Styx's Storm (26 page)

She took his tongue into her mouth as she took his fingers into her pussy. Eagerly. The penetration between her thighs stroked deeper, working fully inside her with shallow thrusts as he stretched muscles that seemed too tight to accommodate him. She had never felt so feminine, so aroused. Even with Styx, who had stoked her arousal higher than any other man in her life.

She wanted more.

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, managing to release enough that she could part the material and reach the broad expanse of his hairless chest.

She loved the tough, smooth expanse of flesh. Beneath her palms she could feel the tiny hairs, so light they were mostly invisible as she stroked his chest.

"Don't stop," she moaned weakly as he pulled back, breaking the kiss as his fingers slid free of her pussy.

"Never," he growled. God she loved that rough, animal sound that deepened as he grew hungrier.

His lips moved down her neck, then to her upthrust breasts. As his lips covered a tight, hard nipple, his thumb stroked over the swollen bud of her clit. He caressed the little bundle of nerves, stroking around it, flickering against it as his tongue flicked over her nipple, his teeth raking against it.

This was wild. Incredible.

Storme swore she could feel hidden flames burning deep in her vagina. Flames that demanded, that burned in agony for the hard thrust of his cock.

She didn't want foreplay.

She wanted Styx. She wanted him inside her, stretching her, burning her. She wanted to feel the iron-hard heat of the wide crest parting her, forging within her.

"Fuck, lass," he seemed to snarl, the brogue and the growl both heavy in his voice now. "We'll burn down the night afore it's done."

Back arching, she moved closer.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, Storme fought to align her hips with his, to thrust against him, to experience the burning impalement before she went crazy for it.

"Styx, I don't know what you do to me," she moaned, her hand smoothing down his tight, hard stomach to the thick shaft beyond.

Her fingers didn't have a hope of wrapping around it. The shaft was too wide, too heavily veined and throbbing with power.

Stroking her fingers to the damp tip, Storme fought to pull enough of her senses together to keep from melting in a mass of pure sensation before he ever got around to fucking her.

"I know what ye do to me." Pulling back, he lifted her to his chest and strode to the living room. "Ye make me crazy for ye, Sugar. Ye make me forget everything but the pleasure ye bring me. Come, little Storme, give me this pleasure I need. I need it until I feel I'm burnin' inside for ye."

He moved to the couch, set her on her feet, turned her, then pressed her down until her knees hit the cushions. With his hand at the back of her shoulders, he pressed her over.

Storme trembled. She rested her folded arms against the arm of the couch before staring back at him nervously.

At any other time she would have protested. She would have never allowed him to take her like this, to come behind her undefended back.

"So fuckin' pretty." His hand smoothed down her spine, then to the curve of her buttocks.

The feel of his calloused fingertips stroking with demanding warmth sent her juices flowing from her pussy. The inner muscles pulsed and throbbed as she pressed back, so eager, so desperate to feel him thrusting inside her she could barely stand it.

"Do it already," she demanded, her voice hoarse as his fingers slid between her thighs to test the slick wetness once again. "God, Styx, what have you done to me?"

"Loved ye well, lass. Ah hell, I'll always love ye well."

Did he realize what he had said? Storme felt her chest tighten, her heart aching as the swollen head of his cock pressed between the swollen folds of her sex.

"Love me well." She couldn't believe she was demanding it. That she knew in her heart and soul that she was demanding more than the sex, more than the physical love he was always so ready to give her. "Oh God, Styx, I don't know if I can bear it."

He pressed inside, parting her, stretching her. She felt so tight, too snug for the width of the shaft easing inside her.

"Sweet Storme." He hovered over her, one hand gripping her hip, the other hand pressing to the arm of the couch as he began working his cock slowly inside the clenched depths of her pussy.

Each shallow thrust worked him farther inside the burning depths of her pussy, as she felt the pleasure-pain of the muscles parting, stretching, accommodating the heated shaft as the bulging crest pulsed and throbbed inside her.

She could feel it. The flex of each pulse of blood thundering in his cock seemed to echo inside her overstretched flesh.

