Master of Darkness (8 page)

She blinked, and the tip of her tongue came out and touched her lip in a quick, hot little gesture. Need. Wanting. “All right.”

Good. He’d begun to reach her.

Miranda walked to the pile of pillows, leading the way. Choosing to love him.

His eyes drifted down without his intention, taking in the long sweep of her back down to the sweet heart shape of her ass. Her legs were endless. His cock kicked upward as raw lust surged through him in a flooding jolt. His wolf growled deep. The sound rumbled from his throat.

She froze. Her head snapped around, eyes widening.

He shoved his wolf down out of his eyes and smiled at her.
I’m not going to hurt you, baby. I’d never hurt you. I don’t do that
.

Something in his eyes calmed her, because she turned to face him and sank down onto the pillows. He dropped to his knees and pulled one of the pillows out from under her back.

Miranda frowned, bracing up on her elbows to watch him. “What are you doing?”

“I want you comfortable.”

She helped him arrange the pile, positioning a huge square cushion under her body, piling the others around to support her arms and legs, sliding another under her hips to tilt it upward.

Justice had never been so
aware
of a woman. Her long, lithe body looked so lovely, all leg and smooth curves, her redhead’s creamy skin a pale frame for the sweet fox-red fluff between those strong thighs. Her hair spilled around her head like a fiery copper halo, tumbling in thick curls over the pillows.

Her beautiful breasts tempted him, round as oranges, Celtic pale, their areoles pink, nipples darker, erect, round, and inviting as ripe cherries.
God, I want to taste her.

His hand cupped one breast, and she stilled, eyeing him. “Sweet,” he breathed, his thumb brushing the nipple back and forth. “You’re so soft. So warm.”

Justice lowered his head and took that little tip into his mouth, sucking gently until it hardened between his lips, inviting the tender rake of his teeth. Slowly, he moved his head, working the nipple between lips and tongue and teeth, varying the suction, first gentle, then hard, then gentle again.

His wolf shot him an image: Miranda on her hands and knees, that gorgeous ass lifted for him, submissive. The feel of her, tight and juicy, gripping his cock.

Foreplay was an alien concept to the wolf. To him, the chase should be enough to ready her. Once she accepted him, it was time to take her, driving dick into cunt until they both came.

No
, he told it.
We’re damned well not going to hurry her.
He could still smell fear, a faint bitterness souring the sweet musk of her need.

Justice was going to get rid of that ugly scent if it was the last thing he did. He wanted her wanting him with the same hot intensity he felt.
I’m not like those other bastards. You can trust me not to hurt you.

So he cuddled her breasts in his hands, cupping, stroking. At last he felt her ease against him.

Miranda drew away. He managed to catch his wolf before it lunged for her.

Her eyes met his, and magic flashed in their depths like lightning in the clouds. Then she lay back on the pillows and lifted her arms to him.

She’s still afraid
, he reminded himself. And went into her tentative hold. Managed not to growl when he felt her tremble under him, all long, soft curves. So warm. So delicate.

How could anyone hurt her?

* * *

He felt hot,
all hard muscle dusted with soft, tickling body hair that brushed her skin as he braced himself on his elbows so his weight didn’t crush her.

As if it could. She was a werewolf. She could bench press his full weight. Yet he was treating her like a human. A woman who could expect—and receive—little human courtesies from her lover.

Justice bent his head to her breasts again, this time pleasuring the one he’d only caressed before. Little darts of heat shot through her as his teeth scraped over the hardening nipple, back and forth in arousing little rakes. She let herself loosen under him, muscles uncoiling with the realization that this one wouldn’t hurt her.

Werewolf or not.

Justice braced on one elbow and used his free hand to stroke her as he made love to her breast. His big hand drifted over her skin, his palm tracing the line of her body, the delicate ripples of her ribs beneath the thin, sensitive flesh of her chest, the ticklish dip of her belly, the curve of her hip, the long sweep of her thigh.

She spread her legs, letting them part around his big body in silent invitation. Wanting to see how he’d touch her there.

But he didn’t. Instead he continued those slow, gentle strokes, more like a man petting a cat than a wolf who wanted to fuck his way to a roaring climax.

Even her human lover hadn’t been this careful, this sweet. Or, God knew, this skilled. Justice knew his way around a woman’s body, knew just how to touch, how to use those long, warm fingers and that wicked mouth.

She slid her arms around him. His back felt so broad in her tentative hug, easily twice the width of hers, muscle lying in solid slabs that rolled and rippled under her palms as he moved so gently over her.

