Ronan: Night Wolves by Lisa Daniels (92)

Chapter Two

The secret lay on Loras's lips.  He knew the true plan of why they had come to the Crescent Island, though he needed to dredge it out of Erlandur and Helena.  Those two ran the show.  Even after their trip back to the Spine, thanks to the cursed magic of Echo, and the long expedition with their army, before splitting it out so the Shadows would not notice the amassing of forces disappearing just outside their city, Helena insisted on making it to the Crescent Island.

She insisted on taking the Shadow witches – one who could control Shadows, and one who got ignored by them.

Loras wasn't stupid.  He knew they were up to something.  Had to be, if you planned to take a slight detour and leave your army to potentially be picked apart if it got discovered, or to have the Crescent Island expedition slaughtered before they made it halfway across the ice.

We may be committing the greatest plan of our careers, or the greatest travesty the world has ever known.

He shivered.  None of the Islanders seemed to suspect, even with their lofty ability to read stars.  The elders kept going on about it, with the signs in the stars, the messages scrawled across the skies.

Loras highly doubted the Moon God would paste her plans across the sky for anyone to read.  Her plans went in the individuals she watched over.

To think he actually agreed to such a heinous notion.  Seeing the number of Shadows, though, sobered up his automatic distaste.  Comprehending that even with their strongest forces, with the biggest army the north had raised in centuries, they were still outnumbered five to one.

If only the Islanders knew.  He considered Kell, the dark-haired woman with those peculiar amber eyes, those long eyelashes, and the salacious curve of her hips, even under those robes.  She had a way of staring into a soul with just a glance, a lovely twist to her lips that did strange things to his heart, and stirred the lust in his groin.

He suspected once the Plan had been enacted, he'd lose his window of opportunity with Kell.

It saddened him, in a way.  It might have been nice to have the Island as a destination point, to visit his lover upon the side.

Lover.  He waited now, in his quarters, to see if the Island witch would appear.  Tiredness tugged at his mind.

Eventually, he needed to conclude she might not be coming.  He watched Echo and Faith talking, and Yarrow staring into nothing, likely dealing with the invasive voice in her head, before leaping to his feet as a knock sounded upon the door.

Grinning in triumph, Loras vaulted to the door, before composing himself.  He opened it, and saw Kell there, eyes wide and nervous, instead of dignified and transcendent like earlier.

“Come in,” he growled, and her lips quirked upwards, before she walked past him, fingers brushing his chest.

Arousal flared in his groin, igniting his brain and making his blood boil.  She smelled intoxicating.  Her nervousness added to the flavor.  Loras slammed the door and locked it, before grabbing her from behind, burying his mouth into her neck.  When he peeled off her fur coat, he admired the skin that revealed itself beneath, and the tightly fitting garment that showed premeditation for the act about to occur.  His erection twitched higher, thicker, pressing into her pants.  She melted into him, tilting her head back.  Her skin was so soft.  So delicious.  He buried his head into her neck, nibbling at the tender flesh, inhaling the distinctive musky scent of her, determined to make her his in every way.

When he heard her gasp, he smiled.  He wanted to hear more of those, to make her melt in his arms, to die of pleasure when he had his way.  He needed to lose himself for just one night, to take a break from the atrocity they planned to commit, and the friends he'd likely lose when they began their assault on the Fractured City.

With a growl, he flung Kell onto the bed, and her long hair splayed out behind her like flowing water.  Her eyes hazed over in lust, and she reached for him, wanting him close to her body.  His muscles rippled, and his strong arms landed on either side of her as he observed her need, smelled her arousal, and teased her by rubbing his erection against her pants.  He forced her out of the rest of her clothing, jolts sizzling through him every time she gasped and moaned in that sultry, low voice of hers.  He saw faint disappointment in her eyes when he stripped her naked but kept his clothes on, so he pulled everything off, before crushing their chests together, allowing their skins to glide into one another, to feel the tactile stirring of the hairs on their bodies and the tickle of their fingers.

Beautiful, he thought, kissing at her ear, nose half buried into her dark hair, enjoying the sensation of her heaving chest against his.  The breasts provided a wonderful cushion, too, soft and pliable as he rocked back and forth over her, still teasing with his erection, before finally shifting himself low enough to move inside her wet core.

He gasped as she spread her legs wider and clung to him, moaning, revelling in the tight, glorious feel of her, the glide of her body, the way her eyes rolled completely back, and her spine arched, bringing her closer to him, adjusting the angle so he reached where he suspected her g-spot to be.

His heart exploded with excitement, pulsing the blood fast through his body, making his limbs tremble slightly as he thrusted, groaning into her neck, sometimes kissing her upon the lips, drowning in the taste, sight, sounds and smell of her, losing himself to the sacred contact of their bodies.

He wanted more.  He wanted her, to keep her, to do nothing else but devour her heart, mind and soul until the world ended.  Instead, he held onto the impulse, slowing down as he felt his orgasm accumulate, to stroke her on the bundle of nerves that he knew caused all women indescribable pleasure.

She cried out and shivered under his touch, trying to escape, but he locked her in place, stroking her there, where it was wet and slick and sensitive.  His fingers sometimes missed, but he knew he hit the right spot when she twitched, and her thighs tensed on either side of him.  He stroked her until he felt the release of her orgasm.  She convulsed around his erection, and he gave a few sharp thrusts before he came as well, groaning into her ear.  She gasped, face flushed and eyes glazed in ecstasy, and he held onto her tight.

The moment passed, and their excitement waned, converting instead into a soft afterglow.  He stroked her hair, and hoped in his heart that he could get to know her better.  That she'd forgive him when the time came.

Forgive me.  I do what I must, but I would never intend to hurt you.

Neither did he intend to go against everything he believed in.  Kell closed her eyes, settling in comfortably beside him, not bothering with small talk.  He supposed she sensed somewhere it was not needed.

She fell asleep faster than him, too.  Her body twitched with nightmares, feverish thoughts that did not belong, and he helped soothe her into better dreams, safer pastures, locked in his arms.  He stared outside the window, over her head which was tucked under his chin, and he contemplated the blue glow of the woods beyond the streets, and the peculiar blue wisps of wolf spirits, where they said that those not yet blessed might have a chance to become one of his kind.

The place where all werewolves once came from.  Where the First Wolf, husband of the Cursed Queen once lived, in a preserved hut that stood upon a wide slope, with the Queen he once cherished, before the Shadows destroyed everything they'd ever known.

He fell asleep, a pang of guilt crushing his heart.

He didn't think Kell would forgive him.