Seduced by the Beast Read online

  “You are too much,” she cried out.

  “Not nearly enough,” he said, groaning and stroking her ever higher to a spiral of need.

  She bent her head down, slamming back against him, reveling in the ragged sound of his breath as pumped into her slick passage with ever growing fervor.

  Her heart drummed in her ears, nerves alighting with fire, burning with need. Her arms tensed to support her upper body, arching her back as he bent close, his fingers removing from her swollen tit to sink back to her soaked clit, moving again in that maddening circle.

  Assailed from every direction, taken with powerful drives, she could no longer resist the powerful pushing, pulling he evoked on her body. Every nerve alighted with fire. Her cunt muscles screamed with white hot heat. Swan gasped as the climax thundered over her with a suddenness that stole her breath, her muscles quivering and spasming.

  His erection jerked at the spasm milk of her sex, and still he plundered, sinking further each time, until he nudged her womb and bruised her cervix. She’d thought she’d reached the pinnacle but she was wrong.

  Again the tension climbed, urging her toward another wave of orgasm. Her cunt rippled with the ecstasy rolling through her, again and again.

  She screamed, bliss and pain melding until she could stand no more. She dug her fists into the bed, the orgasm consuming every fiber of her being until she could feel nothing else but the power of his body pushing into her.

  He cried out hoarsely as his shaft pulsed one final, soul rending time, jerking as his seed spewed his release within her depths.

  Collapsing against her, forcing her to drop to the bed, he breathed raggedly against her neck, pressing soft kisses along the curve. He pulled his shaft out with a heavy sigh, leaving her feeling strangely bereft of his warmth.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured against her ear, kissing the tender hollow. “No other could replace you.”

  Swan shook, utterly exhausted, wondering over his admission.

  A knock at the door saved her from responding in kind. Raphael rose, taking with him the heat that warmed her. Swan sat up on her knees and clutched the pieces of the gown to her chest, watching as he crossed the room, heating once more at the sight of his muscular back and tight buttocks.

  Raphael cracked the door and spoke in hushed tones before closing it and turning back to her. “We have been summoned.”

  * * * *

  With her gown torn beyond repair, Swan was forced to go to Ashanti’s chamber and beg another. She couldn’t go about the castle indecent. A large tear ripped from the neck to the base of her spine, leaving her back exposed as she awaited entrance. Raphael watched her, smiling at her nervousness as he leaned against the stone wall. He claimed he guarded her modesty--not that she believed him. She would have to be blind to miss his appraising looks.

  After her brief knock, Ashanti called softly for her entrance. Swan opened the door, surprised to see Lord Blasien on his knees, his ear pressed against his wife’s belly.

  Ashanti chuckled at her startled look. “He imagines the babe talks to him and will not let me go.”

  Blasien looked up at his wife, grinning broadly, his face full of love. “My son knows his father.”

  “Daughter,” she corrected, smiling down at him and fingering his hair.

  “Son,” he argued, smiling. He stood, rubbing her belly one last time. “I will leave you both alone. I expect you in my bed, wife, before my head hits the pillow.”

  Ashanti swatted playfully at his backside as he left and returned her attention to Swan.

  “I’ve had an ... accident, Ashanti. I apologize for disturbing you.”

  “It’s not a bother. He would sit all night with his ear pressed to my belly if not for these little interruptions.” She moved to a chest and took out another gown. “Be sure Raphael is more careful with this one.”

  Swan felt heat rise from her chest to her hairline and dressed with Ashanti’s assistance. Once she left Ashanti’s chamber, Raphael took her arm and silently guided her through the darkened passages back to the great hall.

  She couldn’t help but wonder why they would be summoned so late--the witching hour if the sky could be trusted--but she appreciated being included in any discussions that concerned her. It was great evidence they began to respect her.

  Raphael led Swan up the center walkway, guided only by the watered light of the moons shining through the skylight. He took her past the dais, to a chamber cloaked by an indistinct tapestry. Drawing the fabric aside, he pushed the oaken door open, releasing a flood of amber light into the darkness.

