Taken by Moonlight (47 page)

“It’s fine,
Vivienne, to feel as you do. It’s quite normal, in fact, and likely that Conall
understands.”

Nodding,
Vivienne turned and pulled open the door.

“I’ll walk
with you,” Zahira announced.

“Thank you,
Zahira, for everything, but I really just want to be alone.”

The Elder
seemed torn, but Vivienne added, “It’s a ten minute walk, and there are still
people outside.”

That didn’t
seem to reassure Zahira any. In fact, worry lines edged into her usually smooth
forehead. Vivienne guessed Zahira, the older woman, was afraid someone would
attack her. Someone meaning Samia. Never one to condone violence, Vivienne
decided if Samia really wanted to mess with a pissed-off, half-depressed druid
on this night of all nights, she was welcome to it.

“I’ll call
you as soon as I’m inside.” She rushed out, stepping into the night air. “Good
night, Zahira.” She pulled the door closed behind her and drew in a deep
breath. The cold air seeped into her system, refreshing her. She stood on
Zahira’s porch for a few seconds, scanning the streets on both sides of her
before heading in the direction of Conall’s house.

The ten
minute walk turned into a twenty-five minute stroll.

She passed
a group of what looked like young teenagers standing before a house, passing
around a cigarette, and chattering happily. At another house was a group of
older kids, who looked more like college students, lounging on the porch
stairs. When she passed, the talking dimmed down, before advancing once more to
loud whispers in which she heard her name, Samia’s name, and the words “blood
rite.” She continued on, and was just about to turn the bend that would place
her onto the block with Conall’s mansion-like house, when she noticed a lone
man standing on the porch to the last house on Zahira’s block.

Despite the
dark, she could make out a face that could be considered handsome, with rakish
good looks. His hair was red, an auburn color that was brushed away from a
square face. A pair of vivid green eyes stared back at her, and full lips
curved upward in a smile. There was something familiar about him, but in her
current mood, she dismissed it.

As Vivienne
continued walking, she wondered if Conall was home. She stopped when the house
came into view, searching the front for any sign of his Escalade. He also had
two sleek, fast cars, a Benz convertible and an Audi that he usually kept for
flashy functions, and a bike Eli coveted. A little smile curved her lips as she
thought of that. While showing her the garage, Eli had been sure to ask her to
put in a good word with Conall for the bike.

Vivienne
was about to continue to the house when she felt as if she were being watched.
Trusting her instincts, she spun, going on the defensive immediately as her
power surfaced.

It was the
man, the one she’d glimpsed standing on the porch. He was coming toward her,
his gait confident, his stride long, but languid.

“Why are
you following me?” she demanded, looking over his shoulder to find that the
teenagers and college students were still out and about. He gave her an easy
smile. It didn’t make her any less apprehensive. Here was the first man,
outside of the men associated with Conall, to ever approach her during her
weeks at Cedar Creek. Just because he was smiling didn’t mean he didn’t have
ulterior motives.

“The better
question is what’s a pretty lady like you walking these streets all by your
lonesome?”

She heard
an accent she couldn’t place, and gave him a quick once-over. Black leather
clung to him like a second skin. His jacket, pants, boots, even his knuckle-bare
gloves were the result of some poor animal’s hide.

When she
didn’t answer, he chuckled, a deep easy sound, and said, “Name’s Rafael, but
friends call me Rafe.”

“Why are
you following me?” She might consider it rude on any other day, but he’d
approached her today, and rude just happened to be in her vocabulary at the
moment.

Rafael
stopped a few feet from her, inhaling deep. His smile fell, before it came
right back.

“You’re a
witch,” he murmured as if in awe of the fact. Vivienne made no move to reply.
She was a druid.

“Stop
following me,” Vivienne said firmly, before turning on her boot-covered feet
and walking briskly toward Conall’s house. She heard his pace pick up and
moments later he was next to her, matching her stride for stride, quite easily.

She stopped
a few houses away from Conall’s, gritted her teeth, and turned to glare at him.
He grinned.

“What are
you doing?”

“Escorting
a pretty lady home,” he replied, as if that was the most natural thing in the
world.

“I didn’t
ask for an escort, so leave me alone.”

The smile
widened, and she glimpsed slightly elongated canines.

“I wouldn’t
be able to get a lick of sleep knowing I let a lady walk by herself when I
coulda just walked her home.”

Shrugging
her shoulders, Vivienne continued on. Whatever. If he wanted to escort her
home, let him. She remembered Sloan giving her that warning, about staying at
least ten feet away from every unattached male, but Mr. Chivalrous over here
wasn’t taking a hint, and she wasn’t particularly in the caring mood tonight
anyway.

When she
arrived in front of Conall’s house, she barely spared him a glance as she
turned to walk across the lawn to the front door. She was halfway across when
he caught her, lifted her so she faced him, and set her back down. It happened
so fast, Vivienne had just barely had the instinctive urge to blast him, when
he lifted her hand, pressing the back of it to his firm lips. That startled her
enough that she forgot her original intentions, and could only stare at Rafael
in confusion as he released her hand and stepped away with a smile.

“Good
night, Vivienne.”

After
shooting him all sorts of glares, she walked across the distance to the front
door, and stepped inside. Moving over to the window, she noticed he continued
to stare at the house for long moments, until finally he turned away and headed
in the direction from which he’d come.

Strange,
she thought, removing her fleece and heading up the stairs to the bathroom. A
shower and phone-call-to-Zahira later, and she was curled under the thick duvet
of Conall’s bed, his pillow clutched firmly to her body as she pitched headlong
into a deep and relaxing sleep.

