Chapter 32 Gideon #4
I want her however she chooses to be. I want the bloodthirsty woman who killed for freedom and the sensual goddess who enchanted all of Paris and the terrifying vampire who agrees to partake in silly town variety shows to help her friends.
I want the Arabella who must do everything alone and the monster who will devour the world for the people she loves.
I want to be worthy of her loyalty, her passion, her love.
I want every side of her. But if tonight all I get is the monster, then so be it.
She barely breaks our kiss to toss her shirt and bra to the side, undressing herself, robbing me of the pleasure. Her skin shimmers in the low light. My hands go first to the slope of her shoulders, the dip of her collarbone – beautiful bare skin, where there should be jewels.
I draw my touch lower, feeling the peaks of her nipples as they harden under my fingertips. She moans into my mouth, her hips pressing closer to me so her heat drags against my hard cock. Our teeth clash as we war for dominance, as our twin monsters dance.
Gripping her arse, I lift her and she wraps her legs around my waist. I spin her so now she’s the one flat against the wall.
Her breasts are at the perfect height so I trail my kisses down to them, swirling my tongue around each hardened bud until she is mewling like a black cat begging to be let in from the rain.
Her skin against my lips is exquisite. She tastes exactly as I remember – like wild raspberries, like sweetness and danger. She threads her hands through my hair, tugging enough that it hurts, holding my mouth against her nipple, demanding the pleasure that is her due.
I kiss her like a fool who believes he could belong to her.
Sliding my hand between us, while keeping her balanced against the wall, I dip my fingers into the waistband of her tailored trousers, the button popping free as I push aside lace and silk to cup her. I hiss between my teeth to feel her slickness beneath my fingers.
I want to see Arabella, I want to know if she looks the same as my dreams. I want to smell raspberries and touch my lips to her wet heat and lick over that tiny mole high on her inner thigh. But I don’t dare break the kiss, lest she comes up with a reason why this is a bad idea.
I love a bad idea when it feels this good.
I curl a finger, teasing her entrance before sliding into perfect softness. She plunders my mouth with such vicious need that I’m not certain if she’s kissing me or punishing me.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe. Raspberries scent the air as I swirl my fingers over Arabella’s clit, her legs quivering, her talons clawing at my skin. Her little moans are the perfect music. And her sweet, sweet pussy…
She grinds against my hand, demanding more, but instead of giving it to her, I slide deeper, plunging two fingers inside her as another teases her other hole.
I murmur against her lips. “I’d love to utilise this two-for-one port.”
I can’t resist.
It’s too perfect.
Her whole body shakes, not from orgasm, but from laughter, her lips purring against mine.
“No more cheesy Catan puns. Let me come.”
Her eyes are commanding but her voice is rough, husky, the inflection faintly questioning.
“Is Arabella Lestrange begging?” I ask, utterly unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice even though I know she’ll make me pay for it. Or perhaps because she’ll make me pay for it.
“I… don’t… beg…” She digs her nails into my back as she arches against me. I pound the tips of my fingers into her clit and this time when she trembles, it’s because pleasure has finally claimed her.
Holding Arabella while she comes apart is a privilege, one I never dreamed I’d get to have again. I slide two fingers deep inside her, breathing through the tightening of her walls around them, trying not to lose my shit at the thought that I could be inside her—
“What was that?” Arabella breathes as she slumps against me.
“Probably Celeste’s stomach rumbling because she couldn’t finish me off. We’ve got time.” I twist my fingers inside of her. Can I give her one more before we—
“It sounded like someone calling my name.” She grips my wrist, stopping my movements. “Come on.”
Pushing me away, she grabs our discarded clothes, sliding on her shirt and bra before I could even wipe away her scent from my hand. Her lips are swollen, her hair dishevelled, her lipstick smeared across her cheek. She looks enchanting.
I shove my twitching, desperate cock back into my pants as he reminds me painfully that he isn’t going to get any release tonight.
Cockblocked by a werewolf with earrings.
A timid voice calls from the cell. “Hello? Arabella? Is that you?”
“I’m here.” Arabella struggles into her coat, finds the key among the detritus of our Catan game, and unlocks the cell door. I step to the side, my hand resting on the sword Allie made for me, ready to act in a moment if she’s in danger.
