Hunted

Chapter 9

The sight of his fangs had her body tensing. Not with fear—with absolute expectation. “You’re not listening.”

“I listened.” He took the one step closer to the bed, eyes darkening as he towered over her. “I’m just not agreeing. I’ll keep you safe from any threat out there. But don’t think for a moment your body, head, or heart are safe from me. They’re mine.”

The possessive tone inched her temper and arousal higher. The temper she welcomed, the arousal she’d see a shrink for later. “Not a chance.” The words spun out quickly, and even in her state she recognized the thrown gauntlet they were. Of course he’d pick it up. But she failed to anticipate his speed in doing so.

Quick as a thought he grabbed her arm, yanking her flush against his chest. One hand tangled in her thick hair and drew her head back, exposing her pulsing jugular as she perched on her knees on the bed. “Oh sweetheart. I do love your spirit.”

Heat. It rolled off the man in waves, engulfing her, making thought difficult. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He bit into her bottom lip, the small nip sending a direct line of need to her clit. The warmth of his tongue in soothing the persistent ache made her bite back a groan. His hand tightened, sending erotic tingles of pain along her scalp. “You’re it for me, Moira. I’m keeping you.”

Right or wrong, she wanted those words. Maybe even needed them. The assurance in them offered the possibility of a future ... of security. All something she’d worry about later. Her heart thumped hard. “Conn. Show me.”

He swooped down, claiming her mouth in a blaze of heat. An unbreakable, nearly brutal kiss turned her knees soft. A tremble worked its way down her spine, a quivering of need beyond fate, beyond the magical, beyond the world she knew so well. A slice of fear cut into the desire, then disappeared as Conn cupped her ass, drawing her closer to his heat. Her belly rubbed against his erection, and she fell back, pulling him with her, both hands clutching his shoulders.

His mouth kept hers as they landed, his hard body over hers, his palms sliding down her sides. One calloused thumb brushed across her marking. Fire flashed out to zap her clit. She broke away from his mouth, hers opening in a silent plea.

Strong movements had her feet clasped at the small of his back, her arms winding around solid muscle to bind him. Her smile felt saucy. “Watch your wishes, Kayrs. Maybe you’ll be the one trapped.” While she meant the statement as a challenge, as a warning, a hint of truth hung in the air.

His gaze softened as he glanced at her bruised mouth and then back up at her eyes. “You trapped me the first time you said my name.” He lowered his head, swirling his heated tongue around one desperate nipple. “I swear, you have the sweetest taste.”

Spikes of pleasure careened through her, straight to her core. She gyrated against him. He turned his attention to the other nipple, biting down just enough.

“For the love ... do something.” If he didn’t end the torment, her head was going to explode.

He chuckled against her skin, wandering up to nip under her jaw. Grabbing her butt, he plunged inside her with one forceful stroke.

She cried out in shock at his entry, her body tightening, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. Pleasure edged with pain, arching her against him. Her thighs gripped his hips, her nails scored his back. So full, so big. A quiver spiraled deep inside her and she paused, frowning. He wasn’t moving. It was impossible. But just their being joined sent fire blasting through her. “Conn!” she cried out as she came, huge gusts of pleasure rolling from somewhere indefinable beneath her skin. Somewhere untouchable. The room sheeted white. She shut her eyes, riding the waves. Her nails dug in deeper as the storm overtook her, leaving her helpless as it departed.

He dropped his forehead to hers. “Jesus.”

Her eyes opened along with her mouth in amazement. The surrounding particles danced through the air and then narrowed into sharp focus.

He slid out and plunged back in. Then again. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

Reality slapped her in the face. The force between them, whether fate or Conn’s determination, might be too much for her to beat. She released his back, sliding her hands to his chest to push away. He slammed hard inside her. Pleasure rippled along awakened nerves, and she arched into him with a hiss of demand. She paused, and he plunged again. Sparks shot behind her eyes. She stopped trying to push him away and held on with all the strength she possessed. He drove harder. Faster. Stronger.

A pulsing contraction ripped through her sex, tightening her hold on him. He growled, the hand on her ass leaving bruises, the speed of his thrusts increasing. Their panting breath and the slap of flesh against flesh filled the room.

She fisted both hands in his hair, yanking his mouth down. Her teeth bit into his lips before she slid her tongue inside, determined to find some control as her world spiraled away. He fought her for dominance, his mouth hard on hers, his body pinning hers to the mattress. The kiss was messy, passionate, yet with an underlying sense of safety she’d have to examine later.

He lifted his head. “You make magic work, Moira.”

The sweetness in the midst of raw passion flayed her heart. She opened her mouth in confusion, only to snap it shut as he plunged. Hard, fast, and with power, he thrust into her. The tingling inside coiled higher and hotter. She reached for it, clutching onto him, shutting her eyes against the exquisite need. He shifted his angle, brushing over her clit. With a sharp cry, she broke.

