15. Mate
Mate
G reta stared at the Lycan who’d loaned her his sight with her mouth hung open. If her mother were alive, she’d say something like “Shut it, or something will fly into it.” But Gabrielle Manson died trying to protect their coven from Lycans, and one of Selene’s creatures called her his mate. Her limbs still felt heavy, but she felt the temptation to pinch her arm to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Mother Hecate wouldn’t be cruel and concoct such a design for her with the fates.
Geralt reached out a hand, using one finger to tip her jaw upward, closing her mouth for her, smirking the entire time. She shook her head in disbelief. You’re mistaken, she thought at him, not acknowledging the very fact they could communicate telepathically implied he wasn’t. She knew Lycans could talk to each other through mindlinks, but she assumed that only extended to those among their kind.
We’re not mistaken, witch . The voice inside her head sounded different somehow, more animalistic. She wondered if there was a three-way connection between her, Geralt, and his beast. Her mind rebelled, panic threatening to set in again. She closed her eyes, refusing the gift of his sight and the strings attached to it.
“Don’t be stubborn, Greta. I’m trying to help. I don’t know what the hell happened when you attacked that Lycan, but you’ve been unconscious for over a week. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in a coma. Let me help you until your strength returns.” Vulnerability laced his words, worming a noose around her heart she tried to ignore. Greta gave him a weak nod, trying to gird herself against him, placing solid bricks down in the foundation of the walls she built between her and other people. Watching fellow witches fall beneath the claws of Lycans killed something within her, a part of herself she don’t believe she’d ever get back.
S huffling came from her right, Geralt adjusting his position. “Would it be alright if I got in with you?” he asked. Her heart stuttered before starting back up again, the machine going haywire. She heard his quick intake of panicked breathing, but she gave a nod of assent. The idea of being his mate soured her stomach. Her magick, however, clamored within her for his closeness, demanding his presence, refusing to settle without it. It was a sensation unfamiliar to her.
She kept her eyes closed, still refusing his so-called gift, feeling the bed dip beneath his weight. Her slight weight rolled right into the dip his knee made in the thin hospital mattress. Her hands shot out to brace her, one landing on his thigh and the other landing on something soft and fleshy that caused a hiss to escape Geralt. Horror and shock raced through her and she tried rolling away from him, moving her hand off the cock she’d accidentally slapped.
Geralt chuckled, hopping into the bed, landing on braced hands above her, knees straddling her thighs and his quick movements spurring her into opening her eyes. She stared up into his green eyes, the color always sending pleasurable shivers down her spine. It reminded her of verdant trees, earthy and warm, grounding her somehow. She decided she hated the effect his eyes had on her. A Lycan shouldn’t remind her of the gifts of the earth, the original mother of life.
Geralt’s lips stretched wider at the flush crawling across Greta’s face. “Relax, witch. I don’t plan on ravishing you.” His face took on a contemplative expression before grinning again. “Yet,” he added, shifting his weight to the right, trying to settle into a comfortable position on the too narrow bed.
She rolled more onto her left, hoping the distribution of weight would prevent her from rolling into him again. Powerful arms banded across her chest, pulling her back into a lean, hard body. She found her butt pressed intimately against his cock, fighting the urge to wiggle against it. Twice now, she’s placed herself in an intimate position with a Lycan. Words failed her.
If she entertained the idea of him being correct concerning them being mates, it placed her visceral reaction to him under a different light.
“Relax, witch,” he whispered in her ear. Her body shuddered at the sensation of warmth seeping into her back, soft lips brushing her skin, and hot breath skittering across her nape. Unexpectedly, her nipples hardened. She shut her eyes, digging within for the well of calm her mother instructed her on how to unearth. Hecate provides , she chanted in her head, fighting her body’s reaction to the male at her back.
“I’m not going to bite,” he reminded her, breath fanning her skin, raising the hairs on her nape. Greta briefly entertained the idea that she wanted him to bite her before internally shaking her head. She’d never disgrace her kind by willingly bearing the mark of a beast .
“Bite me and you’ll end up coughing up toe tails for the rest of the week,” she threatened. She wondered where she could get ahold of chicken feet from where ever the hell they were. It occurred to her she didn’t know their location, or who were the other people in her room earlier.
“Where are we?” she asked Geralt. Her body never relaxed against his, and more tension tightened her limbs.
“You’re safe,” he reassured her, his deep voice sliding over her skin like silk. Her bottom lip sucked into her mouth, biting back a whimper. Her hips urged her to press against the body at her back, and the cock nestling against her cheeks. It seemed like she fought a losing battle.
A gasp tripped past her lips when he brought a large hand up to cup one breast. His hips shifted forward, pressing his cock more firmly against her cheeks, like he wanted to nestle into her skin. She moaned, relaxing against him, grinding her bottom against his erection, sparks tingling across her skin beneath his touch.
His lips brushed her ear, dropping lower to her neck. She felt his inhale, sucking in her scent greedily. His cock hardened against her, the delicious length straining his pants, heat getting trapped between their bodies. Greta tried denying the charged atmosphere between them. She agreed to offer her aid for protection, sex not being on the table.
She gasped out in between subtle shifts of her hips against his cock, “Where are we, actually, wolf?” His hips met hers eagerly, creasing the fabric of her gown. Sometime while she laid unconscious, someone undressed her and placed a hospital gown on her, omitting underwear and a bra. It made the micro thrusts of his cock between her cheeks send flares of pleasure firing through her system. Dampness coated the junction of her thighs. She’d never been so aroused before.
