The Shadows of Night (10 page)

“Remember,” he said through gritted teeth.
 
“
Slowly
.”

She lowered herself onto him, letting just the tip slide into her wet flesh.
 
“Are you certain you want me to go slowly?”

He wasn’t certain in the least.
 
In fact he was reasonably sure he was going to die if she didn’t move faster.
 
But he ground his jaw together and tried to speak as if he were in control of himself and his reactions, rather than on the verge of losing his self-control entirely.

“Yes.
 
Go slowly.”

She sank slowly onto him, taking in a bare inch of him at a time.
 
He could feel her body stretching around him as it encompassed him, could feel
himself
sinking deeper and deeper into her warmth, and he had to resist the impulse to thrust hard, to fill her totally.
 
A shudder of pleasure ran through his cock, and his balls drew up against his body, so taut they hurt.

She paused when he was only about halfway inside her, letting him savor her heat, letting his ache grow to unbearable levels.

“Slow enough?” she purred.

He was about to explode.
 
He couldn’t decide if he wanted her to go even more slowly, to draw the pleasure out further, or faster, to bring him to a climax right now.
 
He’d never yearned for release so desperately in his life.
 
And yet he wanted to enjoy the moment, to revel in the feel of her hot body surrounding him, to feel the throbbing of her interior muscles and know that she, too, was fully aroused.

Slowly, she slid downward again.
 
She was so wet that she slipped easily along his length, so aroused that she stretched to accommodate him easily.
 
At last he was fully embedded in her, right to the hilt.
 
She sat atop him, motionless, her mouth curved in a distinctly feline smile.

The sensation of her body clutching his, squeezing him, surrounding him in warmth and moisture, drove him to the edge of madness.
 
He gritted his teeth, struggling not to lose control, but she tightened her inner muscles around him, and he groaned as a climax slammed into him.
 
He convulsed beneath her, throwing back his head, shockingly intense pleasure surging through him in waves.

Afterward he opened his eyes to find her watching him with that catlike expression, her eyelids heavy.
 

“That wasn’t as good for you as it was for me,” he said softly.

She shrugged a slim shoulder.
 
“It was fine.”

“No.”
 
He lifted her off his thighs and sat up.
 
“It wasn’t fine.
 
Not for you.
 
Let me please you.”

Her eyes widened with surprise.
 
“But you are finished.”

He wasn’t sure of that, actually.
 
He had an odd certainty he could make love to her for the rest of the day, over and over again.
 
“But you are not,” he said firmly, and pushed her back onto the cot.
 
This time she didn’t resist.

He heard her sigh of pleasure as he nuzzled her shoulder, then moved his mouth lower and drew her nipple into his mouth.
 
She moaned,
then
began to twist beneath him, digging her fingers into his hair, letting her sharp nails sink into his bare shoulders.
 
A tendril of fear slid through him in response to the mild pain, but he shoved it away and continued to suckle, pleased by her responsiveness.
 

This Claw was far from passive.

He sucked hard on one nipple and rolled the other between his fingers, and suddenly she jerked beneath him and uttered a long, gasping cry of pleasure.
 
At last she collapsed back against the mattress, and he lifted his head and regarded her curiously.

“You found that… satisfying?”

She gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
 
“I have never…”
 
She hesitated.
 
“That has never happened before.”

It had never happened to a woman he’d made love to before, either.
 
She was so responsive, so eager, that he felt a stab of lust in his groin.
 
Many Antler men would regard her sexual enthusiasm as animalistic, or simply barbaric, but he found it surprisingly pleasing. It was enjoyable to make love to a woman who responded so readily.

“Let’s do it again,” he suggested, and lowered his head.

“I couldn’t…” she began,
then
broke off with a moan as his lips moved down the flat, strong planes of her stomach.
 
He kissed the shallow indentation of her belly button,
then
let his hand drift lower, through the dark, curling at the juncture of her thighs.
 

His finger delved into her soft, wet flesh, parting her till he found her most sensitive flesh, and stroking her there in a gentle, deliberate rhythm.
 
She was wet, from his moisture as well as her own, and his hand moved easily against her.
 
He listened to the soft gasping sounds she made, and his own arousal grew, swelling within him, until he was hard again.
 

“Please,” she whispered at last.

He shook his head.
 
“It’s my turn to torment you, Claw.”

She spoke through her teeth.
 
“I… can’t… wait.”

“Yes.
 
You can.”
 
He moved down her body, lowered his head, and stroked his tongue across her wet flesh.
 
She sobbed, arching her hips right off the bed.

“Now.
 
Now
.”

“When I permit it, and not a moment before,” he said softly.
 
“You are too accustomed to being in charge.”

She lifted her head and glared at him.
 
“I am going to shift and devour you, antlers and all.”

“Really?”
 
He stroked her lazily with his tongue, and she sobbed.

“Yes,” she whispered.
 
“Immediately… after we are done here.”

“Surprisingly enough, that doesn’t provide me with much incentive to hurry.”
 
He stroked her again, and again, relishing the sweet taste of her, the spicy scent of her arousal,
the
desperate sounds of need she made.
 
He was teasing her as much as she had teased him earlier, and finding it just as pleasurable.

