Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Aye, to most. I guess I’m agnostic.” He wanted to pick his female. He wanted that right.
Lowell resented the idea that some cosmic force was supposed to intrude so completely in his life—yet another way he differed from other Lykae. He never spoke to friends or his family about these resentments, nor about how he sometimes dreamed of living outside pack dynamics, able to set out entirely on his own and chart his destiny. “I’m more of a free-will kind of bloke.”
She studied him, intrigued. “A fate fighter then?” Meera’s tone said, Let me know how that works out for you. “You don’t crave the children only a mate can bring you?”
He shrugged. “Canna miss what I’ve never had.” At times he imagined he might like bairns, but his parents had produced a litter of boisterous pups after him, siblings who filled any void.
Bringing the subject back around, she said, “I think a kiss is a bad idea. It might lead to more, and I’m not looking for a one-night stand with a male whose mate is waiting in the wings.” Her words grew in volume, her eyes flickering. The air in the cottage seemed to stir, fanning the fire and rippling the curtains.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
She pressed trembling fingers to her temples. “Oh, no.”
“What’s happening here?” The witch’s magic brushed against his senses. But he felt it inside his veins. Felt her inside his veins.
A weird sense of wrath stoked within him. He and anger were all but strangers, so its sudden presence bewildered him. The needles under his skin flared again, anger and desire twining into one hot pulse.
He didn’t recognize this feeling. Didn’t trust it. But he wanted more. “Tell me what you’re doing, Meera. You using magic on me?”
She shook her head hard. “No! Maybe? I don’t mean to.” Her gaze darted around the room, reflecting firelight like prisms. “Y-you need to go.”
“Go?” Fuck that. He set his glass on the coffee table. “What’s your power? And for that matter, what’s Ditch’s? She must have something on tap other than sensing desires or whatever bullshite she admitted to.”
Meera’s magic surged visibly; the air shimmered around her. Seemed her fuse was sparking too. “Do you know how rude we find it when someone asks us about our abilities? We don’t owe you a power declaration!”
Shivers made his hair all but stand on end. “Rude? Doona be daft,” he shot back. “We talk of working together, but I have no idea what you can actually do.”
“Daft? Daft!” Anger and lust danced within her as well. She kept looking at his lips.
“Aye, daft!” Something about grating that word made his blood sing. The fury, the heat—it all mixed into something reckless and alive. “Witch,” Lowell rasped, voice dropping to a growl, “if you glance at my mouth one more time, I’m going to take yours. Hard. Will no’ stop there either.”
She held his gaze, chin high.
Then…
Her eyes dipped downward.
“Bloody hell, lass,” he breathed, and the last of his control snapped.
He was on her like a wolf on a bone.
Chapter 19
Meera
Great Hecate, this wolf tastes amazing.
Between frantic kisses—carnal dips of his lips and tongue across hers—Meera and Lowell tangled on the couch until his weight settled between her thighs. His mouth moved with a feral hunger that melted straight through her resistance.
This was madness. A game. A spy game.
And yet the danger of it thrilled her. Her scorn for cloak-and-dagger bullshit had disappeared. Maybe she was more of a Rider than she’d ever admitted.
He broke the kiss to reach for her shirt with his brows raised in question.
She hesitated, but then the whiskey sang: Too many clothes! She lifted her arms, shimmying to help Lowell remove her top.
He went utterly still. His expression, once teasing, turned reverent. He brushed a kiss across one dusky nipple. A sly lick. A powerful suck. Moving to the other, he suckled with low appreciative sounds. “Good thing you’re bonnie