His muscles tightened as he came. Collapsing against her, his rapid heartbeat slammed against hers. Almost as if they made sound, the walls she’d erected around her heart crumbled down. Damn it.

Moira awoke to the hum of the air vents in the plane, her back plastered against Conn’s front beneath the down comforter. Her entire body ached—though not entirely in a bad way. Her memory hadn’t played tricks on her. Sex with Conn was just as explosive and all consuming as she’d remembered.

Lazy, sated, her mind wandered into the past. Into the first time she’d seen him, naked to the waist, throwing a witch across a training field.

“A half-naked vampire. Told you this would be fun,” Moira whispered to her sister Darcy as they peered through thick foliage on the southern end of the training area. They’d escaped yet another round of diplomatic meetings to watch the Realm’s deadliest soldier teach new moves. She’d been watching Connlan Kayrs all week during the Realm Colloquium held in Ireland. “Maybe he’ll shuck his pants, too.”

Darcy snickered. “Mother is going to kill us.” She turned and eyed the rushing stream behind them, lifting her skirts away from the damp grass. “Let’s just not get wet.”

“Of course. ”

Connlan demonstrated a headlock on McPatty’s youngest son.

A fluttering set up in Moira’s stomach, reminding her of the first time she’d ventured into the rolling sea.

The vampire stood strong, muscles clearly defined and solid in his chest. Even across the distance, the magnificent color of his eyes piqued her curiosity. Rumor had it vampires had two colors for their eyes. She’d probably never see Conn’s vampire colors.

Then he’d looked up—directly at her. Stunned by the power in those otherworldly eyes, she caught her breath and stepped back. A protruding branch caught her heel. The rest was inevitable. In a fluff of silk and scattering of leaves, she landed on her arse in the stream, cursing a streak worse than the loudest drunk at Shea’s tavern on a Saturday night.

The shock of cold had her muscles going rigid. Smooth rocks lined the stream’s bottom, no doubt leaving bruises on her rear. Chilly water rushed around her, instantly soaking her skirts. She pressed down with her palms, slipping on the moss.

“Moira, be quiet.” Darcy stepped gingerly over the offending branch, keeping her boots shy of the stream. “I’ll lean out ... you grab my hand.”

A twig snapped in warning before a large form yanked brush out of the way. “Allow me.” Two strides had Connlan Kayrs in the stream and grasping her by the armpits. He lifted her as if her molecules had been rearranged into air.

As he set her down, pure amusement lifted the corners of his devastating mouth. “You’re not dressed for swimming, Miss Dunne.”

She stumbled on the uneven ground, seeking balance. He knew her name. Well, her last name. She peered around his hulking body to see men busily training in the field. Thank goodness no one else saw. “How did you see me?”

The smile broadened. “Good eyes. Good ears, too.”

Ears? What had she said? Fire rushed into her face. She’d wanted him to remove his pants. Even now, his bare chest beckoned her. What would he taste like? She shook her head. Good thing he couldn’t read minds.

“How fortunate.” Her tongue felt too large in her mouth. Irritation wandered down her spine.

He smiled at Darcy. “Miss Dunne.”

Darcy twittered. She actually twittered. “Prince Kayrs.”

The irritation wandered into anger. Moira stepped back. “Thank you for your assistance. You no doubt should return to work.” She lifted her chin. The water weighed down her skirts, making it nearly impossible to move.

His eyes sparkled a deeper green than her aunt Viv’s climbing ivy. “I’ll escort you back to the meeting area.”

“No.” Panic had her eyes widening to let in more light. She looked akin to a drowned cat. Her mother really would kill her. “Thank you. We’ll watch awhile longer.”

“I’m not removing my pants.” He said it soberly, but his eyes laughed.

How indiscreet. Darcy coughed. Moira sniffed. “I should hope not. But I want to watch the training. Learn the moves.” It was the truth.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Moira, you don’t need training. You’re the Seventh. When you’re on the council, you’ll have bodyguards.”

“I want to learn to fight.” They’d been over it repeatedly. She eyed the vampire. “What do you think?” Maybe he’d teach her. Kell and Adam always refused, but Daire had seemed open to the possibility.

Conn’s gaze wandered over her still warm face, down to her soppy wet boots and back up. “I think you’re too pretty to fight.”

A tingle set her skin on fire from his traveling gaze. Pleasure warmed her from the compliment, irritation filled her from the dismissal. “Think so, do you?” Holding her palms out, she formed a ball of pulsating plasma. Fate might force her to become a diplomat, but no one should ever underestimate her.

He frowned. “I do think so.”

She lifted her hand and blew. The ball swished toward Conn, impacting his chest. He jumped back. A scowl formed grooves in his angled face. “That burned.”

