Chapter 13 #2
“You’ve seemed…distracted lately.”
All because of you, she grumbled to herself.
Still, her mood must’ve been noticeable if Soren was asking over it. And from how he said lately, it seemed he’d been noticing it for longer than just today.
Fates, she didn’t know if that should impress or worry her.
At least someone notices. At least he’s asking why.
Her chest ached at the thought.
Everything was either falling apart or spinning out of her control; Maeve felt listless in a way she seriously disliked. Much as she hated to admit it, Auntie Sofie was right. Maeve needed to know, one way or another, about how Soren felt.
Get it over with. It’s one thing that can be resolved here and now. Perhaps at least one answer would make her feel better, even if she didn’t like it.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” she made herself say.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Although, you don’t usually ask to ask.”
“Because you won’t like my question.”
His gaze flicked in her direction, and she could already see him guessing at just what she was about to ask.
“Why don’t you want a mate?”
There. It’s said.
Soren’s gaze skittered away, and his ears laid flat on his head. “Ah, that…” He cleared his throat.
An interminable handful of moments passed them by before he answered, and Maeve got the feeling that it was less that he searched for the right words and more the courage to say them.
“Within our former pride, a mate, kigara or not, wouldn’t have been possible for me,” he explained, gaze fixed on the dusky path before them. “I’ve long found it’s less painful to mourn an idea than a reality.”
Maeve nodded—that made sense, she supposed. The saying went that it was better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all, but it didn’t ring true, not always.
“And now that a kigara is possible?” she asked, her own voice dropping to just above a whisper.
His whiskers twitched, and she swore his arms, bent behind him to keep his hands folded at his back, tensed.
“You plan to leave,” he reminded her, not unkindly.
Yes, she had said that. Partly as a way to feel better about being outright rejected but also because it was the truth.
He really wouldn’t come with me. Not that she’d want him to—Maeve wanted to take opportunities that could help her achieve her goal, without having to account for a partner or spouse.
And besides, she well knew that being perceived as available opened some doors, loathsome as that could be.
Still, she didn’t care for the logical string of thought that ended with this being all her fault. He ran away from me first.
“You really never imagined finding a mate?” she had to ask.
“We all wish for things, and the nights can be long,” he admitted. He grinned sadly at the ground before adding, “In all honesty, when I let myself imagine, I envisioned someone like my brother’s mate Imogen, or even Briseis.”
Blood rushed past Maeve’s ears in a loud cascade, almost as though she stood near a waterfall. Oh, she’d guessed as much, but to hear him say it…
Yes, someone like Imogen or Briseis would certainly suit him. Someone kind, compassionate, sweet. Someone with the patience and grace to help him heal from the wounds he still clearly bore. Someone who could share dreams with him and give him children.
Basically, everything Maeve wasn’t.
There was her answer, and truth be told, she wasn’t glad to have it. You see, Auntie Sofie? You were wrong. Maeve would’ve much rather stayed in ignorant assumption.
She wasn’t proud of it, but she also didn’t care about the consequences when she said, “But you could’ve had something with someone like Briseis. You could’ve tried to be happy with her.”
Such a suit would’ve likely been well received by Briseis, if her soft looks were anything to go by. Their personalities and values matched well, and if neither cared about finding their fated mate, well then, serendipitous that they found each other instead.
But he hadn’t said anything, and if she had to guess, he likely never would have. It would’ve been up to Briseis to make the opening salvo.
Perhaps he’s a coward. Yes, she could swallow that better.
Soren looked down at her in surprise, as if he didn’t quite believe her.
Maeve nodded, driving the knife in further.
“She likes you, Soren. It’s plain to see.
So you didn’t have to be alone, you chose to be.
” Turning to face forward again, Maeve began to march for home with some speed.
“How fortunate for you, then, that you were stuck with someone like me instead. How convenient.”
An unhappy sound echoed behind her, and Maeve couldn’t contain her gasp when a large, warm hand clasped around hers, drawing her to a halt.
Soren stared at her, his huge chest heaving. Lips parted, his fangs looked pearlescent in the gathering gloam.
“That’s not—Miss Maeve, I—” He tugged his ear, even though he still held her hand in his other paw. The heat of his palm pad nearly burned her. “I’m not stuck with you,” he insisted, “anyone would be grateful for a mate such as you.”
