Claimed by the Mate, Volume 1 (29 page)

Then you probably should stop this conversation we're having,
she quipped.

This isn't a waste of time. I can give you a moment or so to get acclimated. The fact that you want me and that I want to give you a little reprieve from the needing assures me that you'll do exactly what I say.

The needing had been upon her. It had come earlier this month, as the full moon was still a couple weeks away. Kira wondered if that had anything to do with what had happened on the last full moon or, rather, what had almost happened on the night of her twenty-first birthday. At any rate, the powerful urge to fuck or be fucked was there in full force. She'd known it the moment she'd awakened this morning to shaking thighs and heavy breasts. The full moon was hell on lycans who weren't claimed. Kira had decided she could handle it; after all, she'd been handling it for years now, on her own. Sure, the betas in her father's pack—one in particular—would love to end her self-imposed celibacy, but she'd been adamant about none of them being the one she would do it with. So pleasuring herself had become more than just a habit, almost like her only lifeline. And she was fine with that. Or at least she had been until him.

I don't want you. I don't even know you.

He was quiet for a time and she hoped he had found something more productive to do. But then—

You don't want to want me. I know how that feels. I also know that you're burning with your need. Your nipples are so tight right now they hurt. Your clit so hard and destitute you're having a hell of a time restraining yourself from giving it the release it craves.

Kira let out a slow breath, in an attempt to still the rapid beating of her heart. His words had been not only irritatingly accurate but also spoken through her mind in a deep, husky whisper—a private sound she had never experienced before—that was more enticing than her next breath.

The palm that she'd never moved from her breast squeezed and kneaded the plump mound. Her thighs had already been spread, only the barrier of her leggings and thong keeping her finger from her pussy.

Don't do this.
It was a plea that she hoped he would acknowledge. This wasn't why she was here. It wasn't why she'd run from Penn's pack.

I have to.

She shook her head, her fingers pinching her hardened nipple, eyes closing.
No. You don't.

Yes,
he whispered.
I do. Just do it,
lýkaina.
Touch it for me, now.

“No,” she said aloud, but her traitorous hand was already moving, fingers slipping quickly past the band of her leggings.

Let your finger slide along your slickness. It's thick, like honey. Does it taste as sweet?

Kira lifted one leg, planting the sole of the flat boot she wore on the silk comforter without a second thought. She pushed at her leggings, lifting her hips and yanking them down with the one free hand, because it was going to be way too painful to remove the other hand from her breast. It was awkward and required a lot of moving to get it right, but she finally had the leggings down to the one ankle that was up on the bed.

It is sweet.
He continued as if he knew she was now open and ready.
It's sweet and you want to be tasted, devoured. You want full consumption and a release that will leave you wilted and sated.

“Yes,” Kira whispered. “That's exactly what I want.”

Her hand had already slid down her close-shaven mound, deftly slipping between the plump, wet folds, stirring the desire he'd described accurately as thick and plentiful.

Not yet,
he all but yelled into her mind.
Don't go deep yet. Put your thumb on your clit, flatten the tip there, and rub.

He sounded slightly out of breath as if he were enjoying this much more than she was. But that couldn't be true because the moment she pressed her thumb against the stiff hood and rubbed once, twice, her entire body began to tremble.

Her back arched as she continued to work the tightened bud, one hand moving so fast between her legs, while the other kneaded and squeezed her breast until she was gasping for air.

You're slick, dripping.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Every sound echoing through her mind as if there were some sort of microphone in there.
Ready for me?
he asked her.
You are so ready for me.

The last was a statement, an arrogant and presumptive one that chafed against everything that Kira was, that she believed. And yet she hadn't stopped working her clit, hadn't even paused, but used her fingers to grasp her nipple, squeeze tightly, and shake. Her breasts were heaving now as she pumped against her own ministrations. Gasps that she'd been trying to keep silent sounding throughout the room.

“Dammit! I need this. I need…” The spoken words trailed off as she moved her thumb from her clit, letting her fingers slip through her slick folds, until one sank deep inside her pussy.

