A Love Untamed (20 page)

Gripping her small head, diving his fingers into her glorious hair, he struggled not to rock his hips as she licked him, sucking him. And lost. Of their own volition, his hips rose, pushing his erection more deeply into her mouth and she took him, her free hand finding his stones, playing with them, wrenching a moan from his throat. The pleasure built and built until it was all he could do not to come.

“Enough, angel.”

Melisande released him, wiping her mouth, looking up at him with a sultry, shining joy. “I would bring you to release.”

“I don't want to go there without you.”

M
elisande slid her hands up under Fox's T-shirt, reveling in the feel of warm skin over hard muscle beneath her palms. “Undress for me,” she breathed, her voice husky, delighting in the rush of pleasure she'd been denied for so long, a pleasure all the more intense because of the man she shared it with. A man who made her smile, who lit her up inside, burning away the shadows and the darkness, holding the worst of the memories firmly at bay.

He smiled at her now, a slow, carnal smile that thrilled and delighted her. Never had she been with a male who was more gentle, or more considerate. Or more beautiful.

As he whipped his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, she watched the play of firelight over muscle and the way his golden locks caught the light of the flame. He was like an angel in his own right, a warrior angel if there was ever such a thing.

But her gaze caught on his shoulder where he'd been wounded. And had yet to fully heal. And there was another cut on his forearm. She frowned. “It worries me that you aren't healing.”

“Me, too,” he admitted as he sat at her feet and began to pull off his boots. “I'm sure it's just the mountain's magic.”

She reached for her knife and made a slice across the pad of her middle finger. Pain seared, blood bloomed, but within seconds, the wound closed and she licked the blood away.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing your theory that it's the mountain's magic.” She held up her fully healed finger. “It's not affecting me that way.”

Fox held out his hand to her. “Do the same to me.”

She met his gaze, hesitating for only a moment before she took his hand and cut a far-more-shallow slice, then watched with dismay as the blood welled up, and up, until it ran down his hand, dripping onto the ground.

Her gaze flew to his, and she frowned. “It makes no sense why the mountain would try to kill you this way when it has so clearly been trying to trap you alive.” She grabbed the hem of her discarded tunic and wrapped it around his bleeding finger. Moments later, she eased back the pressure to study the wound. “It's starting to heal,” she murmured, then pressed the wound some more.

He touched her hand, brushing his thumb across the back of it. “I'm fine, pet. No, not fine. I'm in pain of a different kind.”

But it worried her that he wasn't healing properly. Something was obviously wrong with him. And that bothered her far more than she wanted it to.

Fox stood and shucked the rest of his clothes, and she watched, loving him, drinking in the sight of his beauty. He was glorious, his legs thick with muscle, his hips and waist narrow, his chest broad and beautifully sculpted. And his erection . . . as fine as any ever made.

Hunger burned in her belly. Affection and joy built in her chest, a pressure she wasn't sure how to ease.

He pulled her into his arms, and she went happily, loving the feel of flesh to flesh, loving the slide of his hands down her bare back and the press of that protruding thickness against her belly. She drank in the sweetness of being held, of feeling utterly safe even when danger lurked just outside.

The brush of his whiskers and the soft press of his warm kiss to her temple melted her. Nose against his neck, she breathed his scent deep into her lungs, shivering with the raw pleasure it brought her, and pressed her own lips to that warm skin.

His hold on her tightened, his hands once more telegraphing the need that had raged before and that raged again. Lifting her head, she met his kiss in a fiery burst of pure desire, their mouths fusing, their tongues sliding and tangling. He tasted like a clean, fresh spring on a hot summer day, and she didn't think she would ever get enough of him. Reaching up, she gripped his skull, the long, soft strands of his hair slipping sensuously through her fingers. His hands roamed her back, sliding down to cup her buttocks, to pull her tight against his thick erection.

“I have to be inside you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I can't wait any longer.” He pulled her down with him, lying back with a small smile that wrapped around her heart and squeezed. “Ride me, angel,” he said softly.

