Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

Until it grew back.

Julian peeled away the quilt, gritting his teeth as her scent washed over him. She smelled like pack, with a hint of lemony woman and an enticing tinge of blood. The fine hairs on his arms lifted and goose bumps ran across his flesh.

The bruises along her ribs appeared black against the snowy shade of her skin. The snow bath and the extreme cold had slowed the bleeding from the slashes across her belly. They were deep—they would, if she’d still been human, need a helluva lot of stitches—but Julian couldn’t see any of her insides peeking through to the outside.

“That has to be good,” he murmured.

She moved, moaned, and fresh blood pimpled her flesh. Werewolves healed fast, even in human form, but she would not heal completely unless she shifted, or he helped her.

Julian placed his palm against the wounds, closed his eyes, thought of—

His fingers flexed. She was so soft, so smooth and supple and—

“Damn!” He snatched his hand away as his penis twitched. What the hell was wrong with him?

She had killed his wife. That should make him angry enough to do anything.

But it didn’t.

Instead the thought of Alana only made him sad. And sad was not mad. No matter how much he might wish it to be.

Julian tried again, placing his hand to the bruise. She wiggled beneath his touch, rubbing her skin along his. His eyes slid closed, and his fingers stroked the curve of her ribs; the soft, slight swell of her breast brushed his knuckles. This felt so good, so right, so meant—

He lurched back, falling hard on his ass, then sat there breathing heavily, staring at her still, pale form. This was not right. For him, nothing would ever be right again. Especially with her .

At last the anger came, and his fingers began to warm. He held them over her, remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought, what he’d nearly done. His hands sparkled as if covered in dew beneath the morning sun, and he watched, still fascinated despite all the centuries of magic, as her skin knit together and the bruises began to fade.

He could not heal her completely. He didn’t have it in him right now no matter how angry he became. She’d have to do that herself once darkness fell.

The wind howled, tossing icy specks of snow against his back. Though he’d much prefer to walk into the storm than stay in here, with her, he needed his strength to make his way home.

Julian gritted his teeth and lay down, pulling the quilt over them both.

Alex had to be dreaming. She’d never slept with a man in her life.

Certainly she’d had sex. But that was always a quick one-hour stand; then either she would leave or he would. Alex had never trusted anyone enough to fall asleep with him.

Therefore, this had to be a dream.

But what a nice dream. She’d been so cold, in so much pain; then the pain went away, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread throughout her aching body. With the heat surrounding her, she slept better than she had since childhood.

She was safe. No one, nothing would hurt her. Not here. With him.

Warm breath, soft lips, his taste both fire and ice. Her hands fluttered over a flat stomach, tight pecs, hard biceps as callused fingertips sculpted her rib cage, the swell of her breasts, the taut, tingling peak of her nipples.

“Mmm,” she murmured, the sound vibrating against those lips, creating another kind of tingle.

She was cocooned in warmth; a chill hovered all around but it could not reach her. The dangerous, deadly world was gone. She lived in a magical place where all that existed were tantalizing sensations.

A strong, slightly scruffy leg wrapped around hers. Hands cupped her from behind and pulled her ever closer. The smooth, round head of a penis slid along her belly, and she gasped as every last inch of her flamed.

She reached for him in the darkness, and he was there. A mystery, a man, his touch making her forget… something. Everything. Until she remembered only this.

One tug on those biceps and he was above her, an instant later within her. Firm and fast, he gave; she took. Again and again and again.

“Come with me,” he growled.

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.” The word a surrender she’d never given anyone else.

Her palms ran over his back, relishing the ripple of muscle, the sleek slide of skin. He smelled like the earth beneath the moon, the trees tipped with silver, a sky full of rain. She pressed her face into his neck, took a deep long whiff, then drew his flesh into her mouth and tasted. His flavor was salt and surf. She wanted to gobble him up, make him a part of her forever, and she knew just how.

Grasping his hips, she urged him on, until he swelled and stretched and—

“Now,” she whispered.

“What?” he answered.

Alex opened her eyes, just as Barlow opened his.

He’d been dreaming, and while he should have been disturbed that he’d been dreaming of her, the sex had been so incredible he’d ignored the warning whisper.

What could he say? He was a guy.

Most of the time.

But her teeth, while arousing, had also roused him and that one word had rumbled along his skin, tickling and taunting him. He’d half awakened, realizing he was on the verge of coming like a teenager in his bed, only to discover he wasn’t at home alone but on top of someone, penis surrounded by a slick, tight heat.

His eyes widened; so did hers. Her hands at his hips, clenched; he figured she’d shove him away, and he tensed, prepared to resist, until he remembered who she was and that he’d rather fuck a tiger than Alexandra Trevalyn.

Unfortunately, his body had other ideas.

She arched—most likely to buck him off—instead he slid in farther, the friction of skin along skin making him clench his jaw before he groaned aloud. It had been so long, and she was so damn tight. He felt like his cock was in a vise—a soft, damp, really great vise, one that could both caress him until he was mindless and squeeze him until he was dry.

Instead of shoving him away, her grip on his hips tightened. Her breath, fast and sharp, rubbed her peaked nipples against his chest in a tantalizing rhythm.

Julian stared into her flushed face, her dazed eyes, and understood. She was coming, too.

Oh, what the hell, he thought. Too late now to pretend this was a dream. Might as well make her scream. He wanted to.

He slowed his hips as he lengthened his thrusts. All the way out until she strained forward, all the way in until her breath caught at the back of her throat. Again and again, slowly increasing his speed, plunging ever deeper until neither of them could stop the inevitable.

She cried out. He took her mouth, drinking the sound, and at last she closed her eyes, releasing him to do the same.

He hoped he could now imagine she was someone else, anyone else, even no one, hell his hand was better than her —but just because he wasn’t seeing her didn’t mean she wasn’t there. The scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her was all around him. And the orgasm…it went on and on and on.

He was still enjoying the final tremors—her, him, he didn’t know and he didn’t care—when her body, so warm and soft, turned cool and stiff. Before she could shove him off, he rolled away, staring at the roof of the cave as she sat up and rested her head upon her knees, curling into herself as if he’d just violated her.

Her thin back, the bones of her ribs standing out in sharp relief, that faint shadow of the bruise still upon them made her seem fragile, vulnerable, womanly. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he saw his hand reaching out to touch—

“Don’t,” she said. “Just…don’t.”