Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

Luc stepped forward and the others moved out of his path. His hair was loose and black around his shoulders, his chest bare. Several tattoos of black symbols and scrolls covered his back and upper arms, more noticeable as he hovered over the bent woman.

“There would have been blood,” Luc sneered as he grabbed a fistful of red hair and pulled her head back with enough force to lift her knees off the ground. “A good wolf would have sensed it on her sister.”

Sophie took a step forward but then stopped. She was becoming more aware, and sadly, more comfortable with their dominant behavior now that she knew its source.

“I didn’t,” Taran pleaded, her eyes rolling back and then away. “Siân reeked of skunk for days.”

“I was sprayed by skunks that night,” Sophie admitted. Upon hearing her voice, Luc’s grip on Taran’s hair eased enough so that her knees touched the ground. “I hid in a hollowed trunk occupied by skunks. It may have hidden my scent. It took days for the smell to leave my skin.”

Frowning, Luc looked to his brother. “How should I proceed?”

Sophie took another step forward and placed a hand on Dylan’s cheek, guiding him to look down at her. Gold and green streaks had bled through the blackness of his gaze.

She swallowed, keeping her voice calm. “Taran wasn’t there that night. Punish her if you think she’s a threat to our son, but don’t punish her for what her sister did to me. She wasn’t responsible for her sister’s actions.”

He rubbed his cheek against her palm, unshaven and rough against her skin, before turning his head toward his brother. “Luc, take Taran home and question her at your discretion . . . for I cannot without prejudice. If you feel she’s innocent, I will default to your judgment. But”—he looked to Taran as he made his last order—“I want her removed from guard responsibilities.”

Luc gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”

Dylan looked to the others. “John and Malsum, return to your posts. The rest, follow Luc.”

There were murmured farewells and a few nods in Sophie’s direction. As their footsteps retreated, she tried to ignore the pounding of her heart, although Dylan surely must have heard it. “Will Luc harm her?”

Dylan shook his head, holding her hand to place a kiss inside her palm before answering. “Not unless she gives him due cause. He will remove her from her duties and keep her contained and watched until we know she can be trusted.”

“Good,” she said, tugging her hand from his grasp and turning away, not because she didn’t like it, but because she did.

Not dissuaded, Dylan walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “No,” he said as she tensed, “don’t resist me. Just let me hold you.”

His heat seeped into her muscles, so warm, so enticing, as if she could melt into his arms and all their troubles would go away. How long had it been since she’d allowed someone to hold her? To comfort her?

Forever , it seemed. Not since the birth of her son. Not since Dylan had brought her into these very woods sixteen years ago.

With her back to his chest, she slowly relaxed into the sensation of being protected. Unfortunately, something Taran had said continued to ride her thoughts and refused to be ignored. “How much are you compelled by the instincts of the wolf?”

His arms tightened around her. “More than I would like.”

“Taran said her sister didn’t believe you were mated. Mate is a very specific term, especially for wolves.”

One hand loosened from her waist and found the elastic in her ponytail, tugging until her hair fell around her shoulders. “I like your hair down.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Then stop hedging and just ask me what you want to know.”

“Fine.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “This is going to sound silly, because I know wolves don’t always mate for life.” She was rambling, she knew, but couldn’t seem to stop. “If one mate dies, the survivor will find another.”

He nuzzled her hair; his breath whispering against the exposed flesh of her neck. “You don’t feel dead to me.”

Her stomach twisted. “Oh, God.”

“That’s right.” His lips dropped to her neck, a whisper of movement against her sensitive skin. “Our son isn’t the only thing I lost when you left me.”

“But you’re also a man,” Sophie emphasized, trying to ignore the sigh of his breath across her nape. “Humans are not bound by those convictions. Surely . . .”

“I’m compelled by both human and wolf instincts. For our kind, the melding of the two strengthens the mating bond, as if human emotion reinforces the wolf’s choice. Most of us mate for life.” His cutting tone left little doubt that he considered himself among the ones who did.

“So there are others of your kind who don’t? How do you know for sure that you’re not one of them?” Inwardly she cringed, aware that she had opened a precarious door to a difficult subject.

“Like all humans,” he stated bluntly, “I could bed anything I wanted. I could carry out the act. But because my wolf has chosen its mate, because you conceived my child, mating with anyone other than you would feel unnatural, a violation.”

She closed her eyes. “Like a rape?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He dropped his hands from her hair and returned them to her waist. “I’ve never had a taste for that act, but there a few of my kind who have no distinction between the two.”

“The Guardians, I assume.”

“You’re learning.” He plucked at the waistband of her concealed weapon shirt, changing the subject once again. “Where did you get this garment?” Annoyance darkened his voice.

“From a biker convention. They had booths of this kind of stuff. It works great for jogging.”

With her eyes still closed, she felt his hand inch downward, pause, and then snake under the elastic band of her sweatpants and briefs.

Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?” She dropped her holsters and grabbed at his forearm.

“I’m going to give you pleasure,” he announced as if it were a nonnegotiable fact.

“Here?” Oh, God. “Now?”

“It’s taking every ounce of my will not to throw you on the muddied ground and come inside you.” He pressed a finger between the moist folds of her skin. “I need this.” He moved up and over the sensitive peak of her sex. “Let me hear my name on your lips when you—”

“ Stop! Just stop talking.” Because his words taunted her, aroused her. She grabbed at his wrist but it was too late; he had found his target, plucking at the sensitive bud with skillful fingers.

His arm pressed into her thigh, holding her in place. She lost her footing, falling back into the full support of his embrace. Her insides tightened, and tightened some more, and soon her grip on his wrist was encouragement as he stroked her toward a violent release.

And, yes, she cried out his name.

The sounds of the forest invaded slowly. She was mildly aware that Dylan had gone utterly rigid and that he no longer supported her weight.

“I’m going for a run,” he growled, and left her struggling for balance, in more ways than one, in a suddenly empty clearing.

WITH HER SCENT IN HIS LUNGS, AND THE ECHOES OF HER cries in his ears, Dylan couldn’t breathe.

Pausing in the shadows of the forest, the memory of her flesh and soft body haunted him. He wanted to go back and shove her to the ground, rip her pants down around her knees, wrap his hands in all that thick hair and pin her beneath him until he felt her sweet flesh pulse around his deprived cock . . .

His wolf prowled, caged in his body, in full agreement with that plan, anxious and ready to be satisfied. It translated desire into hunger and it wanted to feed.