[Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator 03] - Bloody Claws (13 page)

This was indeed a sacred sharing. I felt it then, as I watched her. Her features were enveloped by a peaceful expression that made my heart light. Perhaps it was the effects of blood loss, but in that moment I felt I was beginning to better understand her nature and what exactly I'd been withholding.

As a lycanthrope, I didn't necessarily have to rely on anyone else for my survival but myself. Lenorre had to rely on someone. Every single night she woke, she had to rely on someone else to share their life with her to keep hers going.

When Lenorre drew away, she caught the last bit of blood that threatened to spill over before the wounds began healing. She raised her face to mine, her eyes shining with power like silver mist.

"Kassandra?" she said my name, reaching out to touch my cheek. "Why are you crying?"

I let go of the material still curled in my fist and used both hands to pull her to me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I was being so selfish and afraid."

Lenorre laughed and her gaze was affectionate and sweet. "Well," she said lightly, almost teasingly, "now that we've overcome that hurdle…"

"I'll warn you, it's probably not the last."

"I don't expect it to be," she whispered the words against my mouth. "You sure you can handle the others?"

"I told you once, I am a patient woman."

"And if all else fails you'll resort to shoving my ass over the next one?" Lenorre leaned back, grinning deviously. "That is a thought, yes." I playfully tugged on a curl of her hair and tilted my head.

"Will you take your damn clothes off now?" I added, "Please?"

"For you to add the word please, you must be in dire need."

"Oh," I said, pulling at her torn blouse, "I'm positively aching." Lenorre removed her clothing and crawled back to me. She lay back on the pillows beside me, placing a hand on my ass. "Come here," she said. "Where's here?" I asked, rising to my knees. "Put your leg over me," she said. "You want me to straddle you?"

"Yes."

I flung a leg over her frame and began lowering myself.

Lenorre's hands moved to my hips. "Higher," she said, using her hands on my hips to encourage me to move up her body. "How high?" I whispered. One of Lenorre's dark brows arched beautifully. "I do believe you know what I am asking you to do."

I licked a wet line from her navel to her breasts. I slid my hands up her torso, cupping her breasts and lightly playing my nails across them.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you to put your sex against my lips," she said. "I want to watch you writhe as I bring you."

I climbed her body, kissing her mouth, flicking my tongue against hers. I sat up, settling my knees to the side of her face, grabbing hold of the wooden beam at the head of the bed, and holding myself above her.

"All you had to do was ask."

Her hands moved up my thighs, squeezing my ass before she craned her neck and nestled her mouth between my legs. Her tongue found me, tracing the folds of me in a way that made my grip tighten on the smooth wooden beam. Lenorre licked me, a slow, broad stroke of her tongue that began at my entrance and ended with a suck at my clit. She found a rhythm, her velvet tongue tracing and enticing the slit between my legs, sealing over my clit and sending sparks of pleasure down to my toes. I threw my head back, riding the sweet waves.

CHAPTER 
sixteen

stood in a house similar to that of the victim's. I was looking at the same white covered bed. There were symbols on the walls. I was trying to figure out what each symbol meant, but they kept moving, changing. The lines flowed on the wall above the headboard like a kaleidoscope, making me dizzy. Lenorre entered the room, her long hair free and unbound. She came to me, wearing a thin dress of black silk. Her cool fingers cupped my face in her hands. She said my name and lowered her head to kiss me.

The kiss began as something gentle and slow. Her hands moved on my body, tracing every curve hidden beneath my clothing.

Somewhere during the kiss, I remembered what I had been doing before she entered the room. I tried to draw away from her and her arms tightened around me. I tried to break the kiss and she pressed into it, kissing me more roughly than she ever had.

Her power became something thick in the air, too thick and heavy for me to draw a breath. I pushed at her chest. She wouldn't budge.

Lenorre tangled her hand in my hair, jerking her grip tight. I continued to struggle, to try to break away from her. I stopped struggling when I felt the points of very sharp nails against the back of my scalp.

No, not nails… Claws.

Finally, she broke the kiss, laughing.

The expression on her face frightened me. Whatever it was, whoever it was, was not Lenorre.

I tried to speak, to command it to stop, but I couldn't. I was too aware. Every small movement that Lenorre made in the dream echoed through me. Every tiny brush of flesh seemed to be magnified, singing through my veins, making my skin twitch and ache to be touched. She kissed me again and this time, I wanted her to do it. I didn't fight. I couldn't. I burned too hot. I threw myself into the flame of her power, hungry for it.

The thing that was not Lenorre rose above me, her nude body sliding across mine, and I couldn't remember when or how the dream had shifted. She rolled her hips across mine and the sensation of her wet, hot flesh against me sent my head back, my spine arching.

