Reclaimed (A Highland Historical Trilogy) (The MacKay Banshees 1-3) (26 page)

“I’m here,” he soothed, quickly divesting himself of his trews and joining her on the furs. She instinctively reached for him, pulling his mouth down to hers. “You may take me now,” she consented against him.

A renewed wave of lust pounded through him at her words.

“I must taste you first.” He kissed her throat, her chest, and headed to the softness of her quivering, magnificent breasts. Yes, he must taste those.

“Nay,” she whispered. “Take first, taste later.”

Heat seared straight to his loins at her words, but he forced himself to wait. “Kylah, it’ll be better for you if I—”

“I’m losing my nerve.” She opened her eyes then, they were liquid pools of vulnerability. “But I want you inside me. Please… do it now.”

For a brief moment Daroch was completely paralyzed between primal desire and fear. What should he do? She’d opened her eyes. She was looking at him with expectation and want. And in order for him to take her, she couldn’t be. She needed him now. But he hadn’t prepared her for him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her.

Kylah’s eyes widened, but she gave a slight nod.

Daroch lifted himself away from her, and nudged her to lie on her stomach. The sight stole his breath. Her hair curtained her face hiding her and, more important, himself. He settled atop her pressing his lips against the blades of her shoulders as his hot length came into contact with the soft skin of her thigh. The sensation ripped through him and he drew a sharp breath through his teeth.

She gasped and tensed beneath him, and he was careful not to burden her with his weight. Daroch held his breath as he eased her legs apart and positioned the throbbing length of him at the aperture of her thighs. He could feel the wet heat of her and every muscle in his body clenched.

“Kylah,” he gasped.

“Yes,” she demanded on her own tortured hiss.

Daroch let out a raw sound. He’d meant to go slowly. To ease inside and let her body adjust to him. But in a desperate moment he found himself buried to the root and pulsing with a white-hot pressure. She was so tight, almost unbearably so. Had he not known better, he’d have thought her a virgin. But she was also slick, her body welcoming him and bearing down against him all at once.

He whispered her name again, moaned it, dropping his forehead onto her back. It bloomed with sweat, his or hers, he couldn’t be sure. “Gods…
fuck
… are ye…Did I…?”

He felt her flesh tighten around him and he wheezed out another pained gasp, but he dared not move, no matter what his body screamed at him to do.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice was muffled by her hair, but the words were unmistakable.

She was right. There was no stopping now. His second thrust was slow and difficult. Her body tried to clamp down and Daroch felt a sheen of sweat break out over his brow as he slowly plowed to the hilt. The muscles of her thighs and bottom tensed and he could hear her soft hitches of breath. He griped her hip as he withdrew and thrust again. And again. Each time sweeter and more exquisite than the last.

Finally, her body relaxed and arched, a small mewl of need escaping into the cave. It was all he needed to hear.

Emboldened, Daroch reached his long arm around her hips, forcing them to bend only a little, but not bringing her to her knees. He needed enough room to delve his fingers into the soft curls of her sex and find the sweet flesh he’d been denied before.

The moment he touched it, a tight sound burst from her, then another, this one higher in pitch. The strokes of his fingers matched those of his body and with every thrust he drove her higher and higher until she arched her back and cried out her pleasure in desperate gasps. She bucked beneath Daroch’s surging body, the muscles of her sex clenching around him and milking him, and he valiantly tried to fight the release that screamed up the base of his shaft. He mustn’t… not yet.

He focused on his breathing. Her pleasure. On the wet, rhythmic sounds of their flesh coming together.

His careful control broke. His hand left her, and he gripped both of her hips as he came deep inside of her. The pleasure wasn’t confined to his cock, it pulsed through every vein, cycled through every breath, until he felt it in the pads of his fingertips where he clutched her soft flesh, and in the seams of his lips where he muffled his roar against her back. It was a consummation in its purest form, for no part of him was left unaffected as he spilled his release into her warm depths.

Daroch didn’t allow his body to collapse on top of her when the spasms passed. He held his weight on trembling arms. He allowed her room to move so she didn’t feel trapped beneath him. The only sound in the cave came from their labored breaths and Daroch couldn’t for the life of him think of what to do next.