He could rip her apart with his werewolf strength, could beat her bloody even in human form. He could bite and claw. He could force her to do whatever he wanted.

But he won’t.

Miranda blinked at the realization. Justice really
wasn’t
like the others, Alpha werewolf or not. It wasn’t an act. He knew she was wet—he’d be able to smell her heat just as she could smell his. Yes, he wanted her—the sharp tang of testosterone rolled off him, blended with his normal clean Dire Wolf scent of man and fur and forest.

Yet somehow he ignored the feral need to drive that meaty cock into her sex.

Justice was focused on
her
. Her arousal. Her pleasure. Even the human boy had been more interested in his own desires, doing just enough to get her hot so he could take her. Justice didn’t have to work even
that
hard—she already wanted him, had wanted him for weeks now, even as she’d fought to ignore the attraction.

God, she was wet. She could smell the hot tang of her own arousal every time she took a breath, her musk blending with his. Experimenting, she slid a leg up the line of his hair-dusted thigh, caressing him with her body. He stiffened just slightly, but went on with his careful attentions to her breasts, pouring pleasure over her like a waterfall of delight.

Emboldened by his deliberate control, Miranda began to explore the body she’d admired with furtive interest for weeks.

Justice had always fascinated her. The shape of muscle lying under his warm, smooth skin, solid and thick as armor. His biceps rolled and jerked under her fingertips as she traced their round, warm contours. She looked down at the top of his head as he suckled her, admiring the dark gleam of his hair, curly, thick, and inviting.

After a moment’s hesitation, she ran her fingers through his hair. It was surprisingly soft, more like silk than the coarser strands that curled on his chest. He didn’t seem to notice, too focused on conjuring pleasure in her breasts with his sorcerer’s tongue and teeth.

Miranda relaxed into the pillows and let the delight rise as her muscles finally loosened, no longer tensed to fight or run. No longer expecting him to inflict pain instead of pleasure.

Her wolf settled, knowing she was safe with William Justice.

Pleasure spun through her, endless velvet ribbons of it, conjured by Justice’s magic.

At last he lifted his head and braced on one elbow, leaving her nipples standing hard and wet from his tongue. And looked down at her. Something in her face made wolf magic flare in his gaze, lust flashing across the dark irises like a lightning strike blazing across night-rolling clouds.

Miranda froze.

Justice lifted a hand toward her head, slowly, carefully. She jerked, and he hesitated before he touched her face. She managed not to flinch. His fingertips traced the arch of her brows, drifted down the rise and hollows of her cheekbones, found her mouth, brushed back and forth across her lips.

Pushing himself up with a flex of arms and thighs, he rose to kiss her. Slowly, asking permission to enter her mouth with gentle brushes of lip across lip. She opened for him. He sank against her with a soft moan edged in growl, slipping his tongue between her parted lips, tasting, swirling around her tongue, inviting her to kiss him back. So she did, closing her eyes to let the sensations of the kiss roll over her, absorbing the gentle warmth of his palm cupping her face.

His free hand slipped down between her thighs, brushed over the soft curls already damp with her heat. She caught her breath against his mouth as his fingers slipped between her vaginal lips, stroking up and down the length of them.

One finger slid inside her. A slow, testing stroke. She gasped, surprised at how wet she was. He groaned against her mouth.

He’ll fuck me now. He’ll lose control to his wolf and be on me.

His mouth opened wider over hers as he sank deeper into the kiss, letting his weight settle over hers as his tongue swirled around hers. In no hurry at all.

Lifting his head, Justice gazed into her face, studying her. Reading her gaze, gauging her arousal, his eyes dark, pupils huge with desire. Magic sparked in them, flashing like a swarm of fireflies as his lust called his power.

He lowered his head to her throat, his lips brushing over the beating vein, his tenderness calming the instinctive leap of fear at having his teeth so close to her jugular. He kissed his way down its throbbing length, stringing kisses between her collarbones, licking a trail between her breasts.

Down to the ticklish flesh of her belly, where he paused to nibble until she squirmed.

God, it felt good. He swirled his tongue in a teasing circle over her bellybutton. Miranda laughed, the kind of giddy sound any woman might make with her lover.

Victims don’t laugh.

Justice went back to his erotic exploration, nibbling the jut of one hip bone, following its curve down to her thigh, then across to the triangle of soft hair between her legs.