And there was nothing she wanted more. Straddling him, she lowered herself slowly until the tip of his erection pressed between her legs, seeking entrance.

“Can I hold on to you this time?” he asked carefully. “Will you let me join you?”

“Yes. Please.”

He grinned, then gripped her hips and pushed inside her, slowly, carefully, filling her, claiming her.

Melisande arched back, drenched in pleasure. She rolled her hips, sliding him out, then in again in a sinuous move that had always driven her lovers to madness. At the sound of Fox's groan, she smiled, peering down at him, meeting his passion-filled gaze. As she stepped up the pace, his grip slid to her buttocks, his fingers digging into her, driving her own passion higher.

“You're good at this,” he gasped.

“Am I?” She laughed, all worries gone for this moment. Her senses swam, overwhelmed by the feel of flesh on flesh, of Fox's wonderful, masculine scent, of his heat, and the sheer perfection of his powerful body. As her need built, emotion welled up inside of her—pleasure, joy.
Love.
How it had happened, she didn't know, but she'd fallen in love with this man.

The passionate storm picked her up. Fox's grip on her tightened. “Look at me, angel.” His blue eyes pulled her in, snaring her, holding her with the softest, sweetest touch as he pushed into her, harder and harder, driving her up, and up, and up.

She met him, thrust for thrust, telling him without words that he didn't need to be careful. Not now. Not in this. Together, they mated, sex in its most primitive form, hard, desperate, loving. One. It was glorious, a melding of both flesh and spirit. Grinning at one another, gasping, they screamed their release, her cry to his shout as the storm broke over them.

As her heart began to settle, Fox slid his hands up her side, reaching for her. “Kiss me, Mel.”

And she did, lying atop him, stroking his damp face, pressing her lips to his. His hands stroked her back, caressed her head, as her hair fell over them both.

Finally, she tucked her head against his shoulder and knew peace.

“This place could have filled with Mage, and I wouldn't have known it,” he murmured against her hair. “For once, the goddess was on our side.” He kissed her forehead with such tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

Lifting up, she pressed her hand to his cheek. “That was . . . the very best it's ever been for me.”

Pleasure warmed his eyes along with wry amusement. “And you remember those lovers from long ago?”

She smiled. “I do. An Ilina never forgets.”

“I thought it was the elephant that never forgets.”

“Funny story . . .” She traced his bottom lip with her finger and he pulled her digit into his mouth. “In ancient Persia, the word for Ilina and elephant were nearly the same. Somehow it slipped from the Therian lexicon to the human.”

“So the original saying really was ‘an Ilina never forgets.' ” He laughed, then gripped the back of her head and kissed her thoroughly once more.

But thought of the past had opened more doors, allowing memories to pour through. She pulled away, laying her cheek on Fox's shoulder. He cupped her head, caressing her, comforting her, and they lay there for a long time.

“You've turned pensive,” he murmured. “Are you remembering?”

With a sigh, she nodded. “More than you can imagine.”

“Can you share with me . . . anything? Were you in love with Castin?”

“No. But I thought we were friends. We'd been lovers for nearly a year. He was one of the cheetah clan chieftain's lieutenants. I met him when I attended one of the war-council meetings with my queen, Rayas.”

He stilled beneath her, his breath catching, his palm freezing on her head. “Mel . . .
how long ago was this
?”

She lifted up, peering down into his shocked face. “Five thousand years. In the weeks after the Sacrifice.”

He stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.

Melisande scowled. “Are you horrified that you just made love to an ancient?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Awed. You were there at the time of the Sacrifice, in the time of the Daemons.”

“I was. And for almost a thousand years before. I'm quite old, Feral.” She started to push off him, and he lifted her, setting her beside him. Together, they rose and donned their clothing, boots, and weapons.

As she began to plait her hair, Fox strolled to the cave's mouth and peered through. “The snow is piling up. We're going to have trouble getting out.”

“They have no intention of letting us out. And where will we go if they do?”

Fox turned back and placed another couple of logs on the fire. The smoke rose instead of filling the cave, telling her there must be an opening high in the ceiling they couldn't see.