She lifted her other leg, so that now both feet were flat on the comforter, legs spread wide. She was just about to slip another finger inside, to really begin working so that the release she craved would finally be a reality, when he spoke again.

Your hand. My release. Remember that.

What?

Your pussy's drenched with desire for me. Your hands are now deep inside the pussy that craves my dick. It's my release you're about to have. Know that,
lýkaina,
know that, and understand what it means.

Kira wanted to yell back that he was an asshole. She wanted to scream it to the top of her lungs; then she wanted to find his room and slap that arrogant, all-knowing smirk she knew without a doubt he was wearing from his face. But she didn't.

No, there was only one thing for her at this moment, one need that surpassed any- and everything else. She worked her fingers back and forth, switching sides to titillate her other nipple. So close, her vision clouded, her mind filling with nothing but the rush of pleasure, the burn of desire seeping through every pore of her body.

It took her breath away, giving her more than just the feeling of relief, but one of flying, soaring, in her lycan form, growling against the full bright moon in defiance of its power over her. She was free; finally and with a scream of elation Kira pumped her fingers deep inside her pussy once more, recognizing the second her muscles began to tighten, squeezing her as she came with an intensity that ripped through her entire body, holding her still as stone until it was complete.

Until she was complete.

Seconds later she was pissed the hell off by the mighty alpha and his declarations he'd proclaimed in the private recesses of her mind. With her chest still heaving she jerked up off the bed, heading to the bathroom without looking back. With shaky movements she switched on the shower and hurriedly stood beneath its spray, eager to get clean and to forget what was undoubtedly the best orgasm she'd ever experienced because of three simple words:
it's my release
.

She used the soap to scrape along her body, feeling the burn of anger that had her claws ripping free. She continued to scrub, hoping the sting of those sharpened tips raking over her still-sensitive skin would be enough penance. Because for all that Kira had thought she was on her way to total freedom, in the last ten minutes, with only her basic needs in mind, she feared she'd lost again. In fact, she'd lost more than she had before. She'd finally given an alpha what so many before him had wanted. Blaez's words had been right; her release—the best one she'd ever had—was because of him.

Chapter 4

The sun had yet to rise, but Kira was up, using the hairpin from her cosmetic case to pick the lock on the door. Her smile spread quickly at the click of its release. She had to tamp down on her triumph, focusing on moving quietly. Only when she was once again outside, in the deep covering of the woods, would she release the yelp of victory of escaping yet another overbearing brute of a leader.

She would find her own place in this world, her own destiny. Her journey would not end here; it could not. No matter the pull she felt toward Blaez and regardless of that low hum of arousal that had stayed with her throughout the night, even after that mind-numbing orgasm. He was everything she did not want in a mate—if she were even thinking along those lines, which she was not. Kira believed her mother's words that there was more for her and she hoped with everything she was that Tora hadn't simply been referring to her connecting with a male lycan. There had to be more to life for lycans than that simple link. Kira definitely wanted more and she was convinced that she wouldn't get it here.

The hallway was draped in darkness and the solemn pre-dawn quiet. Kira tipped out of the room, her backpack over her left shoulder, a fresh pair of yoga pants and a hot pink T-shirt her runaway attire for the day. Two steps out into the hall, Kira stopped, looking behind her. She hadn't heard anything, hadn't picked up any scent—because today she was definitely going to keep her wits about her and pay attention to all her surroundings. But there had been something … there was only a door, about five feet away, dead center. It was closed, of course, and the fact that her heart rate had picked up just by staring at it was a sure sign she needed to stay the hell away from whatever was in there.

On the move again, she tiptoed over the wooden floors, noting the walls around her were also wood, pictures hanging at measured intervals, of what she could not readily make out. There were two more closed doors that she passed, one of which she was almost positive led to Blaez's bedroom. That thought only succeeded to hurry her along. If there'd been a tightening between her legs at the thought, she ignored it and kept on moving.