The smirk came easily to her face. “Good. At least I know not to underestimate someone.”

Fast as an arrow he reached out, grasping her elbows and lifting her until they met eye to eye. “Miss Darcy? What’s the Gaelic term for brat?”

“Dailtín.” Darcy leaned against a tree, mirth in her voice.

Conn’s eyes narrowed, his gaze hard on Moira. “You just earned yourself a nickname. Dailtín.”

“I’m not a brat.” His easy strength in holding her aloft caused a humming in her belly. A weakness in her knees.

“You’re most certainly a brat.” His gaze hardened further as one hand lifted to tangle in wet curls. “Don’t ever throw blue energy at me again, Moira. You won’t like the result.”

Any retort stuck like mud in the back of her throat at the look in his eyes, across his sharp face. Her widened eyes searched his for any hint of humor. There was none.

A satisfied glint lit his darkened eyes as he gave one short nod. “I don’t threaten, Moira. You’d do well to remember that.” Then his mouth was on hers—swift, hard, and removed much too quickly. He set her back on her feet. “I’ll see you at the dance tonight.” Rocks scattered as he turned on his heel, returning to the training field without a backward glance.

She put a hand to her tingling lips. Something shifted inside her. She wanted a real kiss from the vampire. That night she’d get it.

Moira was jerked back into the present by a hand playing idly up and down her arm, raising goose bumps. Words. She should say some.

Conn nipped her ear. “Are you all right, Dailtín?”

“Fine.” She snuggled closer into his warmth. “I was remembering when we met.”

“When you fell in the stream.” Amusement filled his voice.

“Aye. You kissed me.”

“Barely. Yet my world halted on its axis.” His breath brushed her skin with heat. “Later that night, when you showed up to the dance in that dress, I almost took you to the floor. In front of everybody.”

The dress had been beautiful. “You probably don’t even remember the color.”

“It was green and it matched your eyes.”

Yes, it had. “If you could rewrite our past, would you?” Why she’d ask a question so full of peril had her shaking her head. Of course he would.

“Hell, no. I wouldn’t mind smoothing out the present however.”

Smoothing her into the role he wanted. Frustration had her clearing her throat. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to fight for us as strongly as you’ve been fighting against us.” He smoothed the hair away from her cheek and dropped a soft kiss on her neck.

Desire flared back to life. “Why do you pretend there’s even an us? I mean, we had a one-night encounter a century ago that left us both marked. That doesn’t create an us.” Of course, in his world, it probably did.

“We’ve been mated for a century.”

“We haven’t been together, Conn. We haven’t been a couple.” They hadn’t attended weddings, funerals, or parties together.

His hand flexed. “Did you want to be?”

“Sometimes.” Naked and satisfied, only the truth belonged between them.

“Me, too.” He huffed out a breath. “But I signed the treaty, and you needed time. It was the least I could do.” Irritation coated his words. Irritation aimed at himself.

“What do you mean?”

“You were a babe, Moira. A mere twenty-something years old, and I knew it. Yet I took you.” His voice lowered in regret.

She stiffened. “You didn’t want this.” She’d always understood that. Conn wouldn’t have bound himself to a witch tied to the Coven Nine if he’d had a choice. The marking had been an accident.

He rolled her over, covering her body with his. “I wanted you. Still do. Always will. If I’d known I’d mark you, I’d have given you time to live first. Time to choose your own path before I yanked you onto mine.” Hard and unyielding, his lips molded her mouth to his. His head rose just a fraction. “But make no mistake, I’d have hunted you down when I thought you were ready. You were born to wear my mark.”

Heat pricked her skin. “Conn. You need to join the modern times.” The secret thrill fluttering in her belly from his possessive tone needed to go away.

“This is about as modern as I get.” He smiled, and her flutter sped up. “So, now tell me what Peter was talking about. How are you gaining power by being an enforcer?”

She’d been waiting for him to ask the question. “I can’t tell you.” The vow she’d made required more than just action. A promise of discretion and confidentiality she had no intention of breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The desire to share her world with him caught her unaware. While she was resigned to joining the Nine at some point, for now, she truly enjoyed her job. It’d be nice to share the details with the soldier. But she offered nothing more.

“Interesting. I will discover the truth, you know.”

She opened her mouth to argue just as the pilot buzzed through the intercom. “We begin our descent in five minutes, Prince Kayrs.”

“Well. I guess we’ll table this discussion. For now.” Conn sighed, rolling from the bed. “Get dressed, Moira. We need to fetch your cousin before going home.”

Sliding to her feet, Moira reached for her bra. Something in his tone provided warning. “Home is Ireland, right?”

He yanked up his jeans. “No. Home is now the west coast of the States. Period.”

Great. Let the next battle begin.