Miranda caught her breath, this time in anticipation. She’d heard of this, but her young lover hadn’t done it. Too busy seeing to his own pleasure.

Why had she thought that kid was so good? Was it only her wolf, craving any love at all?

But Justice
was
good. He licked down the top edge of her hair, following the soft little thatch to the plump curves of her labia. Tasted one of them with a long, lazy swipe of his tongue. Miranda twitched, waiting breathlessly for the sensation she’d only fantasized about.

Instead Justice caught the lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle nip, then licked it as if in tender apology.

At the bottom of the stroke, that wickedly clever tongue slid inside, finding her clit with unerring skill. The sensation burst inside her brain, all hot, shimmering pleasure.

Miranda inhaled as a bolt of raw lust shot through her. Her hands drifted down to tangle in his hair, unconsciously pressing him closer, silently begging for more.

EIGHT

He gave her
exactly what she wanted. Licking back and forth between her labia, teasing first one side of her innermost lips, then the other, swirling and stroking the delicate, sensitive flesh.

Miranda squirmed helplessly on the pile of pillows, instinctively lifting one leg to rest a heel on his muscular ass, opening herself wider for him, the press of her foot urging him on.

He spread her sex with his fingers, still licking, until quivers jerked the muscles of her thighs. Her toes curled.

That clever tongue thrust inside her once, twice. She thought about his cock, about its demanding length and width. About how it would feel driving inside her. She moaned. “Justice. God, Justice.”

“Yeah,” he growled back. “You’re so wet, so tight. I can barely get my tongue in you.” He slid between her lips again, then retreated to swirl around her clit. Not quite touching it. Just tracing tempting little designs around the tiny nub.

Two fingers thrust into her sex as he flicked the tip of his tongue up and down her clit. His lips sealed over its eager jut, suckling gently at first, then harder and harder in time to the pumping rhythm of his fingers.

The orgasm exploded out of nowhere, fierce and bright and unexpected, shocking her into a scream of delight. Justice sucked more fiercely, fingers thrusting deep to touch some bundle of nerves she hadn’t even known existed. The heat blinded her. She writhed in helpless pleasure as the climax thundered through her like a torrent.

When it passed, Miranda lay panting, helpless, one leg sprawled out to the side, the other still hooked over Justice’s brawny ass.

He went right on licking her. Slowly. Up and down in thorough swipes, tender as a mother cat with a kitten. Miranda could only pant as inner muscles laced, readying for another orgasm.

Her wolf rose out of the depths of her brain, feral and growling, to drown her brain in wild instinct and stark, driving lust. Demanding to mate with this big werewolf male, this Alpha beast.

Miranda was on her hands and knees with no idea how she’d gotten there. “Fuck me.” She didn’t even recognize her own growling voice as she stared over her shoulder at him. “Fuck me now.”

Astonishment widened Justice’s eyes; he hadn’t expected her wolf to surface. A flash of Mageverse lightning exploded in those black irises, and his own wolf filled them, all lust and feral heat. He growled back and rose onto his knees, moving into position behind her.

This time the deep rumble didn’t frighten her.

Neither did the hard clamp of his hands as he gripped her ass. He promptly eased his hold as if fearful of hurting her. She watched over her shoulder as he positioned his cock between her slick lips. His thrust made her throw back her head with a cry that was damned near a howl.

Ramming right to the balls, Justice froze. Filling her perfectly, long, wide, stretching her almost to the point of pain.

Miranda had never felt anything so arousing.

Her wolf growled again, making her chest vibrate. “Fuck me!” She ground her ass back into his pelvis, then rocked forward, sliding along that endless length, gasping at the burning heat of it.

Justice rumbled back, caught her hips in both hands, and began to drive in hard, demanding strokes. Inner muscles clenched and released with every entry, every retreat, readying for another orgasm.

Her breasts danced as she rocked, fucking him as he fucked her, lost in instinct, in lust, in wolf. So close to animal that as her fingers curled into a pillow, her nails lengthened into claws. She wrestled the Shift back down and rolled her hips harder to the sound of flesh slapping flesh and the soft male growls of Justice and his wolf.

The scent of their mutual lust flooded her brain, raw sex blended with the earthy musk of fur and forest. He was as close to transforming as she was.

Justice rammed to his full length into her until his balls swung against her ass. Stuffing her full as he roared a lupine howl of pleasure. Coming hard, triggering her own climax as the pressure of his grinding hips on her sex gave her clit that last bit of stimulation.

