legs to pool around her ankles. “Oh, hell, kitten.” A jagged moan tore from his parted lips, and his tongue darted out to tease her slit, sliding along her smooth, bare folds, but never entering.

As far as compliments went, it was a pretty damn good one in her book.

Then Koba began the trek in reverse, licking, kissing, and nibbling up her body. His large, work-roughed hands glided up the back of her thighs to the curve of her bottom, gripping the rounded globes and lifting Moira off her feet.