Bethany's Rite (22 page)

Suddenly, Enath quit bucking underneath him and a smug, grim
smile stretched the corners of his mouth even as his eyes began to gray in
death.

“Are you wondering how I found your mate, Ilyrian? For once,
I didn’t have to waste precious time tracking you.” His tongue, already
reverting to its natural black, forked state, darted out to lick lips swollen
and bloody. “And your brothers? Ever think about why their bodies were never
found? Or returned in the manner favored by my people?” His grotesque grin
faltered briefly as pain flashed through his eyes. “And Kilth? You haven’t
avenged your brothers’ deaths by killing me. They didn’t have the honor of
dying by my hand.”

Before Wyc could process his words, the Predator’s eyes
glazed from gray to white. He was dead, and any explanation to the taunts were
confined to a realm Wyc’s limited powers were useless to reach.

The reference to his brothers touched a spot in his heart he
had closed off years ago. A small corner harboring the hope that the message of
their deaths and the witnesses he had interrogated afterwards had all been wrong.

He slid his hands from around Enath’s neck. He would not be
drawn away from his mate to hunt down the possible truth to the vicious last
words of a hated enemy. Even for another lead regarding his brothers’ murders.
There would be a time when his vengeance would be satisfied, but it wasn’t now.

He pushed the final ramblings of the Predator out of his
mind. He had a mate to protect and return to their homeworld. A mate who had
nearly been taken from him.

Unless they had told someone else, only Rordyc and Amdyn
knew where he had taken Bethany. But if the Predator didn’t track them here—and
with all the precautions in place, there was little, if any, chance he could
have—that left only one other answer.

Betrayal. Again.

One of the few he had trusted with his life, and even more
importantly, that of his mate’s, was a traitor.

He heaved Enath over his shoulder and crossed the short
distance to the shoreline. Walking into the water up to his thighs, he tossed
the Predator’s body toward the center of the lake. With vicious swipes, he used
the water to rub dirt and blood from his face and arms. The least he could do
before taking his mate.

It was past time for them to finish the final step in the
Matching Ritual. Bethany was his, and he would be damned if she wasn’t going to
take him as hers. Now.

Bethany watched as Wyc ran his hands through his hair,
pushing the wet strands away from his face. With fingers clenched into his
palms, he stalked out of the lake. She wanted to run to him and throw herself
into his arms. She wanted to feel the hardness of his chest against her hands,
press her face into his neck and inhale his masculine, virile and very
alive
scent.

But pure, simple elemental fear stopped her. The hands she
burned to have caress her had just destroyed a trained killer by brutally
crushing his throat. Not exactly the stuff love songs were made of. As if he
had ever mentioned love in the first place.

The one time she had voiced her true feelings for him, he
had yanked himself from her like she had jabbed a red-hot poker into his gut.
No, throwing herself at him was not an option.

Stepping onto the bank, he pulled off his tattered shirt and
used it to scrub away the remaining dirt on his upper body. His mouth hardened
in a grim line and cuts and bruises tattooed his body. Harsh triumph blazed in
his eyes. Primeval power radiated out from him to wash over her in indomitable
waves. Crashing over her will and leaving submission her only recourse.

Wyc dropped his shirt and searched the deepening shadows.
Express and stark possessiveness marked his features as he scanned the trees
looking for her. Crouched next to a large oak with her arms wrapped around her,
Bethany felt the force of his gaze the instant he found her.

“Come here, Bethany.”

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her eyes locked onto his hands as
he unbuckled his belt. Every fluid movement completed with a mesmerizing rhythm
and force. Even as a man, he conveyed the same dangerous grace and deadly power
of the animal he became when attacked.

“Come here,” he repeated, harsher.

She shook her head.

He removed his belt. His voice lowered to a velvet threat.
“Do you really want me to come and get you?”

She shook her head again.

“Then come here.” A command. Sharp. Hard.

She took a step forward and he unsnapped his jeans with a
flick of his wrist. She froze again. He finished unfastening his pants.

“Babydoll, you’re starting to try my patience.” He stripped
out of the rest of his clothes and closed the distance between them.

“It’s time, Bethany. There’s no going back. Even if you
could, I wouldn’t let you. You’re mine, and it’s time you took me as yours.”

Stunned by his words, she didn’t resist when he knelt before
her and unlaced her tennis shoes. She had to lean forward and hold onto his
shoulders to keep herself upright. His skin was hot to the touch. From her
position, she could see the play of muscles down his back and arms. His hair, a
fall of thick black silk over his shoulders.

He lifted her feet to gently tug first one and then the
other shoe off. It was such a humble action, yet Wyc performed it with forceful
dignity.