Miranda screamed as the fierce clenching seized her belly, her sex, driving burning darts of pleasure up her spine right to her brain. Shuddering, she ground back on Will’s cock, and came. And came.

And came.

* * *

The information Vance
had risked his life for hadn’t been enough.

Crack!
Agony ripped across his back with the lash of Warlock’s whip, a vicious, searing pain that tested his will against his body’s animal panic. He clenched his jaws, forbidding himself to make a sound, trying to still even the involuntary flinch of his shoulders. He smelled burning flesh and knew the magic was branding him like a red-hot iron.

The relentless rhythm of the whip paused. Vance denied his traitor body’s sense of relief, the hope that it was over, that Warlock was satisfied.

He wouldn’t be. Not this soon.

“Are you trying to impress me?” the General snarled, his voice arctic cold. “Or just denying me the pleasure of listening to you scream?”

“I failed . . .” Vance broke off to clear his throat; he sounded hoarse, as if he’d voiced every one of the shrieks his abused body had demanded. Swallowing, he tried again. “I failed you. I didn’t kill the Slut or her cop.”

“No.” The whip’s bright lash struck the ground beneath his dangling feet with a savage buzzing crack of magical force. “She’s a cunning little whore, isn’t she?” The note of reluctant pride in Warlock’s voice made Vance blink. “She’s got far more power than any female should.” The General snorted. “Never mind, I’ll kill her myself.”

Crack.
The whip struck again, ripping so deep, Vance knew he was lucky to be a werewolf. Had he still been human, he would have been crippled for what little remained of his life, the muscles in his back eaten away until he would have been unable to breathe, much less lift his arms.

Another stroke, then another. Neither hurt as much as the ones that had gone before, probably because too many nerves had died to transmit the pain.

Warlock stopped. The magical bonds holding Vance in midair vanished, and he fell. He tried to brace for impact, only to discover his crippled body would no longer respond. His feet hit the cavern’s stone floor, his knees instantly folding. He’d have slammed into the ground face-first had the General not caught him in a cradle of magic. Otherwise he knew he’d have been knocked unconscious, being unable to catch himself on his hands.

“Shift and heal yourself,” Warlock ordered. “I’m going to need you Bastards to capture a few sacrifices for me.” A snarl rumbled into his voice. “If the Slut thinks her Hunter Prince can match my power, she’ll discover she’s dead wrong. And Arthur Pendragon is just dead.”

* * *

The tub was
huge, easily big enough for both of them. Miranda lay back in Justice’s brawny arms, watching the candlelight dance on the tiled walls. Her gaze drifted to the stained glass window with its image of wolves running through a moonlight-dappled forest, eyes glowing gold in the dark.

Resting her head back against Justice’s warm, slick shoulder, she savored the heat of the water, listened to the muffled pop of bubbles in the thick foam that surrounded them. She did love a bubble bath.

Justice hadn’t objected, though it would probably make him smell of lilacs. He must be feeling mellow.

God knew she felt almost boneless, hot water to her shoulders, breathing the smell of lilacs and masculinity and fur.

For once, the scent of male werewolf didn’t make her tense in anticipation of pain.

Justice ran his big hand over her wet skin, a cake of French-milled soap in his palm as he washed her as tenderly as a child. She let him do it, lazily enjoying the slippery stroke of the soap.

“Why were you so afraid of me?” His chest rumbled pleasantly against her cheek.

Miranda stiffened.

She considered pretending she hadn’t heard him, but she knew he was too stubborn to let her get away with that. She considered her answer a long moment before admitting, “I haven’t had a lot of good experiences with Alpha werewolves.”

“Yeah.” Justice slid the soap over the curve of her breast and across her nipple, then reversed the stroke and did it again, teasing the tip into full erection. “I kind of gathered that.”

“Warlock sent a man to rape me once.” Her eyes widened as she heard what she’d just blurted. Dammit. She hadn’t intended to tell him that.

But now that she’d said it, she might as well spill it all. He needed to know why they’d never work as a couple. Assuming he even
wanted
it to work.
Maybe he just wants sex
. She could understand that. Sex with him was damned tempting.

Miranda suddenly realized he’d stopped washing her. Worse, the scent of rage filled the air. She flinched, expecting a blow.

Instead he asked a question. “
Your father
sent a man to
rape
you?”

He’s not angry at
me
.
She relaxed knotted muscles, managed a shrug. “It was my Burning Moon, and he wanted to breed me. That’s the reason Warlock got my mother pregnant in the first place—he needed a female child he could get grandsons from. He wanted to raise my children to be his warriors.” And God, what a horrific idea that was. Children—
her
children—at Warlock’s mercy.