She caught the underside of my thighs and pushed my knees up, rubbing her body against mine. Her hands and body were slick, too slick.

I felt something wet, like water. It dripped onto the skin above my navel. I moved, trying to sit up. Lenorre put a hand on my chest, and, as if she were commanding my body, I froze.

I looked down to find that her hand was covered in blood, not only her hand, but patches of her body were covered in thick, wet blood. I felt it against my skin, soaking into my hair.

The sheets cradling us were no longer white. For a moment, I thought she had bled me, but then I realized she hadn't. The bed itself was bleeding.

Lenorre laughed again and a voice in my head said,
"Open your eyes."

I tried to scream as she lowered her head to my body, but no sound came out. I don't know what made me think it, but I knew I did not want her to press her lips between my legs.

I stopped fighting, focusing instead on the fact that I had to wake up. I could feel myself floating, floating in that void between sleep and wakefulness.

A voice that was not Lenorre's screamed, "No!" and I was suddenly in the dream again, thrust back into my body and trapped by the weight of some unseen power. My throat grew tight, too tight to breathe.

Something was terribly fucking wrong. I was too coherent, too aware I was dreaming, and yet, I couldn't break the dream. I tried to call to the wolf, but it was as if I had become an empty vessel. She was not there to answer my call.

I tried to call to the raven, to the blood in my veins, and the choking hold around my throat tightened.

"Your magic will not save you from me!"

If I could've yelled back, I would have, but I couldn't. The hand around my throat threatened to crush my windpipe, made each breath feel like I was trying to breathe concrete into my lungs.

I felt the edge of heated energy, the brush of feathers against my skin, though I knew neither flame nor feather materialized in the dream. I heard the raven's call, a call to arms, a call to war.

Glass shattered, a window broke, a black mist slammed into the creature that had taken Lenorre's form and I could suddenly move again, breathe again.

The thing brought its arms up, shielding its face.

A hand touched mine and I turned my head. The hand was pulling me, pulling me out of the puddle of blood and sheets that had suctioned to my skin. The hand belonged to a cloaked figure, and though I could not tell who it was, I knew it was doing me a favor.

There were screams, screams that sounded more like the cries of an owl or a hawk than those of a human.

The cloaked figure jerked me free of the bed.

I drew a ragged and resounding breath. Someone was holding me, using their body like a shield around mine. I opened my eyes to find the shelter of Lenorre's dimly lit bedroom. The figure holding me drew back, and I realized it was Zaphara.

"Are you all right?" With her body against mine, she looked down at me, her amethyst eyes concerned.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, shivering despite myself.

"You were being attacked," she said, drawing away.

For some reason, I didn't want her to let me go. I said her name, and as if she understood, she stopped drawing away. Her arms encircled me and I let her.

"Scare the werewolf piss out of you, did it?" she asked somewhat wryly.

"I'm freezing." My teeth were chattering when I spoke and I didn't understand why.

"It was feeding off of you, Kassandra."

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I was too cold and weak to protest.

"Is Lenorre awake yet?" I asked.

"She'll rise soon."

"How did you know?"

"Your raven sought aid," she said. "I answered its call when I felt the magic."

"I guess I should say thanks."

"I wouldn't say it yet." She rose from the bed and went to Lenorre's closet, grabbing a thick robe from the back of the closet door. Lenorre lay beside us, beautiful and still completely out of it. Zaphara returned, settling the robe about my shoulders.

"I could keep you warmer if you let me lay down beside you." I curled up on my side, trembling with a cold that made no sense and feeling out of sorts. Zaphara used her long, lean body to spoon mine, bundling blankets and the robe around me.

I felt more tired than I had when I'd first fallen asleep. As if Zaphara sensed it, she said, "Sleep, Kassandra. I'll stay and make sure you are safe."

I felt her magic like a warm glow, as if she'd drawn aside a curtain to let the light of the sun peek through. The warmth suffused my body, gradually calming my shivering limbs.

In time, with Zaphara's magic keeping me warm, I slept.

*

"Kassandra."
It was Lenorre's voice that woke me but the smell of coffee that convinced me to sit up.

I gratefully accepted the mug she offered, mumbling thanks and hoping it would help clear the mists of sleep. I took a long drink, vaguely remembering the day's dream and Zaphara's presence, feeling surprisingly more comfortable in my skin than I had earlier.

"You died at dawn?" I asked after I drank half the cup's contents.

"Some hours after," she said, reclining beside me.

I raised my brows. "Thought I was powerful food?"

"You are," she said, smiling. "I drank Zaphara's blood then as well, and I believe that this time, because I needed to feed, it did not affect me as strongly."

