Authors: Lia Slater
"You realize I wouldn't have let you in my home if I didn't
want to help." The smile returned. "Queen Nayla is by far my favorite of the
Queens who have ruled this country. She can see past the nonsense and make fair
decisions."
Why was she talking so much? "And? Get on with it, woman."
"And if I save her life, I ask that she remains here in
Paqualette."
"That's it? That's what you want in return?"
She shrugged. "An invitation to the castle every so often
would greatly improve my coven's reputation. As it is, we're feared or hated by
most of the townsfolk. It's no fun worrying if mutiny is afoot. One night we'll
go to sleep and the next thing we know, our heads will be on the slab. Can you
imagine fearing for your life every second of the day?" She bunched her brows
together and laughed. "Never mind. I suppose you can relate."
Mace shook his head in disbelief. "So you'd like a dinner
invitation?"
"To the balls as well. My girls don't get out very often.
They'd enjoy mingling with some of the finer men of Paqualette."
"Very well. I'm sure Nayla wouldn't have a problem with
that."
"Or you? You'll be King, won't you? There'll be
co-sovereignty, will there not? I can't imagine an alpha Were agreeing to
anything less."
"Yes, of course." Whatever it takes. If he needed to be king
of this god-forsaken country for Nayla, then he would. He just wanted her to
live. He wanted to see her face its natural color and hear her laugh. Or simply
breathe, goddamn it.
"Wonderful."
"Then you'll help her?" Yes. Hope filled his lungs.
She twisted her thin lips into a smile and waved her hand
toward Nayla. "Ta da! There you go, King Mace. I've already done all I can."
"What the hell does that mean?" He looked down at his mate
and was surprised to see the blob of medicine had disintegrated and the cut on
her neck was completely healed. But her face was still pale and her lips still
blue.
He peered at the witch, who was walking out the door. "What
happened? She's not recovered yet."
"It will take some time," she said lightly and leaned
against the door frame, "although I used the accelerated version of the plague
so she should be completely transformed by morning. You won't have to wait
weeks until you know if she'll make it."
Mace stilled. He couldn't believe his ears. "The plague? You
infected her? After I told you not to?"
"How else did you think I would save her? She was on her
last breath when you brought her to me."
He growled under his breath as every muscle in his body
tensed. "Damn you, you wench. I told you infecting her wasn't an option."
She rolled her eyes. "Too late. It was either the Were
plague or an injection of Vampire blood and I heard Weres have an aversion to
the fanged species." Her shrill laugh echoed in his ears. "Wouldn't want to
make your relationship any more complicated, dear. Now, take care of her. You
both have a long night in front of you."
He stepped toward her, ready to wring her thin neck but he
clenched his hands instead. He might still need the wicked witch. "Do you
understand what you've done? If she survives she'll never forgive me for
allowing this to happen. If she dies, you'll pay for her death. Either way,
you're doomed."
"Mace, honey, you really should work on your manners if
you're going to be the King. Tomorrow, when you're feeling less dismal, I
expect at least a thank-you." She released an annoyingly cheery sigh. "My girls
will be here in a moment to clean you two up. The Queen's going to want you to
comfort her through the pain of transforming. And you'll want to battle that
pain with the pleasure only you can give her."
"Pleasure?" Was she insane? Yes, of course she was.
"You know. Sex. A little moaning and groaning will help her
tremendously." She winked and closed the door behind her, leaving the room with
only the light of the moon shining through the window.
Mace looked down at his fragile mate covered in blood. If
she got through the transformation without dying then he'd have her for
eternity. A beat of optimism slipped through his thoughts followed by the cut
of reality. If she lived to be a Were, she'd hate him. She'd become her worst
nightmare.
He'd allowed this to happen. Never trust a goddamn witch. He
knew better. Their good deeds never came free. There was always a price to pay,
always a fucking hidden fee. He only hoped he wouldn't have to give up Nayla.
One way or the other.
The door sprang open again and four chattering young witches
glided in. They laughed and went on with their idiotic conversation as if there
weren't a dying woman spread out on the bed before them.