Celeste – in human form – rushes Arabella, wrapping her in a huge hug. Arabella doesn’t normally like displays of intimacy, but she squeezes her friend back, resting her head on Celeste’s shoulder.
Her very naked shoulder.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you—” Celeste’s eyes fly open, and she sees me. “Argh! Man!”
It takes me a moment to step back from the intimacy of the scene and realise that Celeste is stark naked.
Her eyes widen as she realises this too, and she yelps and attempts to cover her lady bits with Arabella’s body.
Only Arabella is tall and willowy and Celeste is a rather lovely but very different shape.
“Gideon,” Arabella snaps. “Can you give her some privacy?”
“Of course.” I cover my eyes with my hands. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t know werewolves don’t shift with their clothes? This isn’t a shifter romance novel where logical inconsistencies are explained away by magic. That’s not how it works.” Celeste grumbles as I try not to peek through my fingers. I fail, but only because I’m looking at Arabella, not her.
Arabella shrugs off her designer trench coat and tosses it to Celeste, who wraps it around her voluptuous figure. From what little I’ve seen of her, that woman will stop hearts. Not mine, of course. My undead heart beats for one woman, and it’s the one glaring at me.
“You can lower your hands now, Gideon. How did I get here?” Celeste ties the trench coat around her waist. She’s shorter than Arabella, so it brushes her ankles. “And where is here?”
“You’re in the dungeon Gideon installed in the basement of Sanctus Estate, because he’s a weirdo who assumed he’d need a dungeon.”
“I did need a dungeon.” I gesture at the claw marks Celeste has raked in the wall. “Vindication is mine.”
Arabella ignores me. “And as for why you’re here… What do you remember?”
“I thought I was helping but I guess I… er, got a little wolfy,” she admits.
“The truth is, ever since the Midnight Garden party, I’ve been sneaking into the woods near your house and watching over you.
I knew you’d be safe during the day because the vampire killer would be asleep, too, so I’d come at night and guard you.
Outside of the full moon I have control over my shifting.
I can move between my wolf and human forms at will.
But during the full moon I go full wolf.
I run on instinct. I’m in control, but who I am changes, if that makes sense?
Usually, I lock myself away during the full moon, but I thought I would still be okay to watch you because the wolf inside me recognises you as part of my pack, but the fact I’m in here suggests maybe not. ”
“It didn’t look that way,” Arabella says. “So when you go to your mother’s house for a week every month, you are actually—”
“Locked away in a grain silo up at the Old Mill so I don’t hurt anyone.
I shouldn’t have risked it! But no one else was looking out for you and you refused to let me tell Gideon.
I don’t even know what happened last night.
I can only ever remember fleeting snippets during the full moon.
I stayed later than usual, after you woke up, because I smelled something off in the trees, something that reminded me of the smell on your door when we found the graffiti.
I remember seeing you through the window, Arabella.
I was worried for your safety. I remember eyes in the gloom.
I remember trees, woods, exciting smells, scraping my claws into vampire flesh. I remember tasting fresh meat.”
“That was me.” I wave my injured arm. “Hi. Thanks for the trauma.”
“I’m so sorry, Gideon.” Celeste winces.
“Don’t be,” Arabella assures her. “Whatever your reason for taking a chunk out of him, he deserved it.”
“She’s right. I was probably the eyes you saw.
I came to see Arabella to wish her a happy—” Arabella makes a throat-slashing motion and I quickly amend my words.
“To work on our performance for the variety show. I was standing on her porch when you… er…” I don’t think I’ll be popular if I say attacked me. “Gave me a lovebite.”
“I really am sorry.” Celeste lowers her head. “I should have recognised your scent, but I’d just managed to scratch the killer and I had his scent and then you stepped out and it seemed like you were covered in his scent—”
“Hold on a second.” I’ve been distracted by Arabella’s beautiful legs and how dizzy I am after staying up past sunrise, and I missed half the conversation. “What killer? You mean the killer who husked Patrick and Danny?”
Arabella waves a hand impatiently. “Celeste has this absurd theory that the killer is after me, despite there being absolutely no evidence.”
“It’s not absurd, and there’s tonnes of evidence.”