  Inside, a fire warmed the close room, flaming braziers lined the walls, and padded chairs hugged the space nearest the blaze. A man sat in one of the leopardesque chairs. He stood at their entrance, facing them.

  Crossing the threshold, they stepped into the room. Half blinded by the brilliance so sharp against the darkness, Swan’s eyes widened as her vision adjusted to the light, halting before the man. Raphael and he each exchanged greetings and still she looked on, amazed. What she thought to be only a trick of the light was not--his skin was the color of gold, his hair a cerulean wave around his shoulders.

  “I’m am called Syrian, Lady Swan,” the strange man introduced himself, his sapphire eyes flashing as he took her lax hand and pressed soft metallic lips to its back.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. But ... how do you know me?” she asked, withdrawing her hand and glancing at Raphael. She hadn’t thought he’d been away from her long enough to speak to more than the lord of Ravenel.

  “Lord Blasien spoke of your predicament. I am sorcerer and adviser to him while I choose to stay.”

  Of course he’d done so. It made sense that her presence be made known. Her thinking was clouded from her encounter with Raphael. Syrian beckoned they sit, and Swan smiled and complied, Raphael sitting in a leisurely manner beside her.

  “Pray tell, why have you asked to see me this night, Raphael? Looking to the flame is wearying.”

  “My apologies, Syrian, but I did not think the matter could wait. Swan, tell him how you came to be here.”

  At her hesitation, Raphael took her hand and cradled it in his callused palms, offering silent support. Her fingers tingled from the contact. Swan took a deep breath, and slowly related Morvere’s betrayal, his spell, her suspicions of continued machinations.

  Syrian’s eyes darkened as she finished. He rubbed his jaw line in contemplation. “Such a spell is easily laid, for even the amateur mage can curse when weaned from their master. When your finger is returned, the spell will be broken. His death will most likely break the enchantment. What disturbs me is this spell that transported you to Shadowmere. Such as that requires a great swell of power ... a sign the humans are advancing in their abilities, though it is not easily recovered. It takes time to heal from a spell of this magnitude. If he aims to take Avonleigh, he must replenish it soon.”

  “I’d not known sorcerers had need of recovery,” Swan said.

  “Humans have not the ability to regenerate as we do. Expelling energy is much the same as receiving a mortal blow, though more akin to a strike on the spirit.”

  It made sense. Power did not come without great cost.

  “It is risky striking in Avonleigh. His forces would cut us down, not to mention an attack would signal the beginning of war.” Raphael leaned forward, releasing her hand. “What think you, Syrian? I sense your thoughts echo mine.”

  Syrian smiled grimly, steepled his forefingers beneath his chin. “In the Skarlothian mountain range, there lies a secret, hidden from mortals save but a precious few. It is a pool of water unlike any known, liquid like molten silver.”

  “One of the seven pools of Lysia,” Raphael murmured.

  “One of two now, unless there are others across the Rycarthian straights. The rest were destroyed with the collapse of great mountains atop them, never to be dug free and used again. The only other Lysian pool is in Shadowmere. It takes a cov
en’s power to destroy one, my skill is not enough, but if the Skarlothian pool is disabled--”

  “He will be forced to come to Shadowmere.” Raphael smiled darkly. “How soon can you be ready to make the journey, Syrian?”

  “Balian’s call drained me. I will likely sleep through the day.”

  Raphael nodded, thoughtful. “I had not considered the disturbance in the land was his doing.”

  “The ocean of lost souls churns as never before.”

  “It explains much. I fear our journey to human lands will only worsen the situation. It is good the Skarlothian pool cannot be destroyed. I’d not give the humans more reason to invade.”

  They may as well have been speaking Lizzarian for all that she understood their doom and gloom predictions. What irked more was the distinct feeling that Raphael planned to go to the pool with Syrian--alone.

  “Where do I fit in with your plans?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Raphael slid her a glance. Syrian fell silent--wise man that he was. “You will stay here, under Ravenel’s protection.”

