Highland Wolf Pact (17 page)

“When can we do it again?” she whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe, making him let out a low groan. “That… that thing you did with your mouth… I really liked that…”

“I have so much more t’teach ye.” He chuckled, kissing her fully on the mouth, holding her little body in his arms.

“More?” Her eyes lit up.

“Aye, much, much more,” he agreed, eyes alight. “Come wit’ me, lass. Let’s get cleaned up so we can get dirty again.”

The hot spring was the purest of luxuries. She thought everyone in England would live in a mountain if they knew about hot springs. The water was warm without the need of a fire, like magic. Raife lit a torch on the wall as they went through a door in their room, further into the mountain, deep into a cavern.

The warm water was a wonder, steam rising all around them. They soaked in the pool together, drifting. Sibyl closed her eyes and leaned back, floating, letting Raife run soapy hands over her body, a delicious tease. She whimpered when his hand cupped her sex, washing gently. She saw him inspecting her there, parting her so he could peer at the pink, soft flesh inside.

With a satisfied look, he sank low in the water, kissing her there. Sibyl moaned and rose to meet him, her knees over his shoulders, amazed at how the sensation was resurrected in her instantly. She didn’t understand how it could be, something so forceful and compelling that could overtake you again like that. But she didn’t need to comprehend it, not with Raife’s mouth between her thighs, driving her to heights she didn’t know possible.

She just needed to feel it.

Her lover, her mate, was skilled, his fingers sliding into her flesh, in and out, a rhythm that reminded her of the way they rocked together when he was pressed deep into her womb. The motion made her long for it, for him, and she whimpered and clutched at him, her nails raking his shoulders and scalp as he floated her across the spring, his mouth fastened tight to her mound.

“Oh, Raife, Raife!” she cried, body arching, bucking in the water, the feeling overcoming her, a mighty surge, making her nipples harden and her hips roll under his lashing tongue.

Then she truly was floating, flying free, soaring above it all.

Raife held her in his arms, whispering her name, and the word “mine,” again and again. She loved being his. Finally, fully and completely, she belonged to this man. She felt his love for her—and his lust. There was something about the way he took her, claimed her, that filled her more completely than she knew any human man would have been capable. It wasn’t about the physical act. They were connected—deeply, inexorably connected.

“I want you.” She opened her eyes to meet his, her hand reaching down under the water to find him, thick and hard and ready to enter her again.

“Aye.” He looked at her through eyes half-lidded with lust, his face flushed, skin hot against hers. “And I want ye…”

He lifted her, seizing her nipple gently between his teeth, making her gasp before he began to suckle. Sibyl cried out, wrapping her legs around him, trapping his hardness between them. She felt it throb and moaned at the sensation. Raife leaned back against the side of the pool, burying his face against her breasts, tongue skipping from one nipple to the other as she squirmed in his arms.

“It’s so hot,” she cried as the steam rose around them, her skin flushed red.

“Aye,” he agreed, sliding a hand behind her neck and bringing her head down to kiss her. She gave into his kiss, the press of his mouth, his tongue exploring. He smiled down at her when they parted, looking at her with such love, such desire, she was glad for the buoyancy of the water.

“Come.” He put his palms up on the edge of the pool, sliding onto the ledge, water sheeting off his body, a cloud of steam surrounding him. He held his hand out for her, but she was transfixed by the sight of him. She’d watched him undress, had seen him, had felt him inside of her, but now she was face-to-face with the length of him, rising up, throbbing with every beat of his heart.

“Sibyl…” he murmured as she came closer, ever curious, cocking her head to look at him as she reached out to take him in her fist.

She looked up and met his gaze with questioning eyes, watching his face as her fingers caressed him. Could she make him feel like he made her feel? She wondered, remembering the hot, wet rhythm of him thrusting into her, mimicking it with her hand. Raife moaned in response, his hips moving with her motion.

“Och! Sibyl!” he gasped when she dared to lean forward and cover the head with her mouth. It was a sudden, inspired action on her part. She couldn’t help remembering how good it felt to have him licking and sucking at her flesh, and her curiosity and natural experimental nature just took over from there.