The staircase was grand for what she would definitely call a log cabin, only much bigger. About fifteen feet wide, it winded slightly to the right, ending in the living room area where she remembered coming in last night. For a moment she paused to look around. More wood, gleaming floors, high, beamed ceilings, and a mixture of rustic and contemporary décor. Furniture pieces were either wood or leather, hard or soft, warm golden light pouring from antique wall sconces, plush rugs covering partial areas of the floor, a gorgeous wood-burning fireplace in the center of the living room, a mantel above holding metals of some sort.

This was their home, she thought fleetingly. She could sense so much more here than just a structure where they lived. There was strength, loyalty, despair. The last sort of hung in the air, out of sight but still there making its presence known. Kira had no idea why that thought bothered her and so she took a deep breath and moved on to wonder something a little more mundane. There were too many lights on for everyone to still be asleep. The sound of his voice confirmed that assumption.

“Why are you running when you know the danger that awaits you out there?”

Kira turned slowly, an almost relaxed feeling coming over her as she knew whom that voice belonged to.

“Because I have no way of knowing what awaits me in here,” was her calm response to Channing.

He looked great in the early morning, his dark denim jeans hanging low on his hips, white shirt baring muscled arms and suede moccasins. Yes, the shoes did strike her as a little strange as everything about him as he stood there, hands tucked in his front pant pockets, screamed male model or possibly movie star. Yet he looked totally comfortable in his morning attire, his neatly trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes giving him a youthful yet knowledgeable appearance.

“Well, I can tell you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so you shouldn't skip it. Especially if you're planning to be on the move for a while,” he replied simply.

He'd moved his arm in a “come here” motion as he turned and walked away. He expected her to follow instead of heading out of that front door. She knew which one she should do and yet her feet were moving in the direction behind him instead. There was another room on this side of the stairway, a huge table, at least twelve feet long and probably six feet wide, with high-backed red-cushioned chairs all around. In the center of the table was a bowl full of fruit. To her left through a double-wide doorway was the kitchen.

After watching Channing go in this direction, immediately heading to a bank of white cabinets, she stepped inside.

“I'll be fine. I don't need to eat anything,” she said at the exact moment her stomach made a very loud and extremely rude noise in contrast.

Channing chuckled, looking over his shoulder at her to say, “Come on; you know better than that. You're an alpha female, so you're too smart not to know that you'll be much more alert, more prepared to defend yourself should the need arise, if you're not also fighting low blood sugar.”

Kira stared at him quizzically. “How do you know what I am?”

“It's fairly obvious to any lycan worthy of the breed,” he told her with a nonchalant shrug. “There aren't many male lycans bold enough to stand up to Blaez the way you attempted to last night, let alone a female. We all knew you were an alpha the moment you stepped into this house.”

“You knew I was a Hunter,” she replied quickly.

Channing turned to look at her evenly. “Yes. We knew that too.”

“And you wanted to kill me,” she said with certainty.

“It's our job to protect the alpha. In that regard, we do whatever is necessary. Lucky for you, Blaez had other plans,” he said before giving her that quick, infectious grin once more.

Kira didn't know what to say to his last remark. She didn't want to know what Blaez's other plans were. At least, she was trying valiantly to convince herself that she didn't.

Reminding herself that part of what Channing had said was true—she did need to remain alert—she looked around, making more mental notes of her surroundings. The kitchen was a bright space, filled at this moment with the lights Channing had already turned on. The moment the sun rose Kira suspected it would pour through the large window over the sparkling white farm sink, and the other window at the far end of the room, just above another table—significantly smaller than the one in the dining room—with bench seats. There were more exposed beams in here, jutting from the ceiling and even reaching down to serve as mounds for the eight-foot black granite-topped island. Again there was rustic and contemporary going on here. The cabinets were bright white with antique-looking handles, black and white subway tile backsplash, copper posts dangling from a wood pot rack above the island, and stainless-steel appliances, restaurant-style.