Visceral strength shimmered off him. She pressed her fingers
into the corded muscles of his shoulders. Felt his strength under her hands as
surely as she felt it in her heart.

Strength to fight and conquer. Strength to protect and
shelter. Strength to love.

The sheer potency of all that Wyc Kilth was overwhelmed her.
Crumbling her final defiance against the destiny he had been goading her
toward. Only now he wasn’t pushing, pulling or persuading. He was insisting. He
was her destiny.

He raised his head and reached for the snap on her jeans.

“Wyc,” Bethany whispered, suddenly afraid of a future
shrouded in the mist of a world foreign and frightening. With a frantic surge
of fear, she tried to push his hands away.

He flicked her efforts away with an impatient gesture and
finished undoing her zipper. Smoothing his hands over her hips, he soothed her
with a tender kiss below her navel and then pressed his cheek against her
stomach, holding her tight and secure until her rush of fear receded and she
was breathing again.

Bethany sank her teeth into her bottom lip when he relaxed
his hold and slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties to push
them down with her jeans. He stopped at her ankles, waiting for her to lift her
feet and step free from her clothes.

She hesitated a brief moment before obeying his unspoken
command. He tossed her clothes aside and straightened. Reaching around her
back, he unsnapped her bra. Instinctively, she brought her arms up to keep it
from falling from her body. Without taking his unwavering gaze from her eyes,
he passed his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, gently unbending her arms
and removing her last remaining item of clothing.

Wyc took her left hand and removed the Ilyrian ring she
wore. Raising her right hand, he slid the ring onto her middle finger. He held
her right hand flat against his left so that their rings touched. An electric
jolt speared through her, and she tried to pull her hand away. He intertwined
his fingers with hers and refused to let her go.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

“I told you.”

She shook her head. “Take you as mine? I don’t know what
that means.”

He splayed his free hand over her back and slowly drew her
to him until their bodies met in a binding crush from thigh to chest. His
erection, hard and hot, pressed into her stomach. She had to tilt her head up
to see his face. The fire she felt from her own need was echoed in his eyes. He
kept a tight grip on her hand with the ring on it.

“You are mine, Bethany Mitchell. Now. Forever. Body, heart
and soul. Kept for and by me, free to live completed in my love.”

Bethany’s mouth dropped open. Wyc’s mouth turned up in a
contemplative, sexy smile.

“What? You thought you were the only one in love here?”

“I just…I mean, you never… Yes. That’s what I thought.”

For a split second, anger flared in the dark depths of his
eyes, and he tightened his hold on her. Then he lowered his mouth to hers in a
fierce, quick kiss.

“You were wrong. Now it’s your turn.”

She blinked hard and swallowed. Her whole being cried out to
possess him, to take him. On the same primal level of needing her next breath,
she needed Wyc. Wanted him. Yet even as she stood on the edge of her desire,
she was unsure.

“Bethany.” His voice rumbled deep in command and impatient
entreaty.

Letting out a stuttered breath, she raised her eyes to his.
And saw the promise there. The absolute, unconditional offering of love. Her
world shifted, and each unsettled piece of her heart slammed into place.

She raised her free hand and cupped his cheek in her palm. A
long moment passed as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip and tried to absorb
every facet of his face. Intensity lived there, at home in the sharp lines and
striking planes. A hard-lined mouth that could tenderly but ruthlessly tease
her toward oblivion. Dark brows slashed over hot, night-blue eyes half hidden
under lowered lids. Waiting for her answer. Hoping.

“You are mine, Wyc Kilth.” Her words, faint at first, grew
stronger with each syllable. “Now. Forever. Body, heart and soul. Kept for me
and by me, free to live complete in my love.”

She paused. Frowned. “Did I get it right?”

“It’s not the words that make the vow.” He brushed a kiss
into her palm. “It’s the intent of the heart.”

He curved a hand around her head and held her to his chest.
She could hear the thunder of his heartbeat under her ear as he pressed a soft
kiss into her hair. “Yes. You did it right.”

He skimmed his other hand up her back and then down to grasp
the curve of her bottom and squeeze. “About damn time.”

She pulled back slightly and smiled up at him. “So? Are we
married? At least according to Ilyrian laws?”

“We’re much more than married, Bethany. There is no breaking
or voiding our vows, because I won’t ever release you. I’m yours for eternity,
through this life and beyond.”

He framed her face between both his hands. “And you are
mine. Understand?”

Pure emotion hit Bethany like rising ocean waves of
hurricane force. Yes. She understood. Beyond what her mind was capable of
catching and comprehending, she understood and responded the only way she
could.

Reaching up, she speared her fingers through his hair,
fisted them there and tugged his face down to hers. She slanted her mouth
against his and thrust her tongue inside. She tasted, defied his natural
dominance and plunged deeper.

