Primal Pleasure: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 3 (2 page)

And apparently she’d had the right idea because the second she dragged in a quick breath, his tempting masculine scent came with it. Instantly, she remembered that it had been a while since she’d been this close to a man.

A naked man.

Okay, so she was a little preoccupied with the naked part. She could think about what that said about her when the gargoyle wasn’t trembling all over.

Noticing just how naked he was might have only been a blip on her radar if he’d been primed to attack her. Except neither cat nor man had done more than rub against her. Even now, his body quaking, the gargoyle moved his hand across her back in shaky circles.

That had to explain why she found herself relaxing into him, settling her palm on his chest. Another rumbling growl echoed inside him, but before she could pull her hand back, he flattened it with his. This time when the same rough sound came, he nuzzled her cheek.

She sucked in a shocked breath, releasing it in slow degrees as though it might stop her from wanting him to do it again.

It didn’t work. And it really didn’t stop her from turning her face toward his, feeling his rough jaw sweep across hers. She’d had her share of lovers, yet couldn’t remember any of them ever holding her so possessively.

Her two minutes stretched into ten, maybe longer as his shaking slowly subsided to the occasional shiver. Good news if she didn’t count the way his hands moved up her back, lulling her into melting against him.

Lulling her into some kind of false security for all she knew. Maybe that was how he planned to get even with her—lower her guard with lazy caresses and soft words.

Soft words?

She concentrated but couldn’t understand what he whispered in her ear. Not that she cared when every warm breath and graze of his lips stirred something inside her.

Lust, she decided.

He was still naked, after all. Now that he wasn’t trembling so badly, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty drinking in the solid span of his shoulders and corded biceps. A faint line ran down the middle of his defined abdomen, disappearing into the shadow where their bodies pressed together. Trim hips and long legs extended well past her own, putting him well over six feet, she guessed.

Her gaze traveled back up, following the column of his throat to his jaw. She inched her head back a few degrees, finding his mouth. A cocky grin caught the corner of his mouth—one she recognized from the memory flashes—as though he knew exactly how much women enjoyed looking at him.

Knew how much she enjoyed looking at him.

Oh boy.

In half a second flat she found herself on her back with the gargoyle looming over her. Raised on his elbows, he wedged a thigh between hers, giving her no room to squirm away without rubbing against him.

Squirming was definitely out. So was breathing. Again.

“Don’t go.” Stronger but still rusty, his voice made her stomach grow hot and tight.

Only when she realized he waited for confirmation did she manage a slow nod. “Okay.” She just couldn’t figure out which of them she was lying to, since she’d ceased listening to her common sense right around the time he’d wrapped his arms around her.

Still, he stared at her, waiting.

God, when had the air grown so dry? She licked her lips and swallowed anxiously. “I’ll stay.”

Big mistake.

A lazy grin stole across the gargoyle’s face, as though she’d just offered herself up on a platter, slathered in whip cream.

Definitely a mistake. Too bad it was hard to remember that part when he dipped his head and nuzzled her throat.

Butterflies, the hot and silky kind, fluttered like mad under her ribs. She bit her lip only to have her breath hiss out as he trailed up to her jaw.

“I knew I’d find you.” He dragged his cheek across hers.

“We’ve never met.” She would have remembered the way his dark hair fell in careless strands across his forehead, or the arrogant slant to those full lips, as if he anticipated her complete surrender.

And there was no way she would have forgotten those eyes, especially when they turned almost feline on her.

“No, we haven’t met.” He teased his mouth along the sensitive skin below her ear. “But I’ve been waiting for you.”

She shook her head, unsure which one of them was confused. It was damn hard to think clearly with his mouth setting fire to her insides.

He shifted his weight, settling tighter between her thighs. Pleasure shot through her, and it was all she could do to keep from betraying what he was doing to her. She didn’t need her sister to tell her that kind of knowledge would give the gargoyle the upper hand.

Of course, if he kept sliding his thumb along the side of her breast like that, he could do whatever he wanted with his hands as long as he didn’t stop.