“We’re at my pack. Like I said, you’re safe. I made sure of that.” His words dropped an ominous trail into the charged atmosphere. Her mind wrestled with his meaning. Lycans were violent creatures, and she didn’t approve of him killing in her name, ignoring the fact she slayed a Lycan with a death potion brewed from ingredients grown in Redwoods.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked him. At first he didn’t answer, stilling against her. His breath fanned her skin with a sigh.
“You’re a witch,” he stated, as if she needed the reminder. “When other packmates learned you’re my mate—” He broke off, likely choosing his next words carefully. Greta tensed too, unsure if she wanted to hear what he would say next, her mind already forming a conclusion.
“I had to deal with some challengers for my position as Alpha,” he finished. His arm tightened on her, fingers pressing into her small breast, driving his cock harder against her.
“Geralt—”
“It’s done, witch,” he snapped. She heard his quick intake of air. “I don’t mean to snap. It’s just been a rough week, Greta.” He scooted closer, ensuring no gap remained between their bodies, the bed creaking beneath his weight. Lips pressed against her ear, his voice caressing her skin. “You were unconscious. I didn’t know when you’d wake up, if at all. And on top of that, some of my own packmates turned on me. I’m not surprised at that. It happens. I just didn’t think having a witch for a mate would act as a catalyst.”
Greta let his words sink into her, absorbing like a sponge would water, listening for what he didn’t say. He didn’t mention how many, the seriousness of his injuries if there were any, or what he did to them to ensure her safety. She knew he had to have made an example of them to deter more attacks. It’s what the Lycan king would do if an Alpha turned on him. Senseless death, she thought, all of it .
She didn’t voice her opinion on the matter. He didn’t ask for it either, merely restating facts. Greta relaxed some of the stiffness in her body, sinking against Geralt. An appreciative purr rumbled from him, sending a flush to her face. He rubbed his face against her hair.
“Any questions about being my mate?” he asked softly.
“No,” she told him, lips lifting into a smile. “Because I have no intention of being your mate.” Her core clenched when he growled against her skin, scraping the tips of his canines against her neck. She shouldn’t like that, she told herself, fighting a losing battle against grinding on the hard cock digging into her. A surprised moan slipped from her when deft fingers found a tightened nipple, massaging the bud in rough circles through the material of her hospital gown.
“You’re mine, witch,” he growled. He turned her in his arms, slamming his mouth onto hers. Sparks ruptured, a moan getting trapped between their joined mouths, his tongue wrangling hers, demanding submission. Her leg rose with a will of its own, wrapping around his waist, bringing his cock into a position that allowed her to grind her core against it.
Geralt groaned into her mouth, sliding a hand down to grip her ass, pushing his cock firmly against her. Thinking it wasn’t enough, Greta pulled her mouth from his, shoving at his chest. Reddened lips scowled, but Greta pushed again, putting her weight into it. He rolled onto his back, landing with her on top of him, and she rocked her hips, finding a rhythm she liked, moaning when his cock rubbed her clit with each motion.
Geralt hissed, gripping her hips, urging faster movements. Her gown rode up, sparks tingling across her skin from his touch. Greta felt her climax just out of reach, groaning down at Geralt in frustration, who smirked up at her. His hands slid her dress higher, one brow cocked in question. Greta bit her lip, shame and lust warring within her .
“We can stop,” Geralt said, seeing her hesitation. Those three words were exactly what she needed to hear. In her experience, Lycans took, never asking for permission. Despite his claim of her belonging to him, he gazed at her earnestly, asking for permission and leaving the decision to go further to her. Her heart thawed some, cracks forming in the foundation.
L ooking down at him, she decided. She grabbed one of his hands, noting the quizzical look on his face. She smiled at him, placing one finger into her mouth. He hissed at her, saliva coating his skin.
Mumbling around his fingers, she spoke the words, “ tutum ab noxa ,” safe from harm. Intent was everything in magick. Her spell didn’t recognize ill intent when he’d kissed her, failing to kick in. But she wanted him somewhere a little more dangerous, granting “safe passage” around the protective spell on her body.
She let his finger slip from her mouth, bringing his hand beneath her gown, and pressing his fingers where she needed them most. Geralt groaned, the sound skittering down her spine, reigniting the spark within her. She shifted her hips forward, silently begging him to finish what he started.
“As you wish, mate,” his husky voice rasped, fingers brushing through her dark curls, circling her clit. Greta moaned, rocking into his hand. Another calloused hand slid up her bare thigh, claws teasing her skin but never pressing firm enough to cut. The extra sensations elicited more moans.
“Geralt,” she gasped out, unsure of what she was asking for. A low growl tumbled from his lips, his unoccupied hand traveling higher up her gown, finding a tightened nipple and flicking with the point of a claw. Her head jerked back, pleasure rising like waves of the ocean.
“Come for me, witch,” he growled, sending her tumbling over the edge. She came against his fingers with a strangled cry, whimpering when he kept stroking her through her aftershocks.
She slumped against his chest, which shook from his laughter.
“What a good little witch, coming from my touch,” he murmured into her hair. She grunted, her weak body resting on top of him. He tipped her face up toward him, brows furrowed.
“Did you cast a spell after just waking up?” A scowl twisted his face. She laughed, lips spread wide, feeling euphoric.
“You weren’t complaining just a few seconds ago,” she remarked. She saw his lips twitch, fighting a smile.
“Fine, but don’t do it again until your strength returns.” Greta ignored his bossy tone, letting her eyes fall shut.
“Greta?”
“Ok, wolf,” she mumbled, feeling sleep call to her once more. His hands rubbed up and down her back, cock resting against her stomach, but he didn’t push for more. Greta let a silly smile creep onto her face, inhaling Geralt’s scent.