Vivienne
awoke to find the pillow missing and her body warmly cocooned against Conall’s
naked chest. She breathed deep, taking his scent into her, and smiled. The last
thing she remembered doing last night was cuddling with his pillow. He must
have come in sometime after. She was about to stretch when the events from the
previous day came rushing back to her. God, she’d been a bitch to him. Her mood
seemed to have lifted considerably with a full night of sleep. She wondered if
he was angry with her.

Shifting
slightly, she was about to detangle herself from his body when something hard
pushed into her belly. Lifting her gaze to his face, she watched for the
flicker of an eyelid, for his breathing to change. Any sign that he was awake.
He wasn’t.

Moving her
hand down his chest, she softly ran her fingers over what had to be his morning
erection. Vivienne bit back a little giggle at the thought. Morning wood. When
they were younger, and had just learned of the male anatomy, she and Cassie had
had a running joke about the weird body of boys and their morning ‘woods.’ And
every time someone said the word “wood”, they would giggle.

Vivienne
enclosed what she could of her hand around him. Conall made a sound at the back
of his throat and clutched her tighter against him, but he still he didn’t
wake. She ran her hand up and down the length of him, gasping in shock when she
tried to enclose the base of his cock. It was big, much bigger than the rest of
him.

Excitement
rushed through her as she pulled her hand back up, and slowly caressed him.
She’d taken it—all of it—inside her, on numerous occasions.

Releasing
him briefly, she detangled herself from the duvet and pushed it back, revealing
his naked body, perfectly sculptured and marble-hard, lying in wait for her
ministrations. Shifting on the bed, she pulled out of his arms and crawled down
his body. And what a beautiful body it was. It took everything in her not to
run her tongue across the inky black of the tattoo over his chest, to not
flatten her tongue over his nipple and lap until it formed a slight bud, but
that was for another day. Today, was for something different.

When she was
eye-level with his sex, in the early morning light, Vivienne smiled and placed
a quick kiss to the underside. Lifting her head, she watched his face. Still
sleeping. Calling upon all the gossip, magazines, and movies she’d ever been
privy to, she lifted his heavy length into her hand, and slowly licked the tip.
He shifted, hips pumping up, and she licked him again, this time taking a few
inches into her mouth.

An
involuntary moan escaped her lips. Was he supposed to taste this good? Like
dark spices.

A deep and
masculine groan disturbed the silence in which she worked, and Vivienne knew
he’d awoken. Keeping him in her mouth, she looked up to his face, only to find
he was blinking down at her, his expression a cross between sleepy and needy.
Using her other hand, she cupped his sac, which brought a low growl from his
lips. Her nipples tightened at the sound.

You like
that?
she teased
into his mind, cupping them again.

“Vivienne….”
It was a warning, a warning she wasn’t heeding. She wanted this. She wanted to
pleasure him in this way. Increasing the suction of her mouth, she took him in
as far as she could, lifting her head every so often to watch his face.

A loud
groan erupted from him and then his hand slipped into her hair. She moved her
mouth faster, releasing him only to place long licks along the sides of his
cock, only to suck him back into her mouth.

He came
shortly after, calling her name as his fingers tightened almost painfully on
her hair. She didn’t mind, and felt oddly sated at his orgasm.

Conall
pulled her up immediately, his lips claiming hers, keeping her distracted for
the next minutes. When he finally released them, she was breathing hard, and
had almost forgotten what it was she’d meant to say.

That was
my apology for yesterday
,
she managed. Her breath still hadn’t returned so she couldn’t speak aloud.

A low laugh
escaped his lips, and he continued laughing for a long while. From atop his
chest, Vivienne lifted her head and stared down at him, a smile forming on her
own lips. “What? Didn’t you like my apology?”

“No, I
loved your apology,
alainn
, but you have nothing to apologize for.” The
laughter stopped and he sobered. “After being mated, most females become a
bit—”

“Bitchy?”
Vivienne supplied.

He shook
his head. “Upset when—”

“Zahira
explained it to me.” She chuckled when Conall let out what could only be called
a sigh of relief. Lifting her head, she caught sight of the time. It was after
nine.

“Aren’t you
going to work?”

“No,” he
replied, and when she lifted a brow at him, added, “A perk of being your own
boss.”

“Unfair,”
she teased lightly, and then asked, “What are you doing today?”

“Spending
the day with you.”

Warmth ran
through her body until she was sure that if she smiled any wider, her face
might break.

“Oh yeah?
Doing what?”

“Whatever
you want,
alainn
.”

“Hm, I
should wake you up to an apology more.” She pressed her cheek against his
chest, and sighed.

“Yes.” His
hands slid against the bare skin of her back. “I really like your apologies,
alainn
.”

Drew stared
into the bathroom mirror, taking in her reflection for what had to be the sixth
time since she’d arrived at her new studio apartment. She’d removed her braids,
and now sported her own hair for what had to be the first time in at least four
years. It had grown long, flowing to the middle of her back. The hairdresser
had layered it, and given her bangs, something she’d always wanted but refused
to get. The thought of brushing hair out of her face constantly had irritated
her. Now, all she wanted was change. Turning down the toilet lid, she sat,
leaned her head against the wall, and sighed.

She was
waiting for the people from IKEA and Target to deliver her furniture. A week
ago, she’d signed a six-month lease for a studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. After spending two weeks and some days with her aunt, she’d had to leave. Her
aunt wasn’t the type of woman who did anything without compensation. While she
lived there, she was expected to contribute to the rent, which was fine, except
the woman had tried to scam her into paying what she would pay for a
one-bedroom to sleep on the rundown couch in her living room.