62. Clara
Clara
“Darlin',” a voice whispers from the darkness.
I slowly blink awake.
“Finian?” I ask into the pitch dark.
“Darlin', come down,” his rich Irish accent calls to me.
“Down?” I murmur, still half in, half out of sleep. From just beyond my cracked door drifts the faint sound of a tune. I follow it, wading through something that feels like a dream. Everything is slightly hazy.
Downstairs glows with flickering candlelight. At the bottom of the stairs stands an alpha, tall, broad-shouldered. His back is to me, the fine dark grey suit stretched over hard muscle. When he turns, my breath hitches.
It’s Finian. The grainy black-and-white newspaper photo hadn’t done him justice. This Finian is solid, real. His skin is smooth and pale, his eyes bright, and his suit perfectly tailored and pressed.
He smiles and it's devastatingly handsome. “Hello, Darlin'.”
“H-hi,” I stammer, not from fear, but from being utterly stunned.
He offers his hand as I take the last few steps, and the moment reminds me of Rose joining Jack at the end of Titanic. Too bad I’m in ratty pajamas instead of a bejeweled gown.
If Finian notices, he doesn’t mind. As soon as I reach him, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to his chest in a way that would have been s candalous in the early 1900s. He smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Times change,” his low voice lilts. “Is this okay?”
I smile and nod. More than okay. There’s something about Finian. It's like we’ve already bonded. The energy between us is effortless.
The music shifts. I recognize “I Love You Truly” . When I learned the era Finian came from, I’d researched its popular songs, finding this one on a Spotify playlist.
As we sway, I feel completely safe in his arms. “When you saw me on the beach, why didn’t you tell me then?”
He studies me, eyes steady and intense, and heat creeps up my face. “Would you have believed me? Or would you have run screaming for the hills?”
“I don’t know. I think I would’ve believed you. I’ve always believed there’s more to the world than can be calculated or stuffed into a neat scientific box.”
He chuckles and nods. “Now that I know you, I believe that’s true. But at the time, all I had was a scent and a soul-deep certainty you were mine.”
That makes sense.
“I couldn’t risk it,” he goes on. “I had to find a way to truly contact you, to be with you. I spent years searching for a way. When my grand-nephew came into the picture, I rolled the dice. Thank God it paid off.”
“How do you know it has?” I tease, even though we both know it has.
He brushes my hair back, his fingers ice-cold.
Instead of being unpleasant, the chill travels from my cheek straight to the place I wish he’d touch.
My perfume blooms, my arousal impossible to hide.
Slick pools between my thighs. He bends and kisses me.
His tongue sweeps in, cold against my too-hot skin.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“Too cold?” he murmurs.
“No,” I whisper, husky.
We dance, moving slow and sure.
“ Why—?” I stop, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing to know. His head tilts, high cheekbones and blue eyes making him almost angelic. “Why did you jump?”
His expression darkens. “After my pack died, all I heard was the wind and the waves off the lake. Everything was dark. I couldn’t pull myself out of my own head. I’d lie in bed for days. Honestly, I don’t even remember doing it. I’d lost my way, and I’m not sure I was in charge of myself anymore.”
Today, it would be called depression. Maybe therapy and medication could have saved him, but not in his time.
Tears slip free.
“Shhh, my Darlin’, don’t cry. You and the others have given me a second chance.” Finian’s hand slides into my hair, cool skin sending chills down my spine.
“How long do we have?” I ask, knowing this dream-vision won’t last.
“In your bed, only a minute will pass—the minute of the midnight hour. Here, we have more time.”
“Better make it count,” I say, rising on tiptoe to kiss him again.
It starts gentle, but quickly deepens. The cold of him should repel me. Instead, it thrills me.
He backs me against the wall, lifting me so my legs wrap around him.
His erection presses against me through his linen trousers, and I grind down, drawing a growl from him.
The candles flicker. He lifts and lowers me, over and over, each slide pressing him against my clit through my shorts until I’m gasping.
“That’s it, Darlin’. Come for me. Use me.” His accent thickens with my pleasure.
His cold fingers dive into my shorts and find my clit, tweaking until I shatter, arching off the wall. My body goes limp, but he carries me to the dining table.
“ Do you want to wake up?” Finian asks into my hair.
“No. I want you to knot me on this table, alpha.”
His eyes go feral. A chair clatters aside. My top is gone, his gaze devouring me.
He pauses with my shorts, looking into my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“I want this.”
“I’m cold… everywhere,” he warns.
“I like it cold.”
His grin turns predatory. My shorts and panties vanish in one motion. Cool air slaps my soaked pussy, making me keen.
He gathers my wrists, lifting them above my head to the edge of the table. “Hold on.”
His fingertips trail down my chest. It's painful pleasure over oversensitized skin. When he tweaks a nipple, I grip the table hard enough it groans.
“Sensitive, Darlin'?”
I nod.
“How sensitive? And where?” His cold hand slides down my stomach, over my navel, toward my heat. The contrast makes me shiver violently.
“Keep going,” I rasp.
Finian’s hooded gaze drops to my pussy, slick and pulsing. “Is this all for me?”
I nod. “I need your cock. Please.”
“Oh, Darlin’, I love to hear you beg.”
He strips off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and opens his trousers.
His cock is long, thick, solid. One cold thumb circles my clit as he presses inside.
His cock is ice instead of flesh. It feels hard and foreign and I'm gushing for it.
The first inch stretches me, hot around his icy girth. My eyes roll back.
“You take me so well. Beg for me, Darlin'.”
“Please fuck me, alpha. I need you—oh God, please.”
He slams in harder, thumb working my clit until tension coils tight. My feet bounce against the table legs.
The orgasm snaps through me, and I cry out, gripping the table. Finian groans, spilling into me. His cool hand cups my cheek.
“I love you,” he whispers—
—and I wake in my bed in the omega suite. Morning light filters in, and I know it wasn’t just a dream. I had my first courting date… with my ghost alpha.