“Do you like it?” she murmured, looking up at him, inquiring with her eyes.

He just moaned and grabbed her hair, bringing her mouth back to his length, sliding her head down until she thought she might gag on it. But she didn’t care. The pleasure in his voice made her bob her head faster, taking more and more of him, as much as she could manage—which wasn’t easy.

“Ahhh lass, wait, wait,” he cried, but she wasn’t listening. She heard that catch in his voice, the strangled cry that meant he was reaching his peak, and she wanted to take him there, the way he had for her.

And then he moaned and drove deep into her throat, hand cupping the back of her neck as he filled her mouth with his seed. It was white hot, bitter, and Sibyl couldn’t do anything but swallow. She sucked and swallowed automatically, the taste burning her throat, making her eyes tear up. It was the most delicious thing in the world, looking up and seeing Raife completely lose control, giving in to her, giving her everything, flooding her mouth with his very essence.

“Och, lass, I’m sorry,” he gasped an apology, slipping into the water so he could take her in his arms. “I could’na stop…”

“Don’t apologize,” she protested, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, eyes bright as she met his. “Oh, let’s do it again…”

She rubbed against him, hips grinding under the water, but he was soft now, spent.

“Soon.” He chuckled, still panting in her ear as he held her close. “Give a man time to rest between.”

“How long?” she cocked her head at him, completely earnest, and he laughed.

“Hungry kitten.” He smiled, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rocky side of the spring. “Soon, I promise.”

She sighed, tucking her head under his chin, letting herself float with him. She wanted him inside of her. All the time. She would stay joined with him, forever, if she had her wish.

“Are ye ready t’be a wulver’s mate?” he asked, opening one eye to peer at her.

“Isn’t that what we just did?” she teased.

“I’m pack leader,” he reminded her, kissing the freckles on her shoulders. “There’ll be other responsibilities.”

“My mother tried to make me a good girl and learn all about how to run a household, but alas,” Sibyl lamented. “I was better at shooting and riding.”

“Yer strengths are suited t’our life ’ere, lass.” Raife slid his hands over her under the water, following her curves. “It’s like ye were born t’be ’ere.”

“Maybe I was.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “Maybe it was God’s hand who guided me here after all. If God could curse us, mayhaps he could save us too.”

“Mayhaps.” He kissed her softly, the steam rising all around them. “Ye’re a wonder, Sibyl Blackthorne.”

“What will be my new name?” she wondered aloud.

“Yer new name?”

“Don’t I take your name, when we are married?”

“We do’na hold to that here.” He smiled. “We’ll ’ave a declaration and a markin’. Followed by a giant feast. And then three days alone so I can ravish ye in e’ery possible position...”

“I like the sound of that…” She sighed happily, tilting her head so he could kiss her throat.

“But ye’ll still be called Sibyl Blackthorne,” he said, meeting her eyes in the dim light. “I do’na need a change of names t’know ye’re mine. Ye’ll forever be mine no matter what ye’re called.”

She had cringed at the thought of becoming Sibyl MacFalon, but she rather liked the idea of becoming Sibyl…Wulver? Did the wulvers even have surnames? Blackthorne was her family name, associated with her father, whom she loved, but a mother who had given her to her uncle to do with as he wished. The name had been a mixed blessing her whole life.

Sibyl’s head came up and she looked at her new mate and future husband through the rising steam, frowning, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

I never told him my full name.

Had she? She could have sworn she had not.

“Raife…?”

“Yes, lass?” He didn’t open his eyes. He looked so relaxed and content, floating with her in the water.

“How… how did you know my family name?”

The question hung between them. Raife slowly opened his eyes, meeting hers. She saw something flicker there before he answered, something that told her he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. Or maybe, not all of it.

“Tis common knowledge the MacFalon was marrying a Blackthorne,” he said.

