Desires of the Otherworld 2: Darkest Hunger (5 page)

Bridon walked back to the bars and demanded, “Which one is she?”

It was as if a floodgate opened. All of the females, with the exception of the one before him, began chanting as one. “I am she!” they cried in a high-pitched chorus, aided by the ear-piercing wails of the girl balled up on the cot.

“Me,” the girl behind the bars whispered, only audible because of his enhanced hearing.

“You?” He laughed bitterly, incensed by the cries of pain. He turned to Ian, fully intending to leave. “To hell with it. She will survive until Lucian’s return. They can suffer her agony alone. Let’s go.”

“No, please.” The girl reached past the bars, touched him, and sent a wave of fire racing through his body. “Don’t leave her like this. She’s with child. The reaction she is having is because of the baby. The collar will kill it!”

Seeing a weakness, he surged ahead, heedless of the risk of appearing a beast to his Chosen. “Which of you is Willow? Tell me, and I’ll remove the collar.”

“Me,” she said again and was followed by the echoed chanting, “I am she,” of the Lycae women around them.

He shoved aside her hand, unwilling to give her or any of the females in the hold any more consideration. The Norvallen Lycae pack was a deplorable clan, consisting of wolves more beast than man. Although they hunted as vampires did, they considered themselves better because they could walk in the sun. However, unlike vampires, when Lycae hunted, they killed. Something vampires did not.

“Let’s go,” he barked in Ian’s direction. The wails from inside the cell became screams of misery and were only muffled by the combined shrieks of the females proclaiming to be his Fated.

“Damn it, you miserable son of a whorehound!” The girl reached out with one hand and snagged his arm again. She grasped at the necklace around her neck with the other and snapped, “I’ll show you!”

He watched as she ripped the chain from her throat, severing the thin strand of metal in two, and the shade surrounding her evaporated. Brown hair became sun-kissed blonde. Her cheekbones lifted, dark eyebrows becoming arched instead of smooth. Her nose thinned out, lifting and reshaping. Stunned silent and mouth gaping, Bridon stared at his Chosen as she took her true form.

Identifiable longings and emotions resurfaced with the same fevered intensity. Willow wasn’t like Aislynn—not exactly. She was taller and curvier, with tanned versus fair skin. Her hair was marked with red tones instead of pale yellow, and the strands were wavy instead of straight. But the eyes he recognized. He had gazed into those pools of warm chocolate brown often enough to place them anywhere.

“Take off the collar!” she screamed, her voice and face conveying her panic, and released his arm.

Getting hold of himself, he warped to the screaming Lycae. The collars were charmed to recognize touch. The silver metal slid from the thrashing woman’s throat as he grasped it, willed it to open, and pulled it free. His Fated rushed to the bed, and he stepped aside, watching in disbelief and shock as she knelt on the floor. She smoothed the strands of hair that came loose from her friend’s face, whispering soft nothings meant to provide encouragement and support.

“Willow.” He addressed her by her name for the first time.

Her shoulders went tight as her hand went still. “Nothing has changed,” she informed him curtly, without turning. “I meant everything I told you. We are enemies, blood drinker. I would sooner cut my throat with a honed silver blade than come to you as your Fated.”

Though he expected it, the words wounded, a sharp pain staking his heart.

“You won’t always feel that way,” Lucian spoke in the instant he appeared. The daemon transported from the hall and into the cell. “There are things you do not know but soon will.”

Bridon turned to face the nygromancer, and his fangs extended in anger. “Where the hell have you been?

“Byron’s sister got into a spot of trouble. He required my aid in retrieving her.” Lucian walked toward Willow. He studied her for a moment and smiled, extending his hand. “The necklace.”

“Piss off, hell spawn,” she hissed.

Ian shook his head and murmured, “She’s nothing like Aislynn.”

Bridon noted that Ian’s words seemed to upset Willow. Her eyes darkened, and her lips thinned. She slapped at Lucian’s hand but couldn’t stop him as he took the necklace, held it in his palm, and closed his eyes. After a moment he smiled and laughed.

“Clever witch. The homing device is here, embedded in the charm. As Willow has already done us the favor of lifting her shade, I’d say my work is done.”

“We must depart soon,” Ian reminded Bridon. “The Lycae King of Norvallen approaches.”