The two women have a whole conversation with their eyebrows before Celeste shrinks into herself and smiles sheepishly at me.
I’m not amused. Not amused at all. “What evidence do you have for this?”
“I guess… I guess I don’t really have any evidence,” Celeste says. “There was a vampire in the woods near Arabella’s house, but that could have been anyone who lives on the estate. I’ve just been paranoid because I’ve been wolfing out.”
I don’t believe her, but I’m not going to get any information out of her while Arabella is around.
She still doesn’t trust me. Well, she doesn’t have to trust me for me to save her adorable arse from getting slaughtered by a husker.
I have resources. I can make sure she’s safe without her even knowing.
But it’s best I don’t reveal this plan to Arabella, so I shrug, as if I believe Celeste’s bullshit excuse. “Okay, then, as long as you’re certain.”
“Oh, I am. I am!” Celeste bites her nails. “I hate the full moon. It’s as if my wolf wakes up, my human body goes to sleep, and everything that happens is just a dream. Or a nightmare.”
“How long has this werewolf business been going on?” Arabella leans against the doorframe.
“Since I was thirteen.” Celeste scratches behind her ear.
“I mean, I guess I’ve been a werewolf all my life?
Contrary to what horror movie lore tells us, werewolves aren’t turned from a bite, like you guys.
It’s a gene that’s passed down from your parents.
But you don’t start shifting until you hit puberty.
Which, let me tell you, when you’re a girl and you start sprouting body hair in random places, is heaps of fun. ”
“We know some things from the internet.” I wave my phone. “But vampires either consider werewolves a myth or a species that died out years ago. Are there a bunch of werewolves living in Argleton?”
“Werewolves usually live together in isolated communities,” Celeste says.
“That’s why you don’t hear about us. We keep to ourselves.
My parents live in the wilderness in Snowdonia.
They can roam freely without risking tourists reporting them or trying to pet them.
At least, I assume that’s where they are. I haven’t seen them since I left.”
“You left?” Arabella’s eyebrow twitches. She’s curious. I am, too, truthfully. I still can’t believe werewolves actually exist.
“I want to be human. I don’t want to live in the dirty woods and cold mountains and eat raw rabbit meat I have to catch myself.
When we weren’t in our wolf forms, we stayed in a remote cabin, so remote that we could only get two television channels.
I longed for cosy sweaters and dessert cocktails and movie popcorn and friends to gossip about celebrities with, but that’s not the life a werewolf is supposed to want.
I was obsessed with cooking shows. Something about making delicious, sweet, extravagant things for your friends is just so beautiful and fun and human to me.
When I told my parents I wanted to be a chef, they laughed.
Werewolves don’t do that, they told me. We have itinerant jobs.
We keep to ourselves. We stick with the pack.
“But I couldn’t stand the idea of that being my life, so when I was sixteen, I ran away.
I figured that as long as I hide my condition and didn’t hurt anyone, I could live in the world just fine.
And I’ve done that for twelve years! All through chef training, I lived in a pokey London flat with a lockable storage room downstairs.
I lost my bond when I left because of all the claw marks in the storage room walls.
But I never once escaped. After I graduated, I got a job doing the catering up at Lachlan Hall, and then I opened the bakery, and my parents were wrong.
Everything’s been fine.” Celeste looks between me and Arabella, her expression miserable. “Until now.”
“There’s only one thing to do.” Arabella sways a little on her feet. “You have to tell the book club the truth. Mina, Maisie and Isis will be able to figure out—”
“I can’t tell them!” Celeste wails. “You have to keep my secret. Promise me you will. Please, Arabella?”
Celeste tugs on Arabella’s arm, but it flops in her hands. Arabella’s eyes flutter shut, and she slumps against Celeste, her body becoming dead weight in Celeste’s arms.
“What’s wrong with her?” Celeste shrugs Arabella’s head off her shoulder and lays her down on the floor.
“She’s asleep.”
“Why—Oh, of course. The sun’s out. But why aren’t you asleep?”
“As well as being the viciously handsome vampire of everyone’s dreams, I have some immunity from the sun’s curse. You know what this means?” I ask her.
“That we have to get her to a coffin before she turns to dust?”
“No.” I can’t stop grinning. “It means that I’ve won the bet.”