Desire Unchained

“Still—”

“Don’t,” he barked. “Eat your food and get some rest. We’re heading to the hospital in a couple of hours.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy. Will we be coming back here?”

“We’ll have to.” He measured her response as he leaned in, some sick perversion wanting to get a rise out of her as he said, “We need to chain ourselves up.”

And wouldn’t that be interesting. They’d either tear each other apart or screw each other to death.

“Together?” The French fry in her hand began to tremble. “So we can touch?”

Touch, taste … Shade’s body hardened as his mind filled with images of what it would be like to spend a night with both of them in beast form and nothing but pure animal instinct to guide them. Even now, his instinct was to put her flat on her back and drill her into the mattress.

“I felt your desire from New York,” he gritted out. “I promise we won’t spend another night apart as long as we both live. Last night I was heavily sedated, but tonight I won’t be, and nothing will keep me from you.” He rolled over so he wouldn’t have to look at her and be tempted to take her again. “Finish eating and get some sleep. You’ll need your strength.”

Gem had just showered, stepped into a fresh pair of scrub pants, and fastened her bra when the unisex locker room door opened.

“Ah, sorry …”

“Kynan.” She’d been trying to get him alone all day, but the man was a master of evasion, so she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. “Hey. Look, we need to talk about the other day …”

He held up his hands and made a point of not looking at her boobs. He looked everywhere but there. “It’s fine. We’re cool.”

He turned away, but she grabbed his wrist. “No. Wait. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” His already low voice dropped even lower, scraping gravel. “Let go. I don’t like to be touched.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said softly. “Tay told me how you and Lori couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

Kynan went taut, but the pulse in his wrist bounded against her fingers. “Don’t go there.”

“I can see your scars, Ky. It’s what I am. I can exploit them, reopen them, make them worse.” She bit her lip, wondering if she’d just done more damage. “Or I can help you heal them.”

“There’s nothing here to heal, doctor.”

“What happened to the Kynan I used to know? The one who laughed, the one who was gentle and caring and laid-back?”

He laughed then, but it was a bitter, cold sound. “He’s dead, Gem. He died right alongside Lori.”

His wife, whom he’d discovered in the arms of two different males in one night—one a trusted Guardian, and the other a demon with no moral compass.

Wraith. Who denied sleeping with Lori, but who had fed from her right in front of Kynan and who might have done far more had Eidolon not interrupted.

“He’s not dead. He’s just hiding—”

Suddenly, she found herself pinned against the lockers, one of the handles biting into her spine and Kynan’s big hands on her shoulders. “He’s gone,” he growled. “Does this feel like someone who is gentle and caring?” He shoved a little harder for emphasis and then released her. “You’re wasting your time with me, Gem. Find someone else to nurse back to health.”

He stalked away, leaving her, heart pounding and chest heaving, in the middle of the locker room.

Chapter 9

The bed was comfortable, more so than Runa would have expected in a cave full of BDSM equipment. But Shade surprised her at every turn, and she wondered if she would ever truly know him. Then again, it appeared that they had a lifetime to get to know each other—not only as lovers, but as werewolves.

God, she hadn’t seen that coming.

She remembered how pissed she’d been when she learned about her own infection, how she’d been terrified, lost, and alone, even though Arik had been there to help her through it. She hadn’t understood the physical and behavioral changes that had taken place almost immediately. She’d been afraid for her future, for the innocent people she might hurt, and she’d been angry at how her life had been yanked out from under her so she no longer had any control over anything.

Shade had an advantage over her in that he’d been born in this strange world, was already familiar with werewolves. But, she thought, as she absently trailed a finger around a leather cuff dangling from the bedpost, this was a male used to being in control, both in and out of the bedroom. Having to give that up three nights a month couldn’t be sitting well with him.

Yawning, she glanced at the bedside clock. She and Shade and had been sleeping for six hours. Careful to not wake him, she rolled over. He was facing her, his expression one of peace. The strange ring around his neck flexed as he breathed, the design’s dark color the same as that of the dermoire running the length of his right arm.