As Fox knelt to stoke the fire, he glanced at her, his eyes deep wells of compassion and curiosity. “Will you tell me more? About the past? About you?”

The barriers she'd erected were all gone now, burned away in the warmth of her newfound love. No longer did she feel the need to hide the past. Instead, with this male, she longed to share everything.

F
ox knew he wasn't going to like what Melisande had to say. The thought of anyone hurting her had his hands shaking with the need to rip off heads. But there was so much turmoil inside her, so much torment. He needed to understand what was going on if he ever wished to help her. And he wanted to help her, desperately.

As he stoked the fire, Melisande took a long, shuddering breath, her fingers plaiting her hair with quick, tense efficiency. “The Daemons were newly defeated, the Sacrifice but weeks old.”

Everyone knew the story, that both the Therians—all of whom were shape-shifters back in that time—and the Mage had pooled their great power to defeat the Daemons and lock them in the enchanted Daemon Blade. They didn't call it
the Sacrifice
until years later, once they'd realized the horrible truth—that little of that power would ever return.

“I knew that the shifters were having trouble accessing their animals, but I didn't know the extent of it,” she told him. “None of us did. When Castin extended an invitation to the cheetah clan's celebration at the end of the war, I gladly accepted. He asked me to bring seven friends, and while requesting eight Ilinas to attend their event, and only eight, was odd, I didn't question it. Most Ilinas can sing quite well and are born dancers and courtesans. We were highly sought out at such gatherings, as you can probably imagine. Highly prized. Requesting all that wished to attend, I would have understood. But he asked for eight.”

She looked away, a ripping sadness in her eyes that made him want to smash something. “I brought my seven best friends with me that night.”

Castin was going to die ten thousand deaths. Fox joined her, sitting beside her on the hard-packed dirt, where he could at once see her face and the cave's entrance beyond the fire. He gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

Melisande continued. “At the end of one of our dances, the chieftain ordered his guards to bestow a gift upon each of us, a silver bracelet set with what appeared to be lumps of tar. He claimed it was a cheetah tradition to honor beloved guests with such, and he stood beside me as his warriors placed a bracelet around each of our wrists, Castin giving me mine. I didn't realize it at the time, but the tar hid the red moonstones that stole an Ilina's ability to mist. As soon as they got the moonstones around our wrists, they turned on us, knocking us out. They moved us miles from their caves and warded the new caves so that our sisters and queen would never find us. And they never did.”

“Why?”
He'd tried to remain quiet while she spoke, but he couldn't. “Why would they do such a thing?”

Melisande turned her delicate face to him, the anguish in those eyes slaying him. “Because the chieftain believed that Ilina power might be able to restore their animals if only he found the right way to access it.” Her braid complete, she tossed it over her shoulder and looked down, drawing a thin line in the dirt with her fingernail. “And because I was a Ceraph.”

Fox frowned. “A Ceraph?”

She looked up. “It's hard to explain. Most Ilinas are born through magic and ritual, as I was. But every dozen millennia or so, an Ilina is born who is something more. It's said I was touched by divinity, by the goddess herself. And they call Ilinas like me Ceraphs.” She shrugged. “Angels.”

He stared at her.

A smile pulled at her mouth, but her eyes were sad. “Most of the Feral Warriors would have a laugh at that, wouldn't they?” She shrugged. “My gift . . . to ease the torment of others . . . was considered the gift of grace from the goddess herself. It was that power the cheetah chieftain believed might heal his clan and restore their animals.”

“He couldn't simply have asked?” Fox growled. “Why hurt you?”

She sighed. “You have to understand, we'd all endured over a century of war with the Daemons—a war in which our enemy, over and over, had demonstrated the ability of torture to access deep power. I believe it's part of the Daemon nature, or the way they access their own power. Castin and I had been lovers for months, and in those weeks after the Sacrifice, I'd been trying and trying to heal his animal. To no avail. They decided to find out if torture would access the power they needed. And death.”