Authors: Hannah Howell
Highland Hunger (31 page)
Moirae closed her eyes as his lips kissed her lightly, feathering over the arch of her neck to the soft spot behind her ear. She craved to savor the moment, to draw it out. How long had it been since someone had kissed her like this? Too long. Perhaps never. For she would remember this burning deep inside, this overwhelming desire to lay with a man and have him know her intimately. It was tempting to throw him on the floor, strip off her gown, and have her way with him there and then. But her strength had deserted her.
As if he could read her mind, Dorian swung her up into his heavily muscled arms. She couldn’t stop herself from stroking his chest through the thin material of his shirt as he carried her down the hall and into his bedchambers.
Placing her back on her feet, he turned and closed the door. A small fire had been lit, causing shadows to sprinkle the walls of the cavernous room. It was the first time she had been in his private chambers, and the dark setting reflected his preference for fine furniture and decorations that obviously came from another land. Tapestries had been hung high, depicting both familiar and foreign landscapes and people.
Moirae turned to ask about one when she was suddenly lifted off her feet. Seconds later, she was crushed into soft bedding as Dorian settled on top of her. Her mind, ready to argue, calmed as his mouth reclaimed her lips, numbing her thoughts to all but him once again.
Then his kisses moved from her lips and down her neck as the fingers of his free hand unfastened the tie at the back of her gown. He slowly slid the garment down her shoulders, letting his lips follow, leaving a trail of fiery hot kisses along her collarbone at the edge of her chemise, which he soon discarded.
Dorian sat up to look at her as the firelight cast a warm glow over her skin. He was awestruck by her beauty. He had lived nearly two millennia and yet, in all those years, never had any woman so captivated him mentally or physically. He could pretend that her pull was due to prolonged abstinence, but it would be a lie. He was in desire’s full grip, and the need to possess Moirae, have her cry out his name, was unlike any he had ever known.
Dorian stood and quickly threw off the remainder of his clothing, enjoying how her emerald eyes caressed his body, her desire becoming evident when she glanced at his straining manhood. He lowered himself slowly on top of her, until he covered her body with his own. His eyes never left hers as he leaned toward her, cradled her face in his strong hands, and gently brushed his lips against her mouth.
Moirae felt her body once again begin to burn with need. She wanted to be touched, kissed, everywhere, when Dorian’s mouth made its way from her lips down her throat to the valley between her breasts. She gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth and licked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, teasing it until she cried out with want of him.
When she arched upward, Dorian shuddered in response. He had planned to move slowly, but her impassioned cry caused all thoughts of restraint to vanish and he began to suckle. Using his thumb, he coaxed her other nipple into responding. When it was hard and straining, he shifted and took it into his mouth, relishing how Moirae writhed beneath him. Her response was uninhibited, full of honest passion that stemmed from being alive. Sexual tension seized his insides. His hand lowered, parting her thighs, until he could lace his fingers through the soft thatch of hair between her legs.
The unexpected stimulus was almost too much, and Moirae twisted and moaned while her hands clung to his shoulders. She arched her hips upward, begging for more. “Dorian, please,” she whispered.
He complied with her demand, closing his fingers around her heated flesh, letting a single finger trail along the rim of her wet core before sliding into the liquid warmth. Blood pounded in her veins and she began to shake as his fingers lightly brushed her knowingly, probing her with exquisite care. He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, lightly, slowly, deeply, finding all her secret, hidden places and making them come alive with need.
He dove deeper, and Moirae felt herself reaching another peak. “Oh, God,” she wept, lifting herself against his hand, convulsing as her body took over. Dorian smiled victoriously. The satisfaction he was drawing from her own pleasure was addictive. She was so incredibly hot and wet, and it was because of him. She belonged only to him.
Unable to wait any longer, he settled himself between her thighs, lifted her hips, and drove forward, filling her completely with one long, powerful stroke. Instinctively, she met his thrust. He began to move, slowly at first, and then with growing need and force, they began to move in a deliberate rhythm.