“Anyone but you.”
He had the decency to wince. “The goddess doesn’t make mistakes. Perhaps she rightfully chose someone bold and confident. Someone like you.”
Well, that…also made a certain amount of sense. But Maeve was far from willing to give up her outrage.
“Yet you still don’t want a mate. Don’t want me.”
Those fangs flashed again, this time with all his sharp teeth as his nose wrinkled in a fierce snarl. His feline pupils narrowed to slits, and Maeve felt her pulse flutter in…was it alarm or interest? She couldn’t tell.
“I want you too much,” he growled.
Damn it all, damn how her breathing went reedy at his words, damn her heart for lurching, and damn him in particular for saying such a thing now.
“Then what precisely is the issue?” she demanded, happy to pretend there were none on her side.
“You’re leaving,” he repeated, this time much more accusatorily. “You’ll leave, and I won’t be able to bear it. The beast will tear me apart.”
“Beast?” she repeated.
Head dropping, Soren’s ears flattened against his head.
“Mantii have two forms. Dulur, the two-legged, and turuk, the bestial. The turuk lives inside all of us, it is us, and mine is…” Maeve watched in astonishment as this huge man shuddered, the feathers of his wings rustling.
“It is lukan. Violent, aggressive. It is the worst kind of beast to be.”
Lips parting, Maeve couldn’t help taking a step forward, lessening the distance between them.
Although she held her unlit lantern in her free hand, she lifted both to his chest, over his thundering heart, to see if she could feel what he said.
A thick vibration met her skin; at first, she thought he growled, but no, it was far richer.
A purr. He was purring at her touch.
Oh. Syrupy heat suffused Maeve, that alluring purr rubbing against her as seductively as a siren’s song.
It nearly drove her to distraction.
Pulling in a breath, Maeve watched as her knuckle brushed against that one enticing tuft of fur that always spilled over his shirt.
“So you’re scared of your beast? Of how it feels?” she said, although it wasn’t an accusation.
“Of course I am,” he groaned, even as his hand came to cover hers on his chest. “A lukan is to be more than feared—it’s to be reviled. Kept away from civilized people. A lukan is a true beast, one that is instinct and hunger only. I want to be far more than that.”
“Is it your turuk that dislikes me, then?” Fates, when had her voice gone so breathy?
“Oh, no,” he purred. His hand left hers, a travesty, but moved instead to cup her cheek in that warm palm, his claws sliding through her hair. It would have been a sweet touch, except for how his claws clung to her in a proprietary hold. “The beast likes you far, far too much.”
“Does it now?” Somewhere far away, she heard the lantern fall to the ground. All that mattered was she had both hands to sweep up the epic expanse of his rumbling chest.
Stepping closer, Soren’s hand came around her waist, pulling the bodies together. She didn’t know if he knew he did it, but she also didn’t really care.
The gloaming swam around them in purples and dusky blues; calm, soothing colors in stark contrast with the heated things dominating Maeve’s mind. His body heat seared her from chest to knee, and her fingers twitched to explore and pet the fur on his chest. Would it be soft? What about his mane?
A craving so strong it almost hurt clutched her middle. Fates, she needed to touch him.
Another rumbling purr shook them both, stealing Maeve’s breath in a pleased gasp. Her lips tingled for want of feeling it vibrate against them. Would it if they kissed? Did manticores kiss?
“The turuk is possessive and greedy. He wants you.” The fingers at her waist clenched, pricking his claws against her back. “He’d devour you whole.”
If he kept looking at her like that, Maeve might just let him.
“And what about you? What about the man?”
“Only a fool wouldn’t want you, Maeve. And I’m not a fool.”
“Tell me.” She wanted the words, directly.
A puff of warm breath cascaded across her cheeks. His forehead dropped to lay against hers as he said, “I fear I…I’ll lose control.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Maeve knew it as surely as the backs of her hands. Soren was too gentle, too kind.
“Never,” he growled, “but the turuk…I’ve worked my whole life to control him. But just a glimpse of you, the smell of your hair…” His purr somehow deepened into something even richer, even darker. “You test my control.”
The quiet night opened up around them, and Maeve reclaimed a clarity she’d been looking for. He might be feeling out of control, but with his admission, she suddenly felt back in control. And she loved it.
