Elle Jasper: Curse Me Wicked

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said again, his brogued, raspy voice low and strained. “But once you were, I knew I could never let you leave.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I wanted to touch him, but I kept my hands balled into fists, hanging at my sides.

His thumbs grazed my jaw. “MacLeod wolves mate for life,” he said, his head lowering. “We’re marked from birth, as are our mates. Sometimes, the pair never encounters, and they spend eternity at a loss,” he nuzzled my neck with his chin, whispering in my ear. “The mark at your left shoulder blade,” his lips brushed the shell. “I’ve an identical one. Destiny brought you here, Gin, to me , and I’m verra sorry – I couldna let you go.”

I stared up at him, entranced, excited, completely drawn to him. “You bit me on purpose,” I said softly, and I knew the answer before it came.

“Aye,” he said against my ear. “I did.” He nuzzled me again, his cheek to mine. “’Twas the only way to make you mine.”

Timidly, I lifted my hands to rest against his chest, and then slipped them higher, to encircle his neck. Gently I tugged him closer.

I didn’t have to ask for anything else.

Lucian’s mouth found mine, settled there and lingered; he breathed deeply, and his heart’s pace quickened. With a gentle nudge, he pushed my lips open with his, our tongues touched, and a low groan escaped his throat as he pulled me hard against him and kissed me. Desperation laced every taste; agonizing, intense sexual attraction raged within him – I could feel it. It raged within me, as well, and I fell against him, dying to be closer, feeling as though we were already one, needing more.

Lucian, as though he could read my thoughts, walked me backward, our mouths never parting and together we fell to the bed. My clothes burned me, I wanted them off, and Lucian obliged. I felt out of control, and I grasped his shirt and yanked hard; buttons flew, and I pushed the material off. He managed his jeans, and barely fast enough. Finally, nothing separated us and Lucian moved on top of me, his weight pressing into my body; I revelled in the feel of it.

He looked down at me, his face sharp planes and shadows. Bracing his weight with his elbow, his other hand lifted to my face. With his fingers, he traced my lips, my chin, my throat. “You’re mine, Ginger Slater,” he said. He lowered his head and brushed my lips. “Mine,” he whispered hoarsely against them, and my heart raced, my breath quickened, and I shoved my hands into his hair and kissed him hungrily. Lucian groaned and kissed me back, starving, his touch desperate and everywhere, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and opened for him; he took me, pushed deep inside of me, filled me.

“Lucian,” I whispered against his mouth. “ You’re mine .”

He sighed, whispered – a language I did not know, words unfamiliar to my ears, then kissed me and began to move; slow at first, then becoming frantic, as though he couldn’t get enough, and I matched his rhythm with my own frenzied moves. The orgasm started deep within my core, slowly built through every sensitive nerve-ending in my body, and then shattered within me; a thousand shafts of light splintering into tiny specks behind my eyes. I held on to Lucian as he followed. I felt his orgasm grow, explode, and he wrapped both arms around my body and held me as our releases calmed, our heartbeats slowed. He rolled on to his back and dragged me atop him, my breasts resting against his chest, our skin melding into one. He lifted a hand to my cheek; his thumb grazed the line of my jaw, then he slid his hand around my neck and pulled my mouth to his and kissed me long, slow, erotic. His other hand slipped over my buttocks, my back, and settled in the lower curve there, holding me firmly in place. Then, he broke the kiss and looked at me for several moments.

“I couldna just let you go,” he said quietly.

I traced his full lips with my index finger. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

We needed no more words; just our bodies melding, our hands exploring, our mouths tasting. We joined again, slower this time, so much slower, seductive, both of us silently claiming the other. Finally, we slept.

It was the only night I slumbered without nightmares of Pax.

Over the course of the next week, Lucian slowly introduced me to my new world, my new body, my new senses. I’d not be able to master them all for some time; my hearing was exaggerated and sometimes hurt my ears and insides. My sense of smell was so good, it overwhelmed me and I couldn’t determine one smell from the other – except for Lucian’s scent. His was unique and solely Lucian’s and I could detect it a mile away. My strength and speed was immature but growing fast; almost too fast. I tripped, I fell, I hurled myself to speeds which my old body couldn’t handle yet. I busted my ass more times than I could count. But Lucian was right there to help me up.

Each night, we made love and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Each night, I dreamt. Pax pursued me in his human form, always in a heavy mist, always through a dense wood. The white fog slipped through the trees and brush like long reaching fingers, and I ran hard, stumbling and not in control of my new speed and strength. Pax, for some reason, was. His white spiked hair appeared behind every tree, every rock, as though he toyed with me. And every time, he’d catch me, back me against the base of a tree. This is your fault, newbie. I’m here, trapped as an abomination, all because of you. I don’t know whether to thank you or rip your throat out. I’d awaken, shaking violently, breathless, just before Pax shifted into his wolf form and lunged at me, teeth bared. I kept the dreams from Lucian. I thought I could handle them, or that they’d just go away. I was so very wrong.

It was weird, mine and Lucian’s relationship. I felt completely at ease with him, as though we’d known each other forever. He’d had nearly three weeks to come to terms with the fact that I was his marked mate; I’d had about twenty-four hours. Still, I accepted it readily and willingly. It felt … natural, as though my life was to turn out no other way other than here, in the Highlands of Scotland, with an ancient Pict warrior-wolf. It felt even more natural to become one. I can’t explain it without sounding like a lunatic, but there you go.

Lucian and I left the bothy the last day of my transition and travelled north and west to the MacLeod stronghold. Situated on a sea loch, the massive grey stone fortress, complete with four imposing towers, dominated the seascape. It literally robbed my breath.

“You live here?” I asked incredulously. I glanced at him.

Lucian laughed, and reached over and grasped my hand. “Nay. We live here.”

My heart swelled at his words. We’d not exchanged the L-word yet; somehow, it just didn’t seem right. But we’d both claimed one another, and the word mine sounded nearly as powerful, if not more so, than the word love. There would be an adjustment period, for both of us. But of one thing I was absolutely positive: we were meant to be together.

Lucian pulled onto a single-track gravel lane that led to the massive front doors of the castle, and before we had the Rover in park, five big guys emptied the entrance and made their way towards us. All dark-haired, with bodies that looked like they swung axes and swords and kicked ass for a living. They made their way towards us.

Lucian glanced at me and laughed. “They won’t bite.”

I looked at him and raised a brow. “Doubt that.”

I climbed out of the Rover, slammed the door, and faced the MacLeods.