Mayhaps that was true. But she frowned and traced the lines between his brows with her fingers, realizing she’d come to know him far more than she had let on. She knew this man’s expressions, when he was being honest, and when he was not. Especially since the latter was so uncommon between them.

“You heard that, all the way up here, in the mountain?” She kissed his cheek, water beading there.

“Tis me job t’know these things.” He raised his brows at her. “I can’na protect me pack wit’out that knowledge. We’ve avoided war wit’ the MacFalons fer twenty years. That was me father’s legacy and I want it t’live on.”

“The wolf pact.” She sighed, snuggling her head under his chin. “Everything is politics.”

“Not e’rythin’.” Raife’s hand moved to cup her breast and she smiled. But she wasn’t willing to let him distract her so easily. Not now. Like the wulvers, she had scented something, and she was going to follow it. She just wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed.

“Your father…?” she asked softly. “You mean… King Henry?”

She felt his spine straighten at her words.

“Who told ye’bout that?”

“Just… gossip…” She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who pays attention, you know.”

“Tis true.” Raife sighed. “Although I’d like t’forget it more of’en than not.”

“But he created the wolf pact, didn’t he?”

“Aye, he did,” Raife agreed. “But twas for his own personal gain, ye ken? He wanted the MacFalons and the wulvers united against a common enemy.”

“King Edward IV.”

“Aye.” Raife’s mouth pursed into a thin line before he went on. “So the Tudors could sit on the throne again. He came here jus’after the Anglo-Saxon wars. We did’na care for the English and neither did the MacFalons, but fightin’ for Henry meant me father could gain some measure of peace in our pack. We could stop fightin’ the Scots and mayhaps go into the woods without fear of our women being hunted and killed… or raped.”

“Raped…” She shuddered, something suddenly occurring to her that hadn’t before. The wulver women had spoken of it as a romance, the relationship between King Henry VII and Raife’s mother. But now that she understood the bond between a wulver and his mate, she wasn’t so sure. “Your mother? And King Henry?”

“She did’na love the man,” he replied flatly. “She did’na have much of a choice in the matter.”

That thought made Sibyl shiver in spite of the heat of the water.

“And she became pregnant with you?” she murmured, thinking out loud. “But I thought wulvers shift when they’re in heat? Don’t they change into wolf form?”

“Aye, lass, they do.”

Sibyl stared at him while he let that sink in.

Laina lamented not being able to be with Darrow in human form when she was in heat, at her most fervent. She would change with little warning, and be unable to change back until her moon blood cycle had passed. It happened to all the wulver females. If Raife’s mother, Avril, had become pregnant with him, that meant she had turned. And while she was in her wolf form, King Henry had…

“No…” Sibyl’s eyes widened in shock. “He took her when she was… as a wolf?”

“Aye.” His jaw hardened, eyes dark in the light of the torch. “Some men see wulver women as a challenge.”

“Oh no.” She closed her eyes against it. That poor woman, Sibyl thought. She couldn’t imagine what Avril had been through. She’d watched her friend give birth in a cage and then be murdered by the MacFalon, was taken prisoner herself, and then what? She’d been kept in a cage as a freak show, something to be shown off by the MacFalon when guests arrived? Guests like Henry Tudor, the possible future King of England?

“Did your father know? I mean… Darrow’s father…?”

“Garaith’s me father,” Raife told her. “He treated me as his son.”

“But he knew you weren’t
really
his son?”

“Eventually, aye.” Raife’s face was pained. “But not when Henry made the pact. Not when he got the MacFalons and the wulvers t’agree t’fight fer him.”

“Your mother didn’t tell him,” she whispered, knowing it was true. Of course Avril wouldn’t tell her husband, her wulver mate, what had happened to her while she’d been captured. And Sibyl’s womanly heart knew instantly why Raife’s mother had kept it a secret.

“Not afirst,” Raife said, confirming Sibyl’s suspicions. “If me father’d known, he would’ve…”

“It would have been war,” she murmured.

“Aye. She was tryin’ t’save us from that,” Raife said, his voice hoarse. “And I think she did.”