Her head tossed, her nails clawed at the upholstery of the couch arm as she pressed back, fighting to take more, to force him to take possession of her before she went insane for it.

"Ah lass, how sweet and hot ye are," he groaned, his lips at her ear as she whimpered in rising pleasure. "Feel how tight ye are, lass. How ye grip my dick, sucking it inside your sweet little pussy."

The clenching, uncontrollable tremors that shook her body seemed centered there in the muscles surrounding no more than a few inches of the thick flesh.

"Fuck me, Styx," she moaned in rising heat. "Oh God, please fuck me."

His hips jerked, and buried in deeper, his cock throbbed as though he were only seconds from ejaculation.

"Storme, love," he groaned harshly, his hips pulling back, the next thrust harder, inches deeper. "Ye surround my dick the way I want ye to take my heart," he whispered at her ear. "Take me, Storme. Trust me, love."

Her eyes closed tight as she fought back the tears that wanted to flood them. Dropping her head against the arm of the couch, she couldn't hold back the whimper, the desperate little cry that escaped her throat.

"Don't," she whispered, unable to remain silent. "Please, Styx. Please don't."

Don't ask for what she couldn't give. Don't make her choose. Don't make her betray herself before she could even figure out if that betrayal was for the best.

"Hell yes I will." His voice deepened as he pressed deeper, stronger inside her. He was taking her as though each thrust inside her, each burning impalement would somehow tie her closer to him.

And it did. She could feel it, though she couldn't understand it. Something had been tying them together from the start and she hadn't wanted to admit it.

Denying it was the only way to survive, the only way to hold on to her soul until she could navigate her way through the morass of emotions she could feel tearing her apart.

"I'll demand it." His teeth nipped at her ear as she thrust back to him, forcing him deeper as a white-hot shaft of pure sensation blazed inside her vagina.

Pleasure or pain. She didn't know which, she didn't care, as long as he didn't stop. As long as she didn't have to face anything but the pleasure, the pure sensation racing through her.

"You're mine!" The next thrust buried him to the hilt.

Storme screamed in agonizing pleasure.

Throwing her head back, she felt his teeth at her neck and didn't even give a damn. They scraped her flesh, sent shivers tearing down her spine, tremors racing through her pussy.

Inside her, his cock throbbed hard and heated for just a second before he began moving. Before he tore her mind from her body with a pleasure she couldn't fight, a pleasure that whipped through her like a living flame and pierced her feminine soul. Tore past her shields.

His hands moved over hers, his fingers lacing with hers as she gripped the couch arm. As his fingers curled beneath hers, she clenched on them, as her pussy tightened around his cock.

She couldn't control it. She couldn't fight it.

"Mine, Storme!" he snarled at her ear.

Her womb convulsed as a spear of burning sensation raced through the sensitive tissue and snug muscles.

She had never belonged to anyone. She had never accepted that responsibility. She had never allowed herself to believe it was something she could ever have.

Until now.

Until Styx.

Groaning, pressing his chest against her back, he buried deep inside her, thrusting, fucking her with hard, measured strokes as she felt the blazing need rushing higher and burning hotter.

So close. She could feel her orgasm tightening in her clit, in her womb.

"Tell me, Storme!" he demanded as he burned her, thrusting inside her with a strength and power that pulled a whimpering cry from her lips.

Shaking her head, she fought the demand. "No." The cry was weak, as weak as any resistance she could have put between them to begin with.

"Then let me tell you," he snarled as he nipped at her shoulder. "Mine, lass. My woman." Deep, hot, he thrust inside her again, a long, hard thrust that burned across ultrasensitive nerve endings and pulled a harsh cry from her lips. "I'll no' let you go. I'll no' let another tear you from me." His voice strengthened. "Damn you, I'll not let you tear yourself from me!"

She exploded.

A scream built in her throat as he fucked her harder, faster, sending her hurtling through a release that tore her from any hold reality might have had on her and threw her into a brilliant, sensation-searing orgasm she knew would bind her to him whether she wanted it or not.