"I can't believe we'll be invited to the balls," one of them
said. She appeared to be in her early twenties, pretty, blonde and incredibly
annoying. Her voice screeched as she spoke.
"I know!" A second one, a redhead, sat on the mattress
beside Nayla, holding a pan of steaming water. "I'm going to have to sew a new
dress. That green fabric we just bought will be perfect."
They were talking about going to a goddamn ball? His mate
could die any moment and they were discussing ball attire. "Leave the water,"
he barked out, attempting to scare them away. "I'll clean her. Just get the
hell out of here."
The third witch, a raven-haired beauty with enormous brown
eyes curved her lips into a condescending smile. "'Fraid not. We have our
orders from Lorze."
"I don't give a damn about Lorze or your orders."
"You don't want us to get in trouble, do you?" She batted
her thick eyelashes at him and Mace thought if he were any other man he'd be
down on his knees. Instead, he wanted to rage. He wanted them gone.
But he held his tongue and watched as patiently as possible
as the witches ran damp cloths over Nayla's limp body. She didn't stir. Her
chest barely rose with her breaths. But at least the extreme pain hadn't begun.
Not like it had with Elizabeth.
Mace remembered trying to ease some of Elizabeth's agony,
but his own suffering had taken its toll. He'd been too weak. By the time he'd
fully transformed into the immortal Were, she had passed. Her reaction to the
plague had killed her. The torturous process had taken her from him, to live
eternity on his own.
Oh hell. He couldn't watch the same tragedy happen to Nayla.
He wouldn't simply stand around to witness her so fragile and helpless. Whether
he liked it or not, the witch had been right. He'd need to help his mate
through this the only way he knew how.
He had no choice but to clean himself. No way was he letting
these hags near him. Before one of them approached, he grabbed a spare cloth
from the pan and rubbed it over his face. The cloth covered with blood.
"Let me help you," the brown-eyed witch said.
"Don't touch me."
"Dream on, stud. I've no interest in getting my jollies from
bathing a Were. Please. I wouldn't stoop to your level."
"My level?" A witch was saying he was beneath her? "Ha.
Don't let your knack for witchcraft get to your head. A Were is a powerful
being. We'd withstand any of your silly tricks."
"Really?" She arched her brow slyly. "Silly tricks, you
say?"
"Of course. I've known witches who've tried to use their
craft on me." He shook his head and scrubbed the soiled cloth over his chest.
"Never works. Sorry to squash your theory, but my level is beyond your vision."
"Interesting." She snapped her fingers. "The witches you've
met must've been humoring you. Take a look at yourself, Were. All clean."
Mace glanced down at his body. Not a trace of blood or dirt
remained on his skin or on the cloth in his hands. And...he brought his forearm
up to his nose and sniffed--he smelled of piney soap. Huh. The witch hadn't
touched him or said a single word of a spell. She'd simply snapped her fingers.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Maybe he'd underestimated the Paqualette coven. His hopes
rose. Could it be Nayla would get through this?
He sat on the mattress next to her as the witches glided
back out of the room, taking their incessant chatter with them. Good. They were
gone and he was alone with his mate. His Were mate.
God, he hoped she'd forgive him for allowing the
transformation to happen. He gritted his jaw and swept his fingers down the
curve of her breast. She wouldn't have a choice. He wouldn't give her up. Not
now. Not ever. Whether she fought him or not, she'd be his for eternity.
He just needed to get her through the night. With that
thought, he brought his mouth down to her soft nipple and licked the
rosy-scented flesh until it budded under his touch. She stirred and her breath
hissed.
"Mace." Her voice was a rasping whisper. "It hurts. My body
hurts."
"I know, love. I'll make you feel better."
Nayla's blood burned as it gushed through her veins and
pumped in and out of her rapidly beating heart. Like a river of lava, the
intense heat traveled slowly down her body. She took in gasps of air in an
attempt to cool herself. But it was no use. What was happening to her? Was she
dying? The flames of hell couldn't be this hot.