He growled and pulled her closer, but she pushed at his
arms, broke the kiss and ran her tongue down his neck to his chest. Her hands
swept over his muscled abdomen, down his hips and back up. She sunk her teeth
into the muscle above his nipple, then, licked where she had placed her love
bite. She smiled at his harsh intake of breath, at his hands reflexively
contracting around her shoulders.

With purpose, she angled her body so as not to touch his
jutting cock and continued to lavish attention on his chest. She took her time
laving his nipples, scraping her teeth over them and sucking them in turn. She
loved the firmness of his muscle against her teeth, the heat against her lips
and the way her tongue made his nipples pull tight. The textures and tastes
changed some as she worked her way across his chest, but everywhere he was hot,
slightly salty with a hint of spice and utterly, blatantly, primal male.

She closed her eyes and released a soft moan as she let the
essence of Wyc infuse her senses and build her need for him. Her breasts grew
heavy and ached to be touched, teased by his hands and mouth. Her skin
constricted around every nerve ending until the faintest breeze felt like a
firebrand against her flesh. She could feel blood pulsing through her pussy at
every heartbeat, making her sex swell and cream. The more she took Wyc in, the
more she wanted him.

While her mouth was busily devoted to his chest, she let her
hands slide over his stomach, thighs and butt with whisper-soft caresses.
Feathering her fingertips across his skin, she followed a path that drew
intricate designs over his ass and around to the front of his legs. Lightly,
she raked her nails through the silky hair at the inside of his thighs, coming
close, but never touching any part of his hard and straining cock.

Wyc hissed out a curse and started to reach for her. She
nipped his chest in warning and took hold of his wrists, placing them back at
his sides. He released a low rumble of frustration. When she was sure he was
going to cooperate, she let go and resumed plundering his body.

Her mouth trailed down toward his navel. Her splayed hands
skimmed softly over his skin. Her fingertips sensitive to every texture, every
shift of muscle and ripple of need as it coursed through his body.

His scent was sharp, wild—arousing in its utter maleness
after his fight. Tinged with the metallic smell of blood and the musk of spent
fury. She kissed her way back up to his Guardian tattoo, circled it lightly
with the tip of her tongue and then placed a soft kiss on it.

A hard shudder racked his body and his big hands clamped on
her ass, forcing her flush against him. Wyc rocked into her, his erection a hot
steel rod pressing into her belly. She pushed at his chest, and after a moment,
he released her enough for her to slide down his body. She leaned back until
his hands dropped free and curled into fists at his sides.

She settled herself on her knees and watched his face, his
gaze locked on her hands as they glided over his abs, his hips, his upper
thighs. His eyes narrowed when her hands stopped within a hairsbreadth of his
cock. It jerked and an ominous rumble rose from deep in his chest.

Bethany smiled. Leaned in. Licked her lips. Waited.

He growled her name. “Quit teasing. I need to fuck you.
Now.”

He started to pull her up, but she resisted, glaring up at
him, angry at being distracted.

“Damn it, Wyc. You’re the one who was so insistent about
having me take you. Now let me do it.” She shoved his hands away again, and
began laying down a trail of wet, openmouthed kisses over his waist and left
hip. Pulling back enough to watch his face, she tongued small circles along the
crease that joined hip to thigh, moving ever closer to his fully hardened
erection. On her cheek, she could feel the heat emanating off his cock and
wanted it deep inside her.

Soon, she promised herself. But first, she wanted to taste
Wyc.

She remembered the first time Wyc had made her come with his
mouth. The fantasy he had made her weave as his tongue danced and swirled
everywhere but where she had desperately needed it. The look on his face when
he finally licked her dripping pussy. An expression so severe, so stark with
such dangerous need and emotion she couldn’t understand at the time.

She did now. Her desire to taste Wyc, to take him fully into
her mouth, was not built of the curiosity she had felt this morning, but a
craving to know his very essence. To claim him in every way a man could be
claimed. As was her right.

Caught in an undertow of emotion, she
needed
Wyc.
That need broke the final restraints holding her back from truly bonding with
her mate. She felt her soul tearing free and launching into him until she
wasn’t simply stroking his golden skin on the outside, she was caressing the
man from the inside out as well.

She had no words for this experience. Every other time they
had made love, she had felt him like this within her, as if he were merging
with her soul as he merged with her body. This time, she was not only on the
receiving end, but the giving end.

Mine
, she whispered with her heart.
You are mine.
The
words flew through her, into Wyc. Branding them both within a union beyond
words or a physical joining.

Dark with passion, his eyes locked on hers. She saw his
response in his gaze an instant before it rolled through her with the force of
a full-body shockwave.