She was only vaguely aware of his release spurting inside her. Burning jets of semen filled her as he bit her shoulder, his teeth holding her in place, a pure, primal growl echoing around her as the pleasure sent her imploding into herself and burning through the last of the barriers she had built to protect her soul.

CHAPTER 16

Storme left the cabin, forcing herself to keep her head high, her gaze searching the shadows that lengthened at the edge of the fluttering lights hanging from the trees.

The courtyard was huge. Nearly twenty cabins plus the community center surrounded it, with the long tables filled with food, while others were surrounded by chairs.

Heart racing, she moved across the courtyard with Styx, hiding her shaking hands and staring boldly at the curious gazes that focused on her.

"Several of the Breeds have hearing so acute they can actually hear the racing of your heart," Styx murmured in amusement. "They can smell the suspicion, but I'm certain they'll be pleased to know that before the suspicion was the fear."

"I'm terrified," she muttered back, and her lips almost twitched.

She was nervous, wary. These were Wolf Breeds, and mixed with them was a healthy number of Coyote Breeds. It was impossible to tell them apart, but it was the Coyotes that made her suspicious.

Changing a lifetime of beliefs and fears wasn't easy. She had avoided these little community get-togethers for the past weeks for a reason. She'd refused to socialize with the enemy, except Styx.

From that first night, the image of him ever being anything but her lover had refused to come to mind.

"It's different tonight," she stated as they began to move into the heavily populated area. "There are more Breeds here tonight."

"Tonight's a special night," he told her, the deep edge of the brogue stroking her senses. There was a tone of affection, of easy amusement, in his voice as his fingers brushed against the small of her back while leading her toward a table where Cassie Sinclair and her parents sat.

Dash Sinclair was just as handsome today as he had been nearly a decade before when he and his wife, Elizabeth, had first come to the notice of the world. Sinclair, a former Special Forces soldier, had been suspected and questioned in the murder of a leading crime figure who had threatened Cassie when she was a child.

Sinclair had been, and still was, a formidable figure. Storme had no doubt in her mind that he could kill, and kill easily, where the protection of his child was concerned.

And amazingly, just like Wolfe and Hope, Jacob and Faith, Aiden and Charity, and the other married couples within the Breed community, he and Elizabeth didn't appear to have aged in the least.

There were rumors that somehow the Breeds had stopped aging beyond a certain point, and that they had infected their wives and husbands with some unknown virus that caused the phenomenon.

Gossip magazines ran such stories on a nearly weekly basis.

"You're thinking too hard, lass," Styx commented as they moved to the head table. "Come, Storme, be a part of my world for one night. I promise, you won't regret it."

And that was what worried her.

Moving to the head table, Styx drew a chair out for her, helped her sit, then took his own seat.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Cassie stood to her feet, her voice amplified by the small mic that hooked over her ear.

The murmur of laughter and conversation stilled.

Cassie stood tall between her seated parents and gazed on the tables filled with Breeds and, as Storme had noticed, a number of humans and Feline Breeds as well. The Feline alpha and his felina were there, as well the Coyote alpha and his coya. If the pure blood societies had known about this little party, they would have been unable to resist the opportunity to strike.

"Tonight," she continued, "we celebrate my parents' tenth anniversary." A cheer went out. "Dash and Elizabeth Sinclair." She picked up the wineglass beside her plate as everyone followed suit.

Storme picked up her glass hesitantly, her gaze flicking to Styx as he picked up his as well.

Cassie stood to her father's side then, turned and faced her parents. "Your support and your love saved me." Her voice thickened as her parents held hands and Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears. "Your dedication and your loyalty to your friends, your family and the world we strive to be a part of is an example to everyone. May your love, your warmth and compassion continue to shine the way for us all."

A tear eased down Cassie's cheek as she lifted the wine to her lips and completed the toast.

Storme found herself toasting the couple as well, sipping and feeling her chest tighten at the emotion that reflected in the parents' expressions, in the child's and in the faces of those who occupied what appeared to be the celebratory couple's table.

Cheers went out, interspersed with howls and Feline roars.