A myriad of likely scenarios flooded his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to do aught but calculate the odds of this ending well in the least. All of the variables came out against his favor.

“Daroch?” Her voice was husky and it vibrated to where he still remained joined with her, sending little aftershocks through him.

He squeezed his own eyes shut, praying to the Gods she didn’t reject him before he’d even withdrawn from her body.

“Daroch, I can hear you thinking,” her voice grew stronger. “Stop it at once and kiss me.”

His heart clenched, though the rest of him relaxed in relief. That he
could
do. He leaned down and turned her chin and shoulder to meet his mouth with a tender kiss. A lover’s kiss. For his lover she now was. The first in a century. The first one he’d wanted in as many years, and the first woman, he realized, he didn’t want to let go of. Even though she was now a Fae creature.

And his enemy.

Chapter Fourteen

The moment Daroch withdrew from her body Kylah missed him. Now that she possessed a form, every tactile sensation she’d taken for granted in her life now felt like the kiss of the sun after a freezing rain. She reveled in it all. The slight rasp of the calluses on his palms. The abrasion of his evening beard on her tender skin. The smooth glide of his cock inside of her. It took on new and treasured perspective beyond what it would have in life.

She’d been unsure if she was ready to receive him into her body, despite the burning desire to do so. Now she was certain she didn’t want to let him go.

Daroch collapsed to his back between her and the fire pit and rolled Kylah to tuck into the crook of his arm and chest, splaying her naked body over his. She contemplated the tattoos on his chest and torso, her finger fluttering over the new one above his heart. The skin, still raised and a bit inflamed, seemed to be healing.

She traced the tri-point knotted design without touching it while soaking in the warmth of his hard, strong body. “Why did you put this here?”

Daroch’s muscles bunched and flexed as he lifted his head and shoulders to observe his torso. “The Triquetra has a myriad of meanings, for example—”

“I was raised a Highlander,” Kylah reminded him. “I know what it means to us, I’m asking what it means to
you
.”

Daroch was silent, but he pulled her in tighter against him. “It reminds me of the three of ye sisters. Of the power that exists in that number. And of the vengeance you’ll never truly taste.”

Any reply she could muster stuck in a throat thick with emotion. Kylah moved on to trace different runes with her finger, watching as her hand worked its way down the patterns of his torso. He let out a satiated moan that rumbled through him like a purr and she decided she would never tire of touching him. Everything about him, it seemed, was more interesting than any other person she’d been acquainted with. Even his skin.

He murmured her name, taking her exploring hand in his own. “Are ye… all right? Did I frighten ye?”

Kylah thought about it. “I was frightened, but not of you.” She kissed his chest, flicking her tongue across the nipple. “And then, I wasn’t afraid anymore, because I was flying.”

Daroch brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. “Flying, were ye?” She felt his lips curve into a smile. “Careful not to say such things too often, lass, I’ll become intolerably conceited.”

She nudged him and grinned. “
Become
?”

“Aye, there’s the spirit,” he chuckled.

Kylah watched as Daroch twined his fingers with hers, their tangled movements naught but black shadows back-lit by the glowing coals. Her heart expanded until it pressed painfully against her ribs and threatened her breath. Beneath all those cold calculations and inner volumes of burdensome cosmic knowledge was a tender man. Wounded and angry and lonely. She could still feel it inside of him. Though Daroch was sated and content for the moment, a dark purpose still burned in the soul encapsulated beneath all the hard sinew and complex runes.

Sobering, she asked, “What about you? Are you afraid?”

“I fear nothing,” he rumbled.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she accused, rising onto an elbow to look down into his face. Beneath the insolent tattoo was near-perfect symmetry. A beauty unmatched in any man real or imagined. Though arrogance lifted his brow. Sardonic brackets pulled his mouth thinner than it should be and his eyes constantly narrowed in a wary, aloof way that most would consider uninviting. The line of his strong jaw thrust forward in impudent estimation that would make the most self assured of men squirm.

But if he were to ever truly smile, his magnificence would rival that of the Gods.

