CHAPTER THREE || THIERRY
F ar too keyed up to sleep and unable to stomach the idea of going back into the house and playing nice with everyone under that damned roof, I ran instead.
Not for any particular purpose, but simply for the pleasure of moving my body.
I let myself go so fast the trees around me seemed to blend and warp into an endless wall of blackness.
Seeing my brother’s face again had shaken me.
He had been innocent, but that hadn’t saved him from becoming a monster all those years ago.
Before he became a vampire, he had been one of the kindest and most good-hearted people I’d ever met.
Until Magnus forced him to make his first kill.
After that, he lost everything that had made him a person.
The only thing left was his bloodlust. It was worse than if he had died, because something that believed it was still him had been born that night—a vicious mockery of the man he’d been.
Magnus did it to punish me. To break me. And even after I escaped, the only kindness I’d ever been able to give my brother was to end his life.
He was dead. He had to be dead. The visions Poppy’s spell had induced couldn’t possibly have been real.
I sprinted through the trees like I might outrun my ghosts if I was just fast enough, until I realized there was a wordless pull urging me onward, deeper into the forest.
Already, I was far off anything that resembled a beaten path and much farther than I’d intended to travel. Plants snatched at my clothing now and again, but it hardly slowed me. Mentally, I wanted to stop, but the compulsion that had seized me wouldn’t allow it.
After miles southward through the Cascade Mountain Range, the urging sensation in my chest stopped.
And then I slowed to a walk.
The timing was strange because an instant after I stopped running, I stepped into a large circular clearing. The ground was flat, with only tall grass growing in patches. It glowed silver, courtesy of the full moon hanging directly overhead.
The moment felt hushed, as if reality had sucked in a sharp breath and was waiting, poised at the precipice of something miraculous.
I stopped in the center of the clearing.
Ahead, movement through the trees—a pale shape coming closer.
And then a naked man stepped into view.
Apart from his nudity, the first thing I noticed was his piercing blue eyes as he paused and locked gazes with me.
His lips, almost too soft for a man, parted in wonder.
His ruggedly handsome face was clean-shaven, but his sandy blond hair was shaggy, hanging almost to his shoulders, like it had been far too long since he’d cut it.
He was taller and broader than me, packed with thick muscle.
He wasn’t all lean and chiseled perfection, the way some men are nowadays with their protein shakes, endless hours in the gym, and single-digit body fat.
Instead, this man had clearly worked for every one of those muscles.
If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat and boots, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
He seemed rough somehow. Halfway to feral. But also oddly… familiar.
Something fluttered in my chest again. A wordless knowing. This man belonged to me.
And I belonged to him, too.
It wasn’t like a lightning bolt. It was as though the ground beneath me rearranged itself in a completely irrevocable way—impossible to deny or stop. The shift within me was silent, but tectonic and total.
I’ve never been one to lie to myself—except when I do—and I couldn’t deny the truth I instinctively understood.
Whoever he was, this man was my mate.
He took a step closer. And then another, his eyes never leaving mine. The expression on his face—soft, open, almost awestruck—matched how I felt exactly.
I found myself stepping closer too, moving almost like I was in a dream.
When we reached each other in the center of the clearing, the man cupped my face with a rough hand that sent shivers through me. Up close, I saw that his eyes were filled to the brim, like a whole universe inside him might explode at any moment.
He smelled of grass after the rain and faintly of church incense, an intensely natural scent mixed with something deeper, more exotic.
As a child, my brother and I used to chase each other in the fields behind the church at the edge of our village.
He smelled just like that—like the grasses of the French countryside from eight hundred years ago.
His scent stirred both safety and longing in me.
And, without realizing I was going to, I kissed him.
His lips were somehow both soft and rough. He let out a low groan, then slipped those big arms around me, crushing my body to his. He was so warm. And powerful. He took control of the kiss at once, dominating my mouth with his in a way that had my cock hardening immediately.
He pulled back long enough to help me out of my velvet suit jacket. I threw it to the ground. The sheer need that gripped me was unlike anything I’d experienced since the first days of becoming a vampire. Except I didn’t need this stranger’s blood.
I fumbled with my shirt, but he seized it and ripped it open, sending buttons flying. Designer or not, I didn’t care. I wanted his hands on me. A chill slid over my bare skin, drawing a shiver.