When he felt her body begin to peak and go into hard, tight convulsions, his arms clenched around her and he came into her with deep fierce thrusts that carried her right over the edge. Then, simultaneously, his own passion raged beyond his control. An obliterating need unlike anything he had ever experience enveloped him. Every muscle in his body tightened almost to the point of pain. The sounds he emitted were unintelligible, but every sense, every thought was tangled in the web of pleasure she had spun over him. And then it began. The release welled up from the base of his spine, gathering under Moirae’s innocent cries until, with a great shudder, he came, so violently he was left acutely shocked . . . gasping like a man coming up from near drowning.
Delirious from pleasure, Moirae wrapped her arms around Dorian as he buried his face in her hair and let go a savage cry as his body shuddered uncontrollably.
They remained that way for some time, neither able to move or speak. Their souls had connected, and for a brief moment in time, they had become one. Neither was ready to end the illusion.
After a while, Dorian lifted his head and looked down at her with dark, passion-filled eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear, just before planting a kiss on her nape.
Moirae closed her eyes and reminded herself of her promise, not to just him, but herself. She had a destiny to fulfill and it was time she renewed her efforts along that predetermined path. She had to let him go, which would now be even harder. She had lied when she had claimed her heart was her own. As he had correctly guessed, she had given it away weeks ago. Dorian was its keeper now, and wherever he went, he would unknowingly take her love with him.
Forcing her mouth to curve into a smile, she said, “You are unlike anyone I shall ever meet again.” Then she quickly planted a kiss on his lips before rolling out from underneath him.
Dorian turned over to his side and watched her dress. She was doing exactly as promised, making no claims and weeping no tears. And it bothered him greatly.
The ease of her movements would almost lead him to believe that what they had just shared had been merely pleasant and not the rare thing it was. Only her haunting expression before she had risen confirmed she felt the same as he did. Her smile had not reached her eyes. Instead, a profound sadness had reflected in the dark green pools, conveying how she was giving up something she desperately wanted but knew she could not have.
And she was right—she couldn’t, Dorian reminded himself.
Humans and his kind could not sustain a relationship for any length of time. To be together, he would have to change her, and the idea of Moirae becoming a spawn, losing what made her compelling and desirable, was not an option. Still, the idea of never touching her again was also unfathomable. Maybe he didn’t have to leave so soon.
Flinging his legs over the side of the bed, Dorian puckered his brow. “I think you should continue your lessons, for at least a little while longer.”
Moirae momentarily paused before slipping her second shoe on her foot. “I’m not ready to give you up, either,” she replied, answering his unspoken question.
Hearing her honest response, he reached out and grasped her hand. With a convincing tug, he lay back down, pulling her on top of his naked form. “Tonight?”
Moirae almost giggled upon hearing the hopeful excitement in his voice. She knew by agreeing she was just postponing the inevitable and increasing whatever pain her heart would experience when they finally did part, but at that moment, she didn’t care. Some people were fortunate enough to find several great loves throughout their life. Moirae knew that she was not one of those lucky few. Dorian was hers, though she would never tell him. And whatever they shared, the memories would have to last a very long time.
“I’ll be here.”
Dorian let go a rare brilliant grin and spun her around so he could jump up and get dressed. As he finished belting his plaid, he glanced at her. “Spar with me one last time before you go?” he half asked, half pleaded.
“Now?” Moirae asked incredulously.
“Aye, now.”
Wide-eyed, she nodded her head and followed him down the hall back to his study where the smaller katana waited for someone to wield it. Removing it from the frame, Dorian turned and gently placed the precious item in her trembling palms. Then, he gave her back a gentle nudge toward the training room.
Offering her the katana would alone ensure of her return that evening. Whenever they did finally part, he would give it to her as a gift. In a few decades, he would seek out where she passed away and reclaim the unusual sword, but until then, it would remind her of him and that gave him some peace.
Inside the training room, he picked up his own sword from where he previously dropped it on the floor and examined the blade. Such a treasure should not have been treated so shamefully, but he knew he would repeat his recklessness if similar circumstances presented themselves again.