She brushed his glossy hair away from his neck, where his personal symbol, the unseeing eye, seemed to, well, see her. With each breath, each swallow, it undulated, followed her no matter which way she moved.

Unsettled, she trailed her finger down his arm, followed the hills and valleys of his ropey muscles until she reached his hand. The dermoire went all the way to his long fingers, the ones that had stroked her, penetrated her, brought her to decadent orgasms more times than she could count.

Heat began to simmer in her veins at the thought. Geez, she was a hormonal mess. The werewolf thing had ramped up her libido, and the full moon made it worse … but being near Shade was like throwing gas on a fire.

A few minutes under cool water sounded good right about now.

She rolled to the side of the bed, kicked her feet over the edge—and in an instant found herself tugged back onto the mattress and tucked beneath Shade.

“Not so fast.” His voice was sleepy and wonderfully rough, and his half-opened, slumberous eyes burned gold. His erection lay heavily in the juncture of her sex.

“I was just going to take a shower. Would you like to join me?”

“After.” He nuzzled her throat, nipped the sensitive skin there. “After I’m finished with you.”

“Did you feel my, ah, arousal?”

His fingers delved between her legs to test her slick need. “Yep, I can feel it.”

“You know what I mean.”

He laved the area he’d bitten with his tongue. “It woke me up. Why?”

“Because,” she moaned, tilting her head to the side to give him better access, “earlier you said you felt my desire from New York. I was just wondering if you will always feel it.”

He lifted his head to look at her. No longer sleepy, his eyes burned with intensity. “We’re bonded. I’m aware of everything you feel.” He arched and slid inside her. “When you want sex, I’m compelled to give it to you.”

“Even if we’re in different states? Different countries?”

“Yes, but that won’t happen again.” He pinned her wrists above her head and began a slow, steady rhythm. “No mate of mine—” He broke off with a curse.

“You don’t like that word, do you?” Just once, she wanted to be able to run her hands over his shoulders as they bunched with each of his powerful strokes, to dig her fingers into his back as she came, but his grip on her wrists tightened.

“What word?”

“Mate.”

He shook his head, his thick hair falling around his face. “I don’t like any of this.”

She arched her back to take him deeper. “Not even this?”

An emotion she couldn’t name darkened his expression. “You’re aroused. The bond compels me to service you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He thrust faster, his movements almost mechanical. “Let’s get it over with.”

“If you think you’re doing me a favor by screwing me,” she snapped, “you can stop right now and go screw yourself.”

He stopped, but he didn’t withdraw from her body. “You would never have said that to me a year ago.” His voice was a low, rough rumble. “No female I’ve ever brought to my bed would dare speak like that to me.”

Glaring at him, she struggled to free her hands. “Probably because they’re hanging in chains from your ceiling.”

“Good point.” He glanced at the implements of torture and pleasure hanging from his walls as though selecting one for her. The thought made her shiver, but whether with fear or excitement, she wasn’t sure.

“I suppose you want to do that to me?”

He laughed, as if what she’d said was completely out of the realm of possibility. Which offended the hell out of her, because why would he enjoy other females like that but not her? And why in the world would she be upset about that?

“I like your spirit, little wolf. But it could use … discipline.”

“My dad said the same thing.” She winced, regretting both the words and the memories that rushed in through the opening she’d made for them.

The little brat needs discipline. Her father’d say it right before he came at her with a belt or a wooden spoon or whatever he had handy. She’d been so spirited as a child, defying her parents at every opportunity, enraging her alcoholic father to the point of violence.

So how could she possibly view Shade’s assortment of whips and other, unidentifiable objects as anything other than instruments intended to cause pain? What kind of messed-up sicko was she?

Shade stroked a thumb over her cheek. “Runa? Hey, you okay?” He finally released her wrists and shifted his weight as he prepared to climb off her. “We’ll do this later.”

“No.” She tightened her legs around his waist. “I think … I think you would be doing me a favor if you just keep … you know.” Now that her anger had faded, she couldn’t be as crude as she wanted to be.

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