His gaze darkened with hunger at the sight of my torso. Then his voice dropped to a growl: “Take the rest off.”
I obeyed, undoing my belt. Moving quickly, I popped the top button and slid down the zipper. My slacks pooled at my ankles. I stepped out of them.
His eyes raked over me, his cock thick and hard. Gruffly, he said, “I’m going to make love to you.”
I nodded, practically shaking with anticipation.
“I need you to say you want it,” he said.
“Yes,” I breathed. “I want you inside me.”
He caught me around the waist and pulled me close. His body was deliciously masculine and hard. I let out a noise of need as his hand, warm and a little rough, palmed my ass.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
And then, before I could reply, he kissed me again.
His mouth dominated mine. Ordinarily, with most mortal men, I would have enjoyed a bit of power play—using a fraction of my strength to remind him who was boss.
With him, the thought didn’t even cross my mind.
Instead, I pulled away and settled onto the ground, not caring that pine needles bit into my back.
The man dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind my legs, rolling my hips back to expose my hole. He hummed in approval before dipping his head out of view.
His hot tongue on my entrance drew a strangled noise from my lips. He swirled it, then gently speared in a way that made my toes curl. My cock was hard and aching, my fingers clawing into the earth while he worked me open, loosening me so I could take him.
“Good boy,” he said softly. “You’re being so good for me.”
It wasn’t talk that would usually have gotten me going, but I nodded wildly. I wanted to be his good boy, so long as he fucked me senseless.
“Please,” I begged. “I need you inside me.”
That galvanized him. He spit on his cock, slicking it. He settled my ankles on his shoulders.
Then, without another word, he lined himself up and slid into me.
I let out a gasp.
The first few seconds were painful—neither of us was lubed properly—but my body relaxed for him easily.
He paused, giving me a chance to adjust. Then he thrust, his eyes locked steadily on mine.
And the pain turned to pleasure.
He stopped again. “You okay?”
I nodded.
Something in his expression eased. He grabbed my hips and thrust all the way in. His eyes slid halfway closed and he groaned.
Seeing his obvious pleasure at being inside me made my cock even harder. Precum smeared across my belly. He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in.
He was so fucking big.
But the stretch was delicious, a full-body pleasure that rocketed through me like a live wire. He hit my spot over and over, dragging gasps and moans from me. He quickened his pace, driving deep. It was primal, animalistic, and it drove all thought out of my head.
His eyes locked onto mine, his lips parted, and I couldn’t look away. They were filled with lust, but beneath it, a deep sadness.
“I’m close,” he whispered.
“Inside me,” I instructed.
He nodded sharply. Then he threw his head back and groaned again. His cock swelled and I was filled with warmth.
“Your turn,” he said, gaze dropping to my aching cock. With one hand he gripped my hip and drove into me, working my prostate over and over. With his other, he stroked me at a devastating pace.
The combined sensation sent me over the edge. Pleasure ignited at the base of my spine and spread like wildfire. My balls tightened and I gasped.
“I’m coming,” I moaned. Rope after rope shot across my belly.
The man slammed home one more time, burying himself deep. He let out a cry and I felt more warmth.
He’d spilled again inside me.
“Holy hell,” I breathed. It was rare for a mortal man to orgasm twice in a row, so close together.
Then I winced as he pulled out, though he was gentle.
When I tried to sit up, he placed a firm hand on my chest and shook his head.
I hesitated, confused.
But then he lay down beside me and pulled me against him. I felt a flicker of resistance, but less than I expected. Then again, if he was my destined mate—not that I planned on sticking around long enough to find out what that meant for us—he wasn’t going to harm me.
Hmm. Well, perhaps a bit of cuddling wasn’t entirely bad.
I usually didn’t bother with such things, but occasionally I had with partners who wanted it. Though usually feeding was involved, so it was different. Oddly, the thought of biting this stranger hadn’t crossed my mind once.
I’d cuddle for about five minutes, I decided. It was the least I could do, given he’d just provided me with one of the hottest encounters of my long life.
I settled my head on his chest.
Then, abruptly, a feeling of safety and comfort swept through me. Total surrender and relaxation. My eyes drifted shut. And I fell right to sleep in this stranger’s embrace.