“Quantify that statement,” he challenged. “What do ye suppose I fear? You?” His brow lifted.

“Aye. I know you fear me and not because I can kill you, either. But more than that, I think you fear my Queen.”

He jerked as though she’d slapped him.

“It’s why you tattooed your face, isn’t it? There is plenty of space left on your body for the marks. And why you covered yourself with silt and robes. You were hiding from her desire until you could take your vengeance for what she did to you.”

“I work with and study corrosive elements and live in a cave rife with salt water. I wear the silt as protection for my skin.” He’d retreated into the Alchemist side of his nature, all traces of the tender lover tightly covered by an almost defensive logic. “The tattoos are required of me to work the magic that protects my sanctuary from the Fae. The greater the sacrifice, the more powerful the spell.”

“Yes, but why—”

Daroch sat up abruptly, presenting her with his wide back. “Ye ask
why
like its yer right to know everything. Why canna ye just leave me be?”

Kylah flinched. “Is that what you want? For me to leave you?”

“Aye,” he said irritably, then glanced back at her reclined, naked body. “Nay.” He turned from her and plunged his hands through his shorter mane with a sound of aggravation. “I… I want…” He fell silent. His back expanding and contracting with labored breaths.

Kylah rose and put a hand on his back. The muscles quivered beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull away. “You know everything about… how I died, do you not? My torment was revealed to you.”

He didn’t answer her, but she sensed a change in his intense emotion. His head turned toward his shoulder.

“I know what they did to you, Daroch. Perhaps not all the details but Cliodnah told me
horrible
things, ordered me to kill you, and then made me what I am.”

Daroch met her eyes then. Without her slightly improved Fae sight, she wouldn’t have been able to make out the greens and golds shot with rust and brown as he intently contemplated every detail of her face.

“What are ye going to do?” he asked in an expressionless voice.

Kylah put his fingers against the roughness of his jaw and pulled his mouth close for a gentle kiss. “I’m going to help you get the justice you deserve.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because the Faerie Queen threatened my family,” Kylah said matter-of-factly. “And because I love you.”

Daroch leapt to his feet and Kylah again admired the speed and grace with which he moved. No mean feat for a man of his size and strength.

“Nay,” he insisted in a trembling voice. “Ye doona.”

Kylah also got to her feet, but she padded to the wood pile, affording him some much needed space. “I do,” she insisted gently as she fetched a few logs to set atop the glowing coals. “I have from the first night I set eyes on you in the Laird’s keep, though I only recently realized.”

His wild look was so absurdly out of character that Kylah had to stifle a pitying smile. Poor man, this would take him a while to digest.

“Ye doona know what ye’re saying, woman. Y-Ye’re not making any sense.” He stammered.

“Love isn’t supposed to make sense.” Lord but men were so dense at times.

His features darkened and he shook a very paternal finger at her, as though gearing up for a lecture. As he was completely nude, Kylah wanted to inform him that the effect was ruined, but decided against it. “Ye know how I feel about love,” he thundered. “Try and be logical.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” she admonished with a patronizing shake of her head. “Love isn’t logical. It cannot be measured, contained, or aptly described or recorded. It is simply powerful, undeniable,
pure
emotion. And is as necessary as any sustenance the body craves. Only it is also craved by the soul.”

“Nonsense,” he blustered, the color in his face draining as though he came to a frightening realization.

“Oh?” She continued building a fire in front of him. “Prove it.”

He started toward her, then apparently thought the better of it and his feet remained planted on the furs. “I’m not the one making a claim, the burden of proof lies with ye.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fair enough.” Kylah forced herself not to jump back as the kindling caught fire and licked at the larger dry wood she’d placed in the pit. Light flared between them and illuminated his glorious nakedness. For such an intelligent man, he was quite oblivious. It was one of the many things she loved about him.

Skirting the fire, Kylah went to him. He regarded her approach as one might a dangerous predator, but stood his ground. She cupped his jaw in her hands and felt it clench, working over the strong emotions vibrating from his very core. “I do love you, Daroch McLeod, and I
will
prove it.”