L. BANKS - Cursed To Death

He hated that she hadn’t even flinched and that her eyes held no remorse, only desire. He hated that his will was in shambles as she sauntered closer… hated that he couldn’t take his eyes off her exquisite nakedness. But more than anything, he hated that until his brother entered the bar, sex had been the last thought on her mind.

“Get dressed.” His directive sounded hollow even to him; he hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away. She owned him and she knew it. “This doesn’t change anything, Sasha.”

Her warm palm slid against his cheek. “I was so hoping that it would.”

“You truly wanted us to kill each other-is that it? Is that what turned you on!” He still couldn’t look away or back away as she closed the space between them and her body molded to his.

“What do you want me to tell you?” she whispered, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. “Some things are inherently female. You know the way of the wolf.”

He wanted to slap her, needed to push her away. That was not what he wanted to hear. She seemed to understand that, too; her slight smile told him so.

“I love you. If anything happened to you, I’d die-and you know that.”

“I’m done, Sasha.” Dead serious, no nonsense in his tone, he would walk. On principle, he would!

“Actions speak louder than words. I came to where there could be no battle, knowing how badly I needed to mate… Despite the dark energy, my choice was clear.” She took his mouth and stole all future protests with it. “If you’re still angry, I can understand… but why don’t you punish me now and we can discuss it later.”

He’d slowly fisted her hair as she’d spoken; her murmur offering redemption, her plump mouth an intoxicant. This woman, bad spell or not, was incorrigible. There was no apology even in her tone, just an outrageous statement of fact. What she’d said was the bitter truth. It was an argument he would have used under similar circumstances.

Still, he wanted her contrition for the suffering she’d caused. Maybe even wanted her to walk a mile in his shoes-when he was so close to begging that he’d had tears in his eyes. All day long he’d wanted her like this and then to almost have to fight to be with her was more than he could tolerate.

She leaned in to kiss him again, and this time he lifted his chin, intent on telling her no. He would not be played like this, no matter what. It was in that moment that he knew something was wrong with him, with her, with them. If there was dark magick afoot, then clearly they’d been influenced.

But she stripped his resistance when she stripped his t-shirt over his head, then unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. There were things he needed to say, there was bullshit they needed to get straight, and she needed to know that… but damn.

Skin to skin, he was wide open. Sweat-slicked fire, she climbed up his body like a hungry flame and brought him to his knees, all offenses torched.

“Take me somewhere safe.”

It wasn’t a request but a throaty demand. He remembered her edict. Never here. She was right; there’d be no way to stop. He’d heard her in his soul, not with his ears. Right now he was deaf. Instinct kicked in as he kicked out of his boots, shed his fatigues, and dropped her in a hard roll in a wildflower field-the Uncompahgre was his territory, his home hunting ground. North country. Great Spirit deliver him, he’d die in her arms.

Sasha’s fire burned away principle, scorched will, wiped the slate clean. There’d be no argument left once she got done.

Her hands traced heat-seeking shudders down his back and over his ass. Butter-soft skin fused to his, her tongue untangling sanity from his mind. Without warning, she pulled him inside a liquid inferno; pain, pleasure, a near loss of consciousness, all so fast and hard his voice rent the air.

Birds took flight from the field. Grass and flowers became one with her hair. She-wolf consumed him, ate him alive, her skin igniting crazed thrusts as he looked into her eyes. The bend of his elbow found the bend in her knee; he had to go deeper. Had to find that spot of contrition, that place that made her holler and beg his goddamned pardon.

Warm summer air licked his back, stroked his shoulders, and pelted his arms. His thrusts became a demand for redress. But she wasn’t backing down; her alto moans simply begged him for more.

Gasping, sweat pooled in the small of his back, slid down his thighs. Hell yeah he knew the way of the wolf. Her hands threaded through his hair, her breasts a lifted offering he could not deny, the taste of her salt-stained sweetness. He found anchor on her smooth waist, the curve of her hip, then a tight lobe that made her whimper.

Skin slapping skin, making the sound of hot summer love… Yes, this was north territory, his territory, marked by the way of the wolf. Punishment for offenses exacted, alpha style. Yeah, they’d discuss it later. Apology in a pound of flesh accepted. The scent of her and broken grass, rich earth-summer madness. Sasha’s voice bottomed out in his sac, her arches calling his wolf, driving him harder. Heaven help him. Let it rain. His body smoldered till he could feel sweat sizzle.

Her hard convulsion embedded his name in a sob. All movement stuttered. Blinding pleasure choked his groin, seized his heart, and emptied his lungs. He couldn’t catch his breath as the climax tore through him. Staccato chants of ecstasy stilled wildlife. Eyes shut tightly, head thrown back, he was deaf to all sound but her and his howl.

After what seemed like a long time, he could finally roll over. Sound slowly returned, but the late afternoon sun was still too bright to open his eyes. Warm, soft skin coated his side and his fingers made a lazy figure eight in the small of her back.

“You still want to talk… you still angry at me?”

He didn’t move, couldn’t even open his eyes. “No.”

Her mouth brushed his and he pulled her against him in a tender but possessive embrace. If she’d let him, he’d keep her here until moonrise… here in this very natural, uncomplicated place where next time he could love her slow and true.

But that was doubtful, and knowing that made him sad. He could feel her smile against his chest. The she-wolf had bested him. If he’d had the energy he might have laughed. The entire thing, in hindsight, was so ridiculous-yet he doubted that she would have given him the same pass were the shoe on the other foot. There was no equity; that he was sure of. Female justice was slanted. Any male with common sense knew that the female of the species was brutal… never as pliant or as easily satisfied as the male. Women also held a mean grudge. After a beer, he and Shogun would be cool. That was the way of men. Period. Hunter sighed.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” she asked quietly, seeming intent on destroying his peace.

“Yeah…” he said beginning to doze. “Consider yourself punished once I get my second wind.”

Silver Hawk sat in a chair facing Doc, both men listening intently to Clarissa’s and Bradley’s report. The old shaman remained silent, his silver braids slowly rising and falling with each quiet breath as he looked at his friend of many years-the doctor who’d helped him save his grandson, Hunter. Two old men of many wars: Doc had fought within the military to keep his daughter Sasha’s Shadow Wolf heritage a secret, while he’d fought within the Shadow Wolf Clan to keep his grandson Hunter alive. Silver Hawk stared at Doc, seeing how time had created a road map across his friend’s weathered brown face and stolen a good portion of his gray hair, knowing that they were mirrors of each other. It was in his friend’s eyes, and he could only assume that the bond was reflected within his own, too.