Lenorre had drunk my blood during sex and the little bit she'd drunk had kept her alive and kicking through the entire day. Of course, she had fed from Zaphara earlier then too. I don't think any of us had really considered the fact that it could have been the combination of Zaphara's blood and my blood that had done the trick. I wondered when Lenorre had thought of it.

"What you mean is that because you went so long without feeding, because you needed to feed, that your body used it as fuel instead of an added boost?" I asked.

She dipped her head forward in response.

"So if you drink my blood when you've already fed, do you think it will work again?"

"I believe so, yes. Still, when I needed to feed, your blood shortened my death."

I took another swig of coffee, savoring its strong flavor softened with sugar and cream.

"Good evening, by the way."

Her lips curved again. "Good evening, love." She toyed with the ends of my hair. "Zaphara has told me some of what happened this afternoon, and though I wish to speak with you more of it, there is a certain matter which you must attend before we figure out what attacked you."

"What's wrong?"

"Rosalin seems to have taken to her bed," she said, tugging lightly on my hair before releasing it.

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee and lowered the cup.

"What do you mean?"

"She needs her alpha, Kassandra."

"I'm not her alpha, Lenorre."

"You are now," she said with an intense and serious expression. "You have claimed her as your wolf. She and the others."

When I didn't say anything, she asked, "Will you neglect them and your newfound responsibility to them?"

"I haven't had enough coffee for this conversation," I said, a bit sourly.

"Kassandra," she said.

I sighed. "I didn't want that responsibility."

"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly did not want them as your wolves last night? If you had not wanted them, if you had not agreed with your wolf, they would not be yours."

"I wanted to protect Rosalin. I really didn't want to sign up to be anyone's alpha."

She touched the white streak in my hair this time, letting it slide through her fingers. "Whether you desired it or no, it is what you are, Kassandra. The sooner you come to terms with that bit of knowledge, the better things will be."

Stubbornly, I shook my head and started sliding out of bed. I placed the mug of coffee on the nightstand by Lenorre's side.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to be honest when I say I'm not ready for this conversation," I said. "And I am going to get dressed and go check on my
friend
."

I went to Lenorre's closet and found a pair of black silk shorts that I'd left in case of emergencies. I stepped into them and settled the hem of the white shirt down over them. Lenorre reclined at ease on the bed, watching me as I shut the closet door.

"Being Rosalin's alpha does not make her any less of a friend. Why are you running from who you are?"

"I don't like the title. It implies ownership. I don't want ownership."

"No," she said, "it implies
leadership
, something Sheila Morris does not and will never understand. She sees her rank in the pack as means to possession. She does not lead them, Kassandra. A true alpha leads and protects. They do not possess. They do not force their wolves to give them submission. The submission is offered freely out of respect. Sheila has not given her wolves room to respect her. To fear her, yes, but respect…"

"Fear and respect are two different things," I said, agreeing. I pushed my hair out of my face, trying not to feel frustrated and failing. "Why are we talking about this?"

She came to me and I took a step back so that I could meet her gaze without tilting my head back at an awkward angle. "Rosalin has tasted what it means to be part of a pack. She knows what it is to live her life surrounded by a family of pack-mates. I know, because you are a lone wolf, you do not fully understand, but understand this," she stepped into me, "Rosalin lost the only family she knew, aside from her brother, when she was younger. She cannot return to Sheila's pack with your mark upon her, and now she has lost the only true family she knows. If she does not have someone to nurture and protect her, other wolves there for her, she will be a broken thing. The wolves have come to your call, whether you've willed it or no. Carver and Claire have defied Sheila. Will you deny them the leader they need because of your sensibilities to a title? Will you deny them the pack they need?"

"I don't know how to be an alpha, Lenorre."

"And you think I knew how to be a Countess? It is something you learn as you go, Kassandra. Consider yourself lucky that you have the wolf to guide you," she said, touching the white streak in my hair.

I licked my lips, shutting my eyes. "And what if the power goes to my head? Goes to the wolf's head?"

"Do you truly believe that will happen?"

"I don't know, Lenorre. I feel like I don't know anything right now."

Lenorre wrapped her arms around me, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Figure it out, Kassandra. For their sake, do not run from your power or rank, as it is the only thing that will help them right now."

I nodded. What else could I do? What was there to say? I felt the conflict between the wolf and me. In the clearing, I had agreed with her that we had to protect those we could from Sheila. But with the aftermath of the wolf's surety and power came a thread of insecurity.

I was scared to the bone that I didn't know how. The responsibility hanging over my head meant I would have to embrace my wolf even more, and though I had learned how to live with the wolf inside of me, as a part of me, that was all she was, a part. A piece. There was still a strong vein of fear that ran within me. If I embraced her too much, would I lose myself entirely? Would she take even more pieces of me until there was no Kassandra Lyall left, until there was only wolf?