Wonderful. Not only was she a poor excuse for a sorceress, she was as discriminating as an enchantress. It was well known the Lady of the Lake’s daughters weren’t that particular when it came to choosing bedmates.

Emma wasn’t so different it seemed. She’d exchanged a handful of words with the gargoyle at most and made no effort to stop him from touching her. The opposite actually—she arched beneath him, biting her lip when his hand slid across her belly and edged beneath her halter-top.

“Your name,” he pleaded, his nose bumping hers. “Tell me.”

“Emma.” She gripped his shoulders, felt his mouth slide closer. “My name is Emma.” She trembled all over, squeezing her legs to satisfy the delicious ache the gargoyle had unleashed inside her.

He groaned against her cheek, and she felt his hand change course, sliding down between their bodies.

She whimpered and rolled her hips, craving the feel of his—

His head snapped up, tension turning his muscles into sculpted rock. More animal than man, a menacing growl ripped from his throat. He planted one hand on the ground next to her, his eyes glittering with lethal intent.

“What it is?” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she heard the door to the roof bang open.

“Fuck me,” someone said, probably one of the gargoyle’s brothers. “She freed him.” Retreating steps, then the voice yelled, “Cian’s free.”

Reality crashed in on Emma just as the gargoyle leaped over her. She scrambled up, her jaw dropping open as he shifted seamlessly into his cat form.

Instead of turning on her like she expected, he positioned himself between her and his brother Tristan. The one who was convinced he remembered Emma from the night her sister had cursed Cian.

She knew more about the Callaghans than they could imagine, which only made it that much harder to hate them for snatching her.

“Whoa!” Tristan held up his hands. “Easy, bro.”

The cat didn’t back off, his threatening snarl deepening when Tristan took a step toward him.

“Cian. Come on, man. Cool it.” Tristan shot her a furious look when his brother didn’t back off. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” He focused on the cat. “Come on, Cian. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Seeming uncertain, the cat glanced back at her.

“Whatever you’ve done, fix it,” Tristan snapped.

“I didn’t do anything.” Anything except screw up royally. She could have been gone. Even if it had meant dropping over the edge of the roof, she should have run when she had the chance. Any injuries, even the ones that hurt like hell, would have healed. A perk any immortal could appreciate.

And where Tristan was, the huntress who’d tracked and caught her couldn’t be far behind. The sword the huntress wielded could most certainly do the kind of damage that could end an immortal’s life, and Emma happened to like her head attached to her body, thank you very much.

When she had first realized the huntress was tracking her, she’d worried her sister had somehow exposed Avalon or the existence of immortals in the human realm. That was the only reason she could imagine the goddess Rhiannon would have dispatched a huntress.

Finding out that her sister had cursed the gargoyle—with one of Constantine’s daggers no less—had made every one of Elena’s past escapades pale in comparison. King Arthur’s heir, Constantine, had crafted six mystical daggers that were rumored to reveal Excalibur’s resting place, and countless immortals would kill to possess not only the daggers but also Arthur’s sword.

The sword was prophesied to awaken Arthur so he could finish the war begun centuries ago, after he’d refused to satisfy his half-sister’s thirst for power and make his nephew his heir. The war that had suffered a significant setback when he’d died fighting Morgana and his nephew Mordred at the battle of Camlann.

And Emma had been within reach of one of the daggers. The huntress had even removed the magic-nulling cuff from Emma’s wrist, insisting she use the weapon to undo the curse. If she hadn’t been so determined to convince them she couldn’t help, she might have recognized the dagger instantly. Instead, she’d ignored it entirely.

Now she couldn’t help but wonder how things would have turned out if she’d taken it. One touch and she might have been able to determine the location of another dagger, maybe all of them. That kind of knowledge would have been more than enough to bargain for her release, and yet she’d passed it up.

Passed it up like her recent opportunity for escape.

“Damn it,” Tristan snapped, taking a threatening step in her direction, as though she had any control over the situation.

The cat instantly retaliated, driving him back.

“Why are you ready to tear my throat out? She’s the one who locked you in stone for over a century.”