“By all means.” Willow sneered. “GTFO. Don’t mind the dogs in the kennels.”

Frowning, Bridon repeated, “GTFO?”

“You know.” Willow smiled, and his blood started pounding in his veins, his throat became as dry as desert sand, and his cock stiffened in an approving salute. “Go. The. Fuck. On.”

“Holy Fates.” Ian sounded repulsed. “She’s
nothing
like Aislynn.”

“Don’t compare me to her! Not now, not ever!” Willow shrieked. Shoving past Lucian, she ran to the door and attempted to lash out at Ian. “I am not Aislynn McKendry. Do you understand? I will never betray my people for your kind!”

“Why don’t you save this heartwarming speech for another time?” Lucian’s eyes changed, going from black to silver. “The big bad wolves will be upon this hold within another minute or so. I suggest you take your Fated and be on your way, Bridon.”

“No!” Willow balked, moving away from the door and pressing into a corner. With her shade gone, Bridon could smell her terror. She refused to look at him, staring at the door to the cell, chest heaving.

Seeking to comfort her, Bridon kept his voice light and even and stepped toward her. “Willow, you have nothing to fear from me or mine.”

She didn’t acknowledge him. Crouching slightly, she wrapped her fingers into tight fists, preparing to fight. He stood before her, uncertain and apprehensive. He didn’t want to fight his Chosen, but she obviously didn’t share the sentiment.

Lucian clasped his shoulder. “This will go much smoother if you allow me to send her to sleep. At the moment she knows only panic and fear. She will harm herself attempting to flee.”

“
She
is standing right here,” Willow thundered, baring her teeth. “And I’ll kill you before you touch me.”

“Bridon?” Lucian waited for his approval.

He sighed dismally and nodded. He didn’t want it to be like this, but he had no other choice. They had to depart before Willow’s brethren arrived. With her now revealed to him, it was time to take her to a place that would allow them to seal their bond to each other.

“Don’t even think about it,” Willow snarled, bending her knees and bracing for company.

Lucian strode for his Chosen and waved a glowing blue hand in her furious face, whispering an incantation. Her eyes slid closed in the same motion, and she collapsed, going limp. The daemon caught her before she fell to the ground and lifted her easily.

“Listen to me closely.” Lucian met Bridon’s gaze as he passed Willow over. “Lycae females are different from other women. They don’t respond to amorous gestures or romantic interludes. If you want your Fated, you’re going to have to behave as a Lycae male would to win her favor.”

Pulling her against his chest, he grumbled, “What are you suggesting? That I get into bar fights and lash out at my opponents with claws?”

Lucian shook his head. “You must dominate her.”

Arching a dark eyebrow, he queried, “Come again?”

“Willow is an alpha female, a Lycae heir to the throne. The only males of her kind that could possibly take her as a mate are the ones who are more dominant. That means you will have to be the same. She won’t respond to anything less.”

The loud blaring of horns announced the arrival of the pack of Norvallen, bringing their conversation to an end.

“If you have need of me, scry to let me know. I will come,” Lucian said and transported out.

“Ian.” Bridon peered at his friend outside the cell. “Are they ready?”

Ian closed his eyes, telepathically communicating with his men along the tower. He reopened them in seconds and nodded. “Everyone is transporting home now.”

Bridon shifted Willow in his arms and peered into her face, eager to be alone with his Fated for the first time in centuries. The time of waiting had come to an end. Soon, they would be joined as a Fated couple. Nothing would ever be able to separate them again.

He nodded at Ian, brought Willow closer to his chest, and said, “Let us join them.”

Chapter Five

Willow woke, groggy and disoriented, nestled inside a warm, downy bed with thick, lush blankets. She shifted her legs and went still as she slowly realized the weight around her waist was an arm, the small tendrils of air against her nape were the softest of exhalations, and the muscular appendage intertwined between her knees was a leg. The skin-to-skin contact made it painfully obvious she and her companion were naked. When she tensed, a diamond-hard erection began to grow and press against her ass.

“Good morning, love,” Bridon whispered against the tender spot beneath her ear, nuzzling the hair at her nape that was now hanging loose around her shoulders.

