Ilona Andrews - Bayou Moon

Mine.

He buried his face in her neck, smelling her silky hair, licking her smooth skin. She tasted like honeyed wine, sweet and intoxicating under his tongue, and she made him drunk.

“I want you to stay with me,” she told him. “I want you to stay with me forever.”

Some part of him refused to believe it. He would never be this lucky. Fate didn’t reward him; it kicked him and knocked him down, grinding him under its heel. A terrible fear gripped him that somehow she would vanish, dissolve into thin air or die in his arms, and then he would be back in his house, awake, alone, and broken, because she was only a wishful dream.

“Will you, William? Will you stay with me?”

He gripped her to him, to keep her from disappearing. “Yes.”

She stroked his back, her slender fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, soothing, inviting him. She kissed his mouth, her soft lips pressing against his. Her pink tongue darted out, and she licked him, stroking him, again and again. He kissed her hard, trying to shut down the annoying warnings in his head, and dropped them down onto the hay. She squirmed under him, warm, flexible, and pliant.

Excitement flooded him. He pulled her shirt off and kissed her breast, sucking on her pink nipple, stroking her soft stomach and down, lower, to the sweet spot between her legs. She purred. He would kill to hear her make that sound again.

She was his mate. It finally sank in. She said yes, she was his, she wanted him to stay, and if she vanished, he would spent the rest of his life looking for her and he would find her again.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft and slid it up and down, spiking the need in him into an overwhelming hunger. She was wet for him, he could smell it, and the scent was driving him out of his skin.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, her velvet eyes bottomless and black.

He thrust into her and she screamed.

“ON the hay,” Cerise murmured. “We did it on the itchy, smelly hay. I can’t believe it. Why did I even bring a quilt?”

He leaned over, grabbed the quilt, and pulled it over them, clenching her to him. “There.”

She pulled a blade of dried grass out of her hair. “This time in the hay. The last time we almost did it on a dirty floor. You’ve made me into some sort of hillbilly slut. “

Yeah, that’s right.

“Next time, we have to do it in bed,” she said.

“With wine and roses?” he asked.

“Maybe. I’ll settle for clean sheets.” She snuggled closer to him. William closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy.

“You will stay with me, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Even though it would mean Kaldar would be your in-law?”

“I could just kill him …”

“No, you can’t. He’s my favorite cousin.”

He read a real concern in her eyes and couldn’t resist. “He’s unmarried. No kids. Nobody to miss him.”

Her eyes widened. “William, you can’t kill my cousin.”

He laughed under his breath and she smacked him.

William gathered her closer. “I’m a wolf. You can’t chain me. But now you’re mine, my mate, my woman. Your family are my people now. Nothing they could do would drive me away. There are things I have to do, back in the Weird. I may have to leave for a time, but I will always be back.”

She caressed his face. “Things that have to do with Spider?”

He told her about the dead children and the blood on the dandelions and the note.

Cerise looked back at him, horrified. “Why? Why would he do that? They were just children. They weren’t a threat to him.”

At the time he hadn’t known why either, but now he had the benefit of the Mirror’s intelligence. “Spider’s real name and title is Sebastian Olivier Lafayette, Chevalier, Comte de Belidor. Very old Gaulish blueblood family. The bloodline started going weak around his great-grandmother’s time. They’re bleeders. Their blood doesn’t clot as it should, and with each generation it was getting worse. Spider’s father was bedridden for most of his life, and the family was desperate for a cure.

“Spider’s father found a woman from a blueblood family with a dirty secret—they had a changeling a couple of generations back. We’re a very healthy lot. Spider’s grandfather, Alain de Belidor, violently objected. Didn’t want his precious blood polluted. But Spider’s father married his bride anyway. The changeling blood fixed all their problems right up—Spider was born healthy as a horse.

“About that time Alain developed dementia. Since his son had one foot in the grave most of the time, Alain ruled the family. He terrorized Spider’s mother and the boy. Somehow he became convinced that Spider was a changeling.”

“How does that work?” Cerise asked.

“If the changeling is strong, like me, he has a ninety percent chance to pass the magic to the next generation.” He kissed her. “If our kid is born human, the chances of his kids going furry drop off. Twenty percent in the first generation and basically nothing in the second. Spider has the changeling blood, but he isn’t a changeling. His grandfather couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He stalked him, convinced that Spider was hiding an animal inside. Once when Spider was seven, Alain dumped boiling water on him to ‘draw the beast out.’ When Spider turned eighteen, he got his grandfather declared incompetent and took control over the estate. Nobody knows what exactly happened to Alain, but nobody has seen him for years.”

She grimaced. “That’s just horrible all around.”

William shrugged. “It’s a hard world out there. Spider hates my kind, because we’re the cause of his misery. I have to kill him. It’s more than revenge at this point—he’s a threat to any changeling. Hell, he’s a threat to the entire damn country. He understands it. He doesn’t take it personally.”

Cerise frowned next to him. “How do you know?”

“We talked about it before we got into it the last time. It’s just the reality of life for him,” William explained. “He’s a cold bastard. He understands my reasons, and in my place he would do the same thing. He doesn’t see himself as evil. In his own eyes he’s doing exactly what I used to do—serving his country the best he can. He isn’t crazy, Cerise. He’s very rational. That makes him more dangerous. What the hell is in that journal? Why does he want it so much?”

Cerise grimaced and rubbed her face. “I’ve been trying to puzzle it out and I have no idea. The journal is the key to the whole thing. I wish Sene had burned in a fire. I wish my parents would’ve razed it down to the ground—”

William put his hand over her lips.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The birds stopped singing.”

VUR shifted from foot to foot. How long did it take to fuck? Was the wolf freak romancing her in there with wine and poetry? Vur focused on the flutter of oak branches by the barn and launched himself into the sky. His skin wings snapped open, and Vur flew, gliding on the currents to perch on the oak.

WILLIAM slid to the side, rising silently. Cerise rolled to her feet, thrust her hand into the hay, and pulled her sword out.

William bared his teeth. That’s my girl.

She moved to the wall. “Oh, baby! Yes! Yes! Give it to me! Yes!”

The roof creaked under the weight of someone’s body. William padded along the floor, tracking the creaking.

“Harder, baby! Harder!”

The roof burst. A feathered body fell through the hole, talons spread for the kill. William lunged at the attacker’s back, locking his forearm on the slick throat. The creature choked, gurgling. Cerise thrust, impossibly fast, and stepped back.