Chapter 11
BUCK
Buck settled beside his mate, happy she’d allowed him to sleep with her. For a while, he’d been concerned that she was mad at him–why else would she banish him to the floor?
He’d been afraid she was angry that his shafts had come out–but really, how could he help it? Watching her let the flowers pleasure her until she came and seeing her gorgeous, naked curves had affected him, as it would affect any male.
But as he lay beside her in the soft darkness of his new home, with her sweet scent all around him and the warmth of her body only inches away, a more troubling thought began to creep into his mind.
His first mate.
The memory of her had been so dim for so long—faded and worn thin by grief and by the slow, terrible drift into mindlessness.
But now that Kiera’s touch was bringing him back, other things were returning too.
Not just words and thoughts and reason, but emotion.
Sentient emotion. Complicated feelings that hurt far more than the simple sorrow and loss he had felt in his more animal state.
Guilt was chief among them.
The Goddess usually only granted one mate to a Lykan. One true female to tether his soul and call him back from the void. One to share his life and his body and his Bond with. That was the way it had always been among his people.
And he had already had that blessing once.
His chest tightened with pain as he thought of the woman he had lost. He could not picture her face clearly—not yet.
The details still slipped away when he tried to hold them.
But he remembered her laughter…soft and low.
He remembered the way she used to put her arms around his neck and press her cheek to his fur.
He remembered the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body against his, the certainty that she was his and he was hers.
And then he remembered the blood…the screams…the Darklings.
Then a tearing loss so profound that it had ripped the sense from his mind and sent him tumbling into the long, slow void where all thought became instinct and all feeling became hunger or fear or pain.
He had not fought it—not truly—he had let himself go.
What was the point of holding onto sentience when his mate was gone? What was the point of keeping his bipedal form when there was no female to Bond with—no one to steady his mind and tether his soul?
That was how Lykans were made. They needed the touch of their mate to hold onto themselves. Without it, the void waited. The darkness came creeping in at the edges first, stealing memory and language and reason until all that was left was the primal mind.
And yet now…now Kiera had found him. Or perhaps the Goddess had sent her?
Brux did not know what to think of that. He only knew that every time she touched him, his thoughts grew clearer.
Every time she spoke to him, he understood more. Every stroke of her fingers through his fur, every warm press of her hand on his head or around his neck, every kind word she murmured to him in that soft, soothing voice–all of it called him back from the edge.
His new mate was restoring him–she was saving him.
And he was falling in love with her.
The realization ought to have struck him like a blow. It ought to have filled him with shame and grief and confusion–he shouldn’t allow himself to love again after his first mate had been lost.
Instead, this new emotion filled him with a fierce, aching tenderness that made his heart fist in his chest.
He loved her.
He had only just found her and already he loved her with everything in him.
She smelled too good—too right—for him not to.
Her scent wrapped around him like a promise.
Like home. It was sweet and womanly and warm, with little traces of the soap she had used in the bathing pool and the clean scent of the home-dome, as she called it, and underneath it all, the rich, soft smell that was simply Kiera.
His mate…or one who could be.
No, a guilty voice whispered inside him. You already had your mate. The Goddess does not grant two.
Brux shut his eyes tightly, as though he could squeeze the thought away.
He did not want to think about guilt. Not now. Not while she was lying beside him, warm and breathing softly in the darkness. Not while the living mattress cradled them both and the thick coverlet held the heat around them. Not while every instinct in him cried out to get closer to her.
He only wanted to be near her…only that.
For now.
Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake her, he rose onto his paws and nosed at the edge of the coverlet. It lifted a little with the motion of his muzzle, enough for him to nudge his way beneath it.
At once, warmth enveloped him.
Not just the trapped heat under the covers, though that was nice after the chill of the evening air and the long bath, but her warmth. Her body heat…her scent, stronger here in their little nest, surrounding him until he felt almost drunk on it.
Gods, she smelled so good–so right.
He crept closer, inch by inch, until he could press himself along the curve of her back.