At last he decided she had been teased long enough.
 
He lowered his head and sucked gently on her tender flesh.
 
Almost instantly, she cried out, thrashing violently against the cot, her fingers sinking into his hair and hanging on for dear life.
 
He forced her to ride out the storm, and only released her when she collapsed, boneless, against the mattress.

He moved up the cot and stretched out next to her.
 
She cuddled against him in a way that surprised him—he had always understood the Claw Kindred were more or less loners, and not at all the cuddly sort, even as kittens.
 
Yet here she was, rubbing her cheek against his chest.
 
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Her eyes widened as his erect cock nudged her thigh.
 
“Now you are the one who is not finished.”

“I’m fine,” he said.
 
“We must sleep sometime.”

“Must we?”
 
She looked up and smiled wickedly.
 
“It seems to me there are other activities more enjoyable than merely sleeping.”

“I agree.
 
But we are going into a dangerous situation, and we will need our wits about us.”

Her hand wrapped around his erection.
 
“Nevertheless, you will sleep better if you are fully sated.”

He considered that.
 
“You make a persuasive argument.”

“I can make it even more persuasive,” she said, and began to move her hand up and down his shaft.

Leaning back his head, he allowed himself to be persuaded.

The smaller moon was rising in the sky, washing the forest with silver, as they stepped out of the safe house into the shadows of the next night.
 
They paused for a few moments to bathe in a forest pool,
then
headed into the forest. This time Hart led the way.
 

In his animal form, it made him nervous to have a predator right behind him, but he forced his clamoring instincts into silence.
 
Even in his stag form, his brain remained essentially human, and he knew he had to trust this woman.
 
After the way they’d made love, over and over again, he had to trust her.

Not that their lovemaking meant anything, he reminded himself.
 
Among both their peoples, sex could be a bonding, an important sharing between wedded mates, or it could be merely a form of entertainment.
 
He knew intellectually that Katara had chosen to make love to him because he was a novelty, a new taste for her palate.
 

And yet he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her as his mate.

It was a ridiculous notion, of course.
 
She would no more agree to mate permanently with him than she’d mate with a bald eagle.
 
Nor would either of their Kindred accept such a pairing.

A rancid odor drifted to him on the cool night wind, and he slid to a halt, digging his hooves into the leaves littering the ground.
 
Katara leapt to his side in an instant, her ears erect, her eyes scanning the murky shadows.
 
Then her ears pressed flat to her head and her lips drew back in a silent snarl, exposing her wickedly sharp teeth.

The shadows moved, and dark shapes emerged from the undergrowth.
 
As they moved into the moonlight, the shapes clarified into enormous wolves.

The long-ago memory of being caught in the forest by predators flashed into his mind.
 
The memory of fear.
 
Of death.
 
He pushed the vision back and tried to focus on this situation.
 
If he didn’t focus, they were unlikely to survive.

As the wolves slunk forward, the odor was so strong that Hart wondered he hadn’t caught it before.
 
But they’d been downwind, and hidden in a thicket of strong-smelling
masala
bushes, which had helped to mask their scent.

He caught a glimpse of Katara’s fearsome, snarling visage out of the corner of his eye.
 
The sight of her long, curving teeth ought to frighten him.
 
Yet the only fright in his heart at this moment was not fear of her, but for her.
 
The thought of her lying wounded or dead on the leaves, the way he’d found her just a few days ago, sent a stab of fear and rage through him.

He wouldn’t permit her to be injured that way again.

Lowering his head so that his imposing antlers threatened the wolves, he pawed the ground in warning.
 
At his side, Katara crouched in a battle-ready pose, and a low growl pulsed from her throat.

The wolves circled them warily.
 
They’d taken Katara once before, and injured Prong, who was almost as large as Hart himself, but both of them together evidently posed a greater threat.
 
There appeared to be ten wolves—not an entire Pack, but as many as usually hunted together—all huge, imposing beasts.

If this had been an ambush, it had been a poorly designed one, Hart thought.
 
The wolves should have attacked them without warning, not circled them in such a fashion, giving them the opportunity to defend
themselves
.
 
Perhaps the wind had shifted and given him an unexpected advantage.
 
Or perhaps the wolves had something else in mind.

The largest wolf, a huge silvery male, suddenly stopped circling and lunged for Katara.
 
Protective fury erupted inside Hart, and he leapt forward, antlers down.
 
He felt the shock as his antlers dug into the wolf’s shaggy, muscular body, cutting all the way to the bone, heard the beast’s anguished yelp of pain.
 

He’d felt that peculiar shock once before, and the memory still chilled him.
 
Yet he couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t let the memories overwhelm him with horror, or Katara would die.
 
He jerked his head to the left, flinging the badly injured wolf aside, and lowered his head again.
 
In his animal form, he was unable to speak, but he knew his belligerent posture sent an unmistakable message:
Anyone else care to try?

The wolves backed up a bit, glancing at each other.
 
Another one, smaller and with an ebony coat, feinted forward, but Hart jerked his head toward her, and she pulled back with a yelp as a pointed antler ripped through her thick coat, into the muscles of her shoulder.