She opened her eyes and peered out through tears to see Mace
leaning over her, his blue gaze watching her intently, his inky hair tucked
behind his ears. He looked like an avenging hero, she thought between intakes
of air. She may be dying but having him near eased her frightened sense of
terror. If only for a moment.
"I'm here for you, Nayla. Tell me what you need."
"It...burns." She spoke through jagged breaths. Her lungs
filled with hot tar. "Mace, I think I'm dying."
"No. You'll live." He sounded so certain, Nayla almost
believed him. "I'll cool you down." He gathered her into his strong arms and
lifted her off the bed.
Flames lapped at her skin as she cuddled up against him,
searching for some comfort, anything at all to dull the scorching pain. He
carried her through a small house and out its front door. Any confusion about
her whereabouts was quickly replaced by the agonizing heat pouring down her
body, reaching her core.
* * * * *
Mace rushed her out of the cottage and over to the cool
water of the nearby creek. The members of his pack were nowhere to be seen but
he caught their scent. They'd most likely hidden in the shadows of the forest,
ready to defend if any of the Paqualette Guard attacked. Once Nayla recovered,
he'd have to show the loyal bunch his appreciation somehow.
And she would recover. She'd survive this. She had to.
He glanced around for any sight of the witches but they'd
disappeared into their dark bungalows. So he waded into the shallow brook and
slowly lowered Nayla into the crisp water. He propped her head on the grassy
bank and her body sank into the water, resting on the sandy bed while the
stream ran over her naked body. He took in the sight of her slick skin and
tight nipples and guiltily hid his burgeoning erection under the running water.
"Does this help?" He looped a lock of her golden hair behind her ear and spread
out beside her.
"Yes," she said breathlessly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Nayla. I..." His confession stuck in his
throat. Now wasn't the time to tell her she'd never be human again. "Is there
anything else I can do? Do you still burn?"
"Yes, but the cold water is soothing. The burn is dulling
and..." She stared up at him and curved her hand over his jaw and slid it down
his chest. "I feel strange."
He held her tiny hand flat against him while guilt besieged
him. He could tell by the look in her eyes what she required. A Were female was
insatiable. A human woman turning Were was ten times as needy. And with the
accelerated version of the plague the witch had administered, there was no
telling how Nayla's body would react.
He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and a surge of
lust. His mate would be Were. She'd be immortal.
If he pleased her, maybe she'd forgive him for not
protecting her from this fate. A fate they now shared. Even though this was his
fault, he'd never felt so close to her, so bound to her heart.
She moved her hand down to where he ached for her. His cock
stiffened, hard as ever as she firmly gripped his shaft.
"Ah, Nayla." He groaned, then kissed her nose, her cheek and
her lips. "What do you need, love? Tell me. Anything you want. I'm yours."
"Oh, God." Her eyes fluttered and she cupped her mound and
squeezed his cock with her fist. "It's too much, Mace. Please, just help me.
Please."
All the blood in his body rushed to his balls and his dick.
He throbbed against her touch. "All right." He sucked in a breath and clenched
his abdomen to keep from ejaculating too soon. This would be a long night. He
needed to stay strong and take charge.
Carefully, he peeled her fingers from his shaft. "Spread
your legs for me, Nayla."
She did as he asked and he quickly maneuvered between her
thighs, kneeling down as the water's gentle current coursed against his
erection. He reached below the surface and gripped her ass. The soft rounded
flesh molded to his palms and she arched up, begging for more. Her pelvis
thrusting and her smooth belly constricting. The most beautiful movement he'd
ever seen.
He lifted her lower half above the water, making sure her
head still rested on the grassy bank.
"Oh, Mace." She grasped the inside of her thighs and spread
them for him. The sight of her rosy folds, the small patch of blonde hair
arrowing down her lush mound and the way she spread for him, made his mouth
water.
"Love, I want to bite into your flesh, you look so good."
She squirmed, but he held her still. "Don't tease me, Mace.
I can't take it. Do you understand that? I need you to help me, to make the
pain go away."
The pain. He'd almost forgotten. "Of course. Forgive me."