Storme watched as the alphas and their wives came to the couple, congratulated them and laid in their hands on what appeared to be a sterling silver, or perhaps a white gold, charm or coin of some kind.

The males shook hands, the wives hugged warmly, but Storme noticed that the male alphas didn't touch Elizabeth Sinclair in any way. And Dash, in thanking the alphas' wives, touched nothing but their hair. A tender, light stroke of the backs of his fingers against the right side of their heads. The male alphas did the same with Elizabeth. At no time did a Breed male touch a mated-female's flesh.

And though it appeared odd, there also seemed to be an immeasurable sense of respect and affection in the slight caress.

Dash turned to the crowd. "We have our trials," he stated, his tone rough, a hard rumble of sound softened with camaraderie and a vein of warmth that matched the gleam of purpose and determination in his gaze. "We also have our joys." He glanced to his wife and then to his daughter. "Tonight, the celebration isn't just for Elizabeth and me. It's for all of us." He lifted his glass then and toasted the others, and the cheers that went up were almost deafening.

It was more than a celebration. It was an affirmation.

As Storme stared around the table at the others, she caught Hope Gunnar's gaze and felt that first raw shaft of guilt since the night she had sworn the Breeds would pay for what had happened to her father and brother.

They were to blame, she had believed. The Coyotes, the escaping Breeds who hadn't thought to protect her father and brother when they had gone so far to help them achieve the freedom they had gained that night.

She had blamed the scientists, she had blamed the soldiers and the Council. And until Styx, she had refused to see the humanity that was such an integral part of the Breeds.

Now, watching as they ate, laughed and celebrated this anniversary with such a sense of thanksgiving, she had no choice but to face the rage and the pain that had driven her to blame an entire species for what one Breed had done.

And she didn't like seeing that part of herself. She didn't like seeing that it had been more than just loyalty to her father, or her determination to do as he would have wanted her to do.

He would have wanted her to give the Breeds that information. The very fact that he had hidden it from his fellow scientists assured her of that, and she had known it all along.

Lowering her gaze, she focused on the antique ring. She had worn it for ten years, refusing to take it off. All that time she had told herself she couldn't reveal it, couldn't allow herself to be caught, couldn't trust anyone, because her father hadn't told her who to trust.

But he had.

As plates were emptied and the music began to fill the clearing, Storme stood as Styx did and watched as Wolfe and Hope approached them.

Hope hadn't come to the cabin since that first night. She hadn't extended her friendship again, and she hadn't made an effort to give Storme the opportunity to apologize.

Standing silently, aware of the gazes that settled on them, and stayed, Storme met Hope's gaze as she and Wolfe came to a stop in front of Styx.

"Once again, Styx, the pork was perfection." Wolfe Gunnar inclined his head in thanks as a smile tugged at his lips. "Keep it up and we'll see about making you head chef."

Styx laughed. "Over my dead body, Alpha. I wouldn't take that job on a bet."

Wolfe laughed as he turned to Storme. "Styx insists on personally roasting the pig that sits on the anniversary table, Ms. Montague. He considers it his gift to the couple."

"It was perfect," Storme agreed. "I have to admit, the food he's prepared while I've been with him has been excellent," she admitted as she glanced at Hope once again. "Hello, Hope."

The lupina of the Wolf packs watched her closely.

"Hello, Storme, I trust Styx has kept you comfortable while you've been in Haven?" She was proud, but she always had been. Compassion and mercy had always tempered it, but Storme realized she had made a grave mistake when she had insulted the man Hope was in love with.

And it was love. She hadn't been forced, she wasn't there out of guilt. She was there because Wolfe Gunnar was her other half, the vision of love Storme had overheard her discussing with James so very long ago.

"My father once told me I spent too much time focusing on what wasn't important," Storme admitted to the other woman. "He said one of these days I would end up tripping and pushing my foot into my mouth at a time when I would regret it. It's unfortunate he was right."

Surprise flickered in Hope's blue eyes. "The good thing about stumbling is that you can stand back up and continue more carefully," she expressed coolly.