His voice and nearness was like a drug—intoxicating and debilitating. Rational thought went out the window, replaced by pure sexual need and a longing she had yet to experience for a male. To be sure, others had tried to engage her sexually. None, however, had been able to ignite a fire in her veins or bring her wolf rushing to the surface in anticipation. She shouldn’t feel this way for her captor—a man who had collared her kindred and endangered her friend—yet, for some inexplicable reason, she did.

She had heard of such things from Amber, who claimed she became a totally different person after discovering her Fated half. Amber insisted the emotions and needs were a living thing, something she couldn’t control even if she tried. The reminder sent Willow into a frenzied squirming and thrashing. She struggled to get free and was stopped easily when Bridon forced her onto her back. He came over her body, grasped her hands in one of his, and forced them over her head. When he settled his weight between her thighs, she tried to snarl in fury. To her horror, her voice came out husky with need.

“Get off me.”

He chose to do the opposite, moving closer, and pressed that hard and impressive length against her upper thigh. He was precariously close to the damp heat created by her throbbing sex, stopping less than an inch away. She stifled a groan of want as a tremor shook her. Their eyes met, and she froze, seeing the mutual desire burning inside the pools of liquid gray.

His face descended, eyes locked with hers. She knew what she was allowing was wrong and acknowledged that she should struggle and fight. Unfortunately, at that particular moment, all she wanted to know was if he tasted as good as he smelled. Her eyelids slid shut when his mouth found hers. His full lips were incredibly soft, and his taste was addictive, spicy, and totally masculine. She responded without being asked, parting her lips, and moaned when his tongue darted inside, tempting her further.

The hands above her head were released, but she didn’t struggle or fight. Instead she brought her fingers down to touch and explore the smooth skin at his shoulders. Muscles flexed under her hands. He felt warm, solid, and from what she could tell, he was completely unmarred. He reciprocated the favor, bringing his right hand down, and cupped her left breast. Flicking his thumb along her hardened nipple, he then rotated around the outside in a maddeningly light touch.

For a moment, her sanity returned. She pushed at him, readying to break free. “I said get off me.”

“Why would I want to do that? You’re so soft”—he flicked his tongue across her nipple—“warm”—he brought it into his mouth, sucked for a moment, and released the hardened point—“and irresistible.”

“Stop.” Gods, why did she sound so sexed up when she wanted to sound furious?

“Your mouth says stop.” He rubbed his chin against her breast. “Your body says yes.”

Arrogant bastard
. She squirmed beneath him, even though it did her little good. With her strength gone, he was as unshakable as a brick wall. She struck out in the only way she could, with her fists. She landed a solid blow to his head when he rose above her, and he trapped her wrists in his hands again.

“Don’t ever strike me, Willow.” The anger in his expression was unmistakable.

“If you took this fucking collar off of me, I’d do more than that.”

“I imagine you would.” He smiled, fueling her fury, and maneuvered his grip to encase her wrists in one hand. “That’s why I don’t plan on taking it off until we’re mated.”

“You’re a coward.” She struggled against the hand keeping her trapped. “Not that I expected anything more from a vampire.”

He clucked his tongue and stared down at her. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Oh, I’ll say more than that, you son of a bitch.”

“Shh,” he whispered against her lips, stroking her aching nipple in a featherlike tickle before pinching it between two fingers and sending a bolt of electricity pulsing through her pussy. “Why talk when we can do this instead?”

He dropped his head, brought his mouth to that sensitive peak, and bathed her pebbled flesh with his tongue. She cried out, forming her hands into tight fists. His mouth was masterful as he sucked and nipped, increasing the ache between her legs. Soon, she was writhing beneath him. She brushed her wet cleft against his shaft with the motions of her body.

The gentle touch of his fingers at her clit was unexpected. She gasped, tensing beneath him. It felt incredible—
too incredible
. If she didn’t find the willpower to stop him now, she wasn’t sure she would be able to at all.

“Stop,” she demanded, and tried to move up the bed and away from his touch.

“Are you sure you mean that?” he asked against her skin, teasing her nipple.

She started to tell him she meant exactly that when his finger slid inside her slick, moist heat. “Sweet Fates,” she whimpered, unable to stop the natural reaction of her body. The need to lift her hips to meet the stroke of his hand overwhelmed her. She found herself arching into his touch and grinding her sex against his palm. As wrong as it should have felt, he was right. Her mind might be revolted by his touch, but her body certainly wasn’t.