Smiling up at him, she whispered, “Come with me.”
She kept his stunned gaze as she drew him off the path and into the trees. Not far, just a few trees back within the forest, but out of the possibility of prying eyes. Maeve was many things, but an exhibitionist wasn’t one of them.
A dominant lover, though—absolutely.
She felt how her lips curled seductively, and although little light penetrated the trees, she watched his pupils dilate with gratification. Those predator’s eyes snagged on her lips, and Maeve ran her tongue over the bottom one.
“Have you really never imagined being with a mate? What their touch would feel like?” Her hands slowly slid up and down his chest before a few fingers strayed to his throat. His fur was indeed soft, and the vibration of his purr here was especially strong.
“I couldn’t let myself,” he said, his voice sounding almost strangled.
So tragically noble. This man, always sacrificing, always trying to do the right thing. Tonight, Maeve wanted to see what would happen if that good, honorable man cracked. Just a little.
She wanted to make him as messy as he’d made her.
Maeve took her time trailing her right hand down his front, enjoying every contour and muscle she found. His breathing became quick, and under her other hand, she felt how his shoulders tensed as he waited to feel her next touch.
It wasn’t until she reached his belt that he seemed to realize where she aimed.
“Maeve,” he warned, his tail lashing the ground.
“If you truly want me to stop, I will,” she whispered, “but I don’t think you want to. I don’t want to stop.”
His throat bobbed, a desperate sound escaping his lips.
With a quickness that made her gasp, he pushed her back into the tree and reached above them to dig every single one of his claws into the bark.
“If…it’s what you want,” he murmured.
This man. If that’s what you need to tell yourself.
“It’s what I want,” she assured him, ducking his chin with her nose.
Still, she took her time with him, fingers swirling over his leather-clad thigh. It took little effort to find the engorged swell of his cock, hot and throbbing beneath his kilt. Maeve bit her lip around her smile of pleasure.
A deep, gratifying groan hollowed out his chest as she ran the tip of a fingernail over his cockhead. That great body shuddered again, and she thought she heard the sound of wood splintering somewhere.
Down, down, down slipped her questing fingers. She wouldn’t be denied, not now, not with the hunger burning her blood.
She loved this part. The build, the tease, daring to walk to the edge but just hold off. Anticipation clutched her tight, and Maeve squeezed her thighs together to relieve a little of the pressure building in her belly.
She heard him hold his breath as her hand slipped beneath the leather. Up, up, up his furred thigh she went, determined now to claim her prize. Pushing the kilt up, she revealed the bulging tip to the cooling night air. Maeve cooed and sighed in approval, greedily taking him in hand.
Soren rocked forward. “Kam-kala,” he groaned.
“Just feel good for me,” she whispered. “That’s all you have to do.”
His head fell to hers again, and she felt how his breath wobbled as she began to stroke him.
It was dark, and he was half hidden by his kilt, but fates, he was more than a handful. Maeve couldn’t help her own little needy moan as she stroked him, feeling every inch from root to tip. By touch, she could feel his differences; a spade-shaped head and an intriguing engorged part at the base.
Fates, he’ll feel so good. Her nipples hardened just thinking about how his size and differences would feel inside her. She rubbed her chest against him, creating delicious friction.
He buried his nose in her hair, and she felt more than heard him groan her name.
Wetting her palm with the droplets of spend from his cockhead, Maeve slicked her hand up and down, up and down. His hips began to rock with her rhythm, his thick thighs shivering and his breath sawing in and out of his chest.
His heat was scorching, his formidable strength enticing. She watched him fight for control, deny the impending orgasm.
But Maeve was tired of being denied.
On the next stroke, she twisted her wrist and tightened her fist around his cockhead.
A strangled noise caught in his throat, but then he was roaring. Birds cawed and leapt into the sky; the trees shook and rattled. The forest seemed to bend around them as Maeve brought him to the peak and mercilessly pushed him over.
That’s it. Come for me.
Her own pleasure seared her from the inside out, but she didn’t need her own peak. It was more than enough to have the world stop spinning.
This, giving pleasure, handling a man, she understood.
And in handling Soren, nuzzling that tuft of hair on his chest and listening to him purr and gasp for breath, Maeve thought she understood him a little more, too.