"Only if you don't manage to break anything," Storme stated regretfully. "I apologize for the insult to your husband and to the alpha, Hope. There's no excuse for it, and if I could retract my behavior, then I would do so."

She wouldn't grovel, but the Hope she remembered would have never expected her to.

"Nothing was broken, Storme," Hope assured her, the cool gleam in her gaze warming marginally, enough to give Storme hope.

She nodded before turning to Wolfe once again. "If you and Director Wyatt could meet with me tonight, Alpha Gunnar, I believe we have some business to discuss."

Styx stiffened at her side. For a moment, she swore she could feel his tension wrapping around her. His hand moved from the small of her back to her hip, his fingers curling over it firmly.

"I'll be there as well," Styx stated, his voice firm.

Wolfe nodded, his gaze still on Storme. "I look forward to the meeting. Let's enjoy the party for now, and enjoy all our freedoms." He glanced to Styx before his arm lifted, his hand clapping on Styx's shoulder. "As Hope said, once again, you've outdone yourself."

"Of course I did," Styx answered with a grin. "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing with excellence."

Storme turned to him, as always amazed at the easy, smooth charm and easy conceit he seemed to possess.

A subtle wink in her direction nearly had her shaking her head in exasperation.

"I guess I've lost my dance now." Cassie chose that moment to step forward.

Storme felt like a dowdy peon in the presence of a princess. The other girl's waist-length black curls and vivid blue eyes were amazing enough, but she managed to make even jeans and boots paired with a sleeveless camisole look like royal threads.

There was laughter in her gaze though, a smile on her lips, and Storme could see that the certain affection she felt for Styx went no further than a familial bond. There was no jealousy in Cassie's eyes, and no anger in her tone despite the fact that she propped her hands on her hips and gave Styx a mock glare.

"You have a lot of dance partners here, Cassie," Styx assured her with an easy laugh as his hand settled at Storme's hip once again. "If nothing else, you can torture Navarro."

Storme saw the look that crossed Cassie's face and filled her gaze. A mysterious, knowing look filled with concern.

"Navarro isn't available anymore," she said regretfully.

The tightness in Storme's chest increased. It wasn't what she said, or even the way she said it. It was that look in her eyes, the concern and the regret.

Something that even Styx and the others seemed to sense.

"What's happening, Cass?" It was her father that asked the question.

Cassie turned back to her father, breathed out roughly and shook her head. "I don't know, Dad. All I know is something is going to happen, and we all need to be ready for it."

"How long have you felt it?" Wolfe questioned her.

"The moment Navarro was introduced to my friend Micca this evening."

"The rumors are true," Storme injected softly. "You're psychic."

"Actually, no, I'm not." Cassie grimaced. "It's more complicated and not nearly so sane as being psychic." Her head tilted then, a light frown edging her forehead as she blinked slowly.

Her face seemed to pale before she shook that off and inhaled slowly, evenly.

As her lips parted to speak, another voice, a voice from the past, from a nightmare, spoke behind them.

"Dash, Elizabeth, congratulations."

Storme turned slowly.

She didn't know what Styx sensed, didn't understand the sudden, warning growl that came from his chest or the way his hand settled on the weapon he wore at his thigh, the one she hadn't noticed him strapping on before they left.

But she knew the voice, and she knew the Breed.

Almost in slow motion she turned and faced the nightmare she had been running from for so long. A nightmare she had always known, she realized, that she would come face-to-face with sooner or later.

The Breed wasn't expecting her any more than she was expecting him. She watched the shock that flickered in his cold brown eyes. Those eyes were carefully blank, as though he knew to hide the malicious, bloodthirsty nature that had once glowed almost red in them.

Curved canines that looked a bit dark. They weren't nice and pristine white as most Breeds' were. Storme imagined that the taste he had for blood had stained them, just as it had stained his soul.

As she stared back at him in shock and horror, his lips curled back, flashing the canines predominantly in a vicious snarl.

Storme shook her head, trying to deny that she was seeing who she was seeing, what she was seeing. He couldn't be here. Styx would have never allowed her brother and father's murderer to be here.