She was lying on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, her braids spread across it in dark, neat ropes.
The oversized shirt she wore had ridden up a little, exposing one lush brown thigh and the sweet curve of her hip.
Brux swallowed hard.
Even clothed and asleep, she was beautiful beyond reason.
Tentatively, he rested his head near her shoulder and pressed himself as close as he dared.
He could feel the softness of her body through the thin shirt she wore.
The heat of her soaked through his fur and into his skin.
Her scent filled his lungs until every part of him felt soothed and right in a way he had not thought possible again.
Kiera murmured something in her sleep and shifted slightly.
Brux froze. Oh Goddess–had he gone too far?
For one terrible instant he feared she would wake and scold him and send him back to the floor. But instead of pulling away, she gave a little sleepy sigh and pressed back against him.
The movement made his heart stutter in his chest.
She was soft…so soft. Not to mention, warm and curvy and yielding in all the right places.
The round sweetness of her backside nestled against his belly and chest, and he could feel the line of her spine…
the soft press of her shoulder against his neck.
Even in his animal form, she fit against him so perfectly it felt as though they had been made to sleep this way.
A low, pleased whuff escaped him before he could stop it.
Kiera only sighed again and snuggled closer, one hand drifting back in her sleep to stroke the fur on his foreleg, which was resting over her full hip. Her fingers curled there loosely, as though even in her sleep, she wanted contact with him.
Her touch sent a rush of heat through him—deeper and more important than mere arousal. It was his Bond—sense, the place inside him that had been dark and empty for so long, suddenly flaring with fragile, hopeful light.
Yes…this was what he needed–what all Lykans needed–the touch of a mate to call them back from the void.
Without it, a Lykan’s mind unraveled. His thoughts became simple and primal. Hunger. Fear. Need. The urge to chase, to bite, to rut, to sleep. The sentient self dissolved little by little until all that remained was the beast.
But with the touch of the right female—with affection and closeness and scent and skin—the darkness receded. Thought returned. Memory returned. Feelings returned– both the sweet and the painful.
So if Kiera kept him near…if she continued to pet him and hold him and let him stay close, then yes—it ought to be possible. He ought to regain his humanoid form soon. And when he did…
Brux’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs. When he regained his humanoid form, he would tell her the truth.
He would explain what he was—not an animal, not really–but a Lykan Monstrum warrior trapped in his beast shape by grief and isolation. He would tell her how she had saved him…how she was bringing him back.
And then—if the Goddess willed it, if Kiera would have him, and if he could somehow get past the guilt that still prowled at the edges of his mind—he would Bond her to him.
The thought filled him with fierce, aching longing.
He imagined drawing her into his arms in his bipedal form.
Imagined burying his face in her neck and scenting her skin.
Imagined telling her she was beautiful and cherished and his.
He imagined laying her down on this very bed and loving her the way a female ought to be loved—thoroughly, tenderly, completely—filling her wtih both his shafts and knotting her until the Bond took root between them and tied them together forever.
Mine, his instincts whispered again, drowsy and content now. But softer now–less a snarl of possession and more of a prayer.
Please. Please let her be mine. Please let me be worthy of her.
Brux pressed his muzzle carefully into the back of her neck, breathing her in one more time.
Kiera made another small sound in her sleep and her fingers tightened slightly in his fur.
The simple little movement nearly undid him. He loved her so much already, and he had only just found her.
It was madness. It was too fast, too much all at once.
It was also absolutely true.
At last, soothed by her warmth and her scent and the sweet weight of her hand resting on him, Brux allowed his eyes to close. The living mattress was soft beneath them, the coverlet warm over them, and the darkness inside the dome no longer felt lonely or cold or empty.
As sleep began to claim him, his last thoughts were not of grief or guilt or Darklings or the long, terrible void that had almost swallowed him whole.
They were of Kiera. Of how sweet and warm she felt pressed against him…of how her touch was bringing him back.
And of how, when he regained his other form, he would Bond her to him and never let the darkness take him again.