Moirae unsheathed the smaller sword and slowly maneuvered it in the air. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured aloud.
“Once you are skilled in its use, it will be yours.”
Moirae stood frozen in shock. Almost a full minute went by before she recovered enough to thank him. “I’m not sure why I’m being offered such a gift, but I am not foolish enough to refuse.”
“The katana is lighter, stronger, and much sharper than the broadsword,” Dorian began. “As such, it enables one to react with deadly force to sudden attacks, using cutting motions—not blocking ones. For upright targets, swing downward and diagonally while rotating your body.”
Moirae then imitated the simple move against an imaginary foe several times. After some minor adjustments, Dorian nodded in satisfaction and then showed her how to defend herself against a frontal attack.
“Now, using the same angle, slice upward. The injury is the same but much different to defend.” Dorian normally wouldn’t have even considered showing her such attacks and defense moves, but Moirae was unusual. She had the necessary strength and the speed. “But if you truly want to inflict maximum injury to an opponent, ensuring immediate death, move the blade in a straight downward cut.”
Moirae nodded, seeing how it would cause the most musculature damage.
“Knowing how to attack an opponent is necessary to ending an assault, but the ability to adequately defend oneself is primary to surviving one.” Dorian nodded for her to sheathe her sword and kneel as if she was sitting by a fire. “It is important that you learn how to draw a sword from any position, including when you are sitting.”
Slowly, Dorian demonstrated the technique of shifting from a sitting position to avoid an attack while at the same time drawing the katana and positioning it to defend himself. Moirae repeated the series of actions against a phantom opponent several times, gaining confidence and speed. Deciding to test her, Dorian raised his katana and brought it down diagonally. Immediately, Moirae leaned right and eluded the blade while drawing her own. Swinging it around her body, she was just a fraction of a second too slow to halt his second attack, and the skin on her arm was sliced open.
Moirae’s eyes sprang open wide as she dropped her sword and grabbed her arm. She could feel the blood ooze between her fingers. Her brain was registering the pain, but it was her survival instinct that dominated her thoughts. She had to get out of there now. The wound was deep and it would take time to heal, maybe a few hours, but the scab that was even now forming underneath her fingertips would prove she was not like everyone else. Dorian would demand answers she had no way of providing.
Seeing him step forward, she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply, succeeding in distracting him. Then teasing his nose with her own, she said, “I must go. It must be morning by now. I will see you this evening.” Then after a final quick kiss, she fled down the hall and into the bailey.
Dorian stood dumbfounded. He truly believed he had severely injured her, but he must have just missed, startling them both. For there was no way she could have disguised the pain he believed he had inflicted.
Sighing, he leaned down to pick up her katana, pausing midway as he saw the drops of red blood clinging to his sword. He
had
cut her. Obviously not bad, but enough to cause her to bleed. The sweet scent of her blood overtook his senses and he did not resist the desire to wipe his finger down the smooth metal surface and then lick the blood.
had
cut her. Obviously not bad, but enough to cause her to bleed. The sweet scent of her blood overtook his senses and he did not resist the desire to wipe his finger down the smooth metal surface and then lick the blood.
The flavor was not sweet as its scent promised, but rancid and he immediately wished he could spit the little he had consumed out. Never had blood tasted so vile. Not even a decayed corpse produced such nastiness. The blood was definitely human, but it was different and most probably the source of what made her so strong, fast, and different.
Other books
From a Distant Star by McQuestion, Karen
Notes from the Dog by Gary Paulsen
Shadowed Summer by Saundra Mitchell
Medusa by Torkil Damhaug
The P.J. Stone Gates Trilogy (#1-3) by Dyllin, D.T.
Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) by Sandra Marton
Dreamer: A Prequel to the Mongoliad (The Foreworld Saga) by Mark Teppo
The Beige Man by Helene Tursten
Cover Me by Joanna Wayne Rita Herron and Mallory Kane