She knew too much about what it was like, being a child at a monster’s mercy.

Justice slid the soap down her ribs, stroking slowly, thoughtfully. “Why not breed sons himself? He’s immortal, right? It’s not like he’s too old.”

“He did breed sons.” Miranda shrugged against his wet chest, trying not to think of all the brothers she’d never known. “He ended up killing them all. Warlock’s paranoid as hell, Bill. He’s afraid sons with enough power would turn on him.”

“Given his parenting skills, I can understand why.” He ran the bar down between her legs, and she squirmed at the delightfully slick sensation. “Why isn’t he afraid of you?”

Miranda snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m just a woman. He doesn’t think there’s any way in hell I’d ever be a threat to him. And he made damned sure of it.”

“What do you mean?” He ran a soapy hand along her arm, stroking her absently.

She really wasn’t in the mood to revisit that particular set of memories. “What do you think I mean?”

That big hand quit moving again. It seemed his entire body hardened under her as he tensed. “He beat you?”

“Among other things.”

The muscles of his chest seemed to harden into rocks against her back. “What other things?” He spoke in a low, deadly growl.

Realizing what Justice was thinking, Miranda recoiled. God, the idea of Warlock . . . “No, it wasn’t like that, thank Jesus, Merlin and all the saints.”

He relaxed fractionally. “Good.” Blowing out a breath, he said again, “That’s good. When I was a cop—Never mind, you don’t want to hear about that shit. What did he do?”

Miranda shrugged. “Used magic on me. If I tried to fight back with my own power, he’d cut lose. And no matter how hard I fought, Warlock could kick my ass. If he hadn’t healed the injuries he gave me, I’d have died more than once.”

Justice tensed again, until his pectoral muscles felt as if they’d turned to granite behind her head. “Conditioning you not to use magic against him.”

“Exactly.” Miranda shuddered, memories rising despite her best intentions. “That first time . . . You’ve got to understand, when I was small, my mother taught me Warlock was this great hero. He was the prince in every fairy tale she read me at night.”

“Why in the fuck would she do that?”

Miranda winced as he unknowingly prodded the worst of her psychic wounds. Not even Warlock’s methodical abuse had hurt her like the realization that her mother had deliberately lied to her. “I asked her that once, when I was sixteen and feeling particularly bitchy. She told me she’d thought it would be safer for me to believe he was a hero. If I treated him that way, maybe he’d see I wasn’t a threat and leave me alone.”

“Well, obviously
that
was a total waste of time.”

She sank deeper in the water, frowning. “Not at first. When I was really small, he used to work magic during his visits, conjuring toys and pretty fireworks to make me clap and laugh.”

Justice snorted and began rubbing the soap over her body in soothing circles. When he spoke, there was grim comprehension in his voice. “Somehow I have a hard time picturing Warlock as the doting daddy.”

“In retrospect, so do I.” There was such comfort in the touch of Justice’s big hands, she found that her memories seemed a little less painful. “But they’d always told me Warlock was my real father, even though Joelle was married to Gerald Drake. Gerald really was a bastard, so Daddy Warlock seemed like a knight in shining armor by comparison.”

“So when did he come out of the kennel as the son of a bitch he really is?”

“When I started developing my powers. I think I was four years old or so.”

“Damn.” Justice stopped soaping again. She caught his hand and urged it into motion again, and he went back to caressing her. “But Direkind don’t start Shifting until they’re teenagers. How did you come into your magic so early?”

“Actually, I couldn’t Shift until I was fifteen.” She traced a lazy rune on his bent knee. “I got the power to work spells a lot earlier, though. That’s when Warlock goaded me into using magic against him.”

“
Goaded
you? He wanted you to attack him?”

“Basically. I had this doll I particularly loved—she had all this red hair and big gold eyes, just like mine. Warlock had conjured her for me a year or so before, and I carried her everywhere. I was proud my daddy gave me something so pretty.”

“So he ripped her little red head off.” There was a distinct growl in Justice’s voice.

“Not quite, but that’s the general idea. He told me I was too old for dolls and took her away from me.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. You were four—and he said you were too
old
for dolls?”

“Yeah.” She watched the soap slip out of his hand and disappear into a mound of foam. Justice didn’t appear to notice. “Then he dangled her over my head and pulled her away whenever I tried to grab her.”