  Swan had been patient during their exchange, but the thought of being abandoned was too much. “This is my fight. I go too, where ever you may roam.”

  He gave her a long, measuring look. “You would only hinder us.” He appeared to regret his words, yet she was not fooled by his facade.

  She seethed inside, unable to believe he’d uttered such nonsense. She was a ruler as much as he, a person of responsibility. Never had she been accused of hindrance to another. “You have no knowledge of my skills. On human soil, I can hold my own. Give me a blade and I will prove my worth.”

  “I respect your courage, Swan, but it is misplaced. I’ll not have your life placed in Morvere’s path again.”

  “And your life is less valuable than mine own? My sister is in danger. I cannot sit idly by. I will go mad with worry.” His jaw remained stubbornly set, his will as hard as stone. “I can’t stay here! Th-they want to eat me!”

  Raphael gave her a pitying look. “You’ll find that everywhere in Shadowmere. It is the spell you are under--they smell prey beneath the surface. Until it is removed, you’ll not be safe. Blasien controls Ravenel. No harm will come to you here.”

  “If that is so, then why the marking?”

  His jaw twitched. She’d discovered a flaw in his thinking.

  “No. My word is final,” he said tightly.

  Pig-headed, stubborn, mule of a man! It mattered not that he wished to protect her. She was not some jewel to be hidden away, nor was she his possession to control. She’d sought help, not a master.

  We shall see whose word is final, she fumed mentally.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The distance between them was immeasurable. As long as she was human and he a beast, it would always stand as a barrier. He couldn’t see her as anything but helpless and vulnerable to attack. She’d had no chance to prove otherwise.

  Swan listened to the soft click as Raphael closed the bed chamber’s door. “Dawn approaches. You’ve but a few hours to rest as you are now.”

  She hadn’t realized so much time had passed. “How can you know?”

  “Those with the bond of vampires, their blood and lusts, know the rise and fall of the sun without looking. Few hunters venture into the daylight. Most are not strong enough to withstand its power.” He moved behind her, too near for comfort. Placing his hands on her bare shoulders, he nuzzled her hair, breathing deeply of her scent.

  Swan resisted the temptation to pull away, still angered over his refusal to listen to reason. He stood there, just holding her until her agitation dissipated. Slowly, she realized such hostility was futile. It would not help her achieve her goals.

  “You walk about in the sun,” she finally said. Or else, she assumed he did. Daylight was beyond her ken as long as she remained under the enchantment.

  He chuckled against her hair, smoothing his hands up and down her dark arms as if he couldn’t touch her enough. “I am not as most hunters. I rule my appetites. They do not rule me.”

  But it was not true. She’d seen his loss of control. If she could affect him that way, surely she could entice him enough to take her with him when he left? Honey lured when vinegar would not.

  He pulled away and walked to the bed, removing his kurt with a jerk of his hand, dropping the heavy black material to the floor with a soft thud. Swan averted her eyes from his nakedness, not wishing to encourage him to carnal pursuits with her interest.

  He smiled as noticed her embarrassment. “You have seen me before, Swan. Why so shy now?”

  “I do not believe I will ever adjust to it.”

  “Nor do I wish it. I enjoy your reaction to my body.” He chuckled, climbing into bed, leaving the covers folded back.

  Patting the mattress, he said, “Come to me, Swan. I would hold you in my arms while you sleep.”

  Swan took a deep breath, firing her courage. Slowly, holding his gaze, she pushed the neck of her gown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, shielded only by the thick length of her honey brown tresses. His eyes flashed with heat, raked down her body in a heady caress she felt straight to her toes. Her breasts felt the cool air, allowing her small dark nipples to pucker with the freedom from clothing.

  “You are lovely, Swan, full deserving the elegance of your namesake. Would that I had time to devote myself to worshipping you as long as I willed it this night.”

  He held his hand out to her and she accepted. The bed dipped slightly beneath her weight, and he pulled her, smoothly rolling until she lay beneath him. He twined a lock of her thick hair around two fingers, looking deep in her eyes, his black gaze unfathomable.