Cold resignation sifted through her even as she felt the cat’s attention move back to her.

Well, shit.

He was going to be sick, of that both cat and man were in perfect agreement. His vision swam and his stomach cramped, sabotaging the instinct to defend the female.

His female.

They wanted to hurt her. Didn’t they?

He prowled the same path, every step making him more anxious and confused. Only when he edged closer to the female did the fuzzy veil clinging to his thoughts start to lift.

“Cian, look at me. We’re brothers. You know me.” The familiar voice didn’t match the blur of shadows in front of him.

Why couldn’t he see right?

“She did this to you, bro. Cursed you. You’ve been locked in stone since the night we went to that pub to celebrate.” Tristan motioned toward the female, Emma. “She was there and I pissed her off…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair.

Tristan. His brother.

Furious, Tristan stared at Emma. “Fix him.”

“I can’t.” The distress in her voice made him backtrack, and he rubbed against her.

She ran a hand through his fur though her gaze never left Tristan’s. More people stepped on to the roof and he growled, nudging Emma back.

“He’s protecting her.” The disgust in Tristan’s voice only agitated him more.

He recognized his sister’s scent before she said anything. “Cian?” Briana stopped beside Tristan.

“Don’t.” The female’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck before he could lunge at them. “They’re your family.”

She crouched down and he closed his eyes at the feel of her fingers sinking into his fur. He’d been waiting for her. Needed her.

“I don’t deserve your protection.”

Beneath the defeat in her voice, he felt her longing and ached to make it go away.

“It’s been a hundred years, Cian.” Briana stepped closer. “We haven’t seen you in over a century thanks to the sorceress you’re protecting.”

Still so cold, his thoughts foggy, he struggled to understand.

Emma’s hand fell away from him as she stood and took a step back. “They’re telling the truth.”

Chapter Two

“You haven’t eaten enough.”

Cian shrugged, not taking his eyes off the flat screen mounted on the wall in the kitchen. He’d eat later, use the glass and metal box on the counter to warm something up like Tristan had shown him, though he couldn’t remember what it was called.

Food hadn’t changed nearly as much as the rest of the world—except maybe fast food. The Big Mac was definitely a creation he’d enjoyed the hell out of a couple hours ago after seeing a human eating one on the screen.

A television, he mused again, still stunned by the countless changes he’d missed in the last hundred years. Anger surged inside him at the reminder, though he’d gotten better at forcing it back in the last two days.

“Hey.” Briana touched his shoulder.

“I’m okay.”

They both knew he was lying, but she didn’t address it further. Time, she’d said. He just needed time to adjust to the changes in the human world. The hardest part wasn’t that he’d lost a hundred years in the blink of an eye, but that he’d been so overwhelmed by it all he hadn’t taken a step off the property yet.

He might have been tempted to follow Tristan’s suggestion to return to Avalon if not for the sorceress cooling her heels in his suite of rooms.

Before his thoughts could drift to the black-haired temptress, he focused on the television. He wouldn’t be able to put off seeking her out for much longer. The cat was riding him too damn hard, not caring what she’d done.

He hadn’t cared either at first, his judgment clouded after spending so long trapped in stone. But his family had finally succeeded in getting through to him after he’d shifted back to his human form—barely. His animal half had fought the shift, determined to protect Emma.

Even now the cat prowled restlessly in the back of his mind, needing to be close to her, but not nearly as much as the man needed it. Thankfully, he literally had hundreds of distractions to keep him occupied. Every room in the mansion held objects he’d never seen before, capable of things he could barely imagine.

So why then did his thoughts always circle back to Emma?

He’d understand if he had vengeance on his mind. But whenever he started out thinking of a way to inflict a suitable punishment for the years she’d cost him, his thoughts always turned from punishment to pleasure.

Chaining her up in Avalon’s catacombs and leaving her to rot for a hundred years ended up as chaining her to his bed. Handing her over to a Korrigan, knowing the lethal fairy would enthrall her into eternal servitude, ended with him imagining her catering to his every carnal whim.