  His gaze lowered to the peaks of her breasts. “At times, I cannot help even myself,” he murmured huskily, drawing a lazy palm around the soft curve of one breast.

  Her nipples pebbled. A sharp stab of pleasure spiked from the hardened buds as he grazed a thumb across one tip. Torturous heat flooded her womb, and she felt the gathering moisture there in answer to his touch. Almost she could hate how he evoked such lust within her … if he did not also give her such exquisite pleasure to satisfy her most carnal longings.

  She stopped breathing a moment, waiting in suspense of his next action.

  He cupped her breast fully, leaning nearer. His exotic scent teased her, searing her senses, intoxicating. “Your heart beats wild for me, Swan.”

  She swallowed, managed to find her voice. “From fear.”

  “From desire.”

  With but one simple caress, he distracted her from her purpose, stirred desire best abandoned. His power over her was frightening. Struggling to regain control, she took a deep breath, willing her heart to calm its crashing tattoo.

  “There are other ways to garner my grace, my lord,” she whispered, recovered enough for coherent thought.

  He removed his hand, used the backs of his fingers to push the frame of her hair from her face. Stroking a lone finger down her cheek, along her jaw, he said, “I know what you wish. Much as I desire to fulfill your wants, I dare not risk it. With the vampires roaming the night, if I were killed, you’d be helpless.”

  Her blood chilled with his words, heat lost in the tide of fear. They wanted him. He’d hinted of the bond between hunter and vampire before. Leaving with no guard but Syrian at his back was suicide.

  “I would have a kiss ere I die,” he murmured.

  “Do not jest of such things.”

  “I implore in all seriousness,” he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes heavy lidded. He descended for a kiss. She turned her head at the last moment, felt the soft graze of his lips on her cheek, hating the sudden tension of his arms.

  He said nothing as she turned from the enclosure of his embrace onto her side, facing away. He pulled her tightly against him, smoothing her hair from her shoulder and neck. Cradling her, his arm draped around her waist, he seemed at ease, but she couldn’t ignore his subtle reaction to her rejection. Had she, a
mortal woman, hurt the mighty lord of the hunters?

  She should have felt pleased that he understood her, but it left a hollow feeling in her chest.

  Behind her, he continued to hold her, and when she shifted on her hip, it brought him into full contact with her naked bottom. Immediately, she felt his reaction to their skin melding together as if one.

  Heat blossomed in her center, igniting her nerves to sensitive heights.

  She might not want the intimacy of his kiss, but she could not deny that she enjoyed the loving of his body. What if it was the last time she could be with him? What if he never returned? Would she want his last memory of her to be of utter rejection?

  Still, she could not bring herself to give in to his kiss. She had to keep one part of herself aloof from his spell.

  Lazily, he smoothed a hand down her flat stomach to her nether region, toying with the hair that covered her pussy. Already she was wet and ready for him.

  The tension of his body increased, his warm, rough fingers seeking the cleft hidden by her dark folds.

  His mouth sought and found the back of her ear, nipping the tender lobe as he circled her clit, rousing her body to arch against him.

  The dig of his cock into her softness made her melt. Fire ignited in her veins.

  She breathed heavily, moaning when he spread her buttocks and nudged her opening from behind. He lifted her knee, opening her thighs wide as he pushed a leg between them and forced his cock within her wet slit. His shaft burrowed slowly inside her tight muscles, caressing hidden nerve endings that lit a fever in her blood.

  Perspiration dampened her flesh as lust fueled her passion.

  “Raphael,” she murmured, angling her head so he could kiss and nibble her jaw.

  She propped her foot on his hip as he worked deep inside her and pumped his hips, leisurely working his cock in and out of her.

  Swan hadn’t experienced his slow loving or expected it. She thought it easier to adjust to rough and fast and hard—this felt too much like love-making, gentle wooing. The urge to pull away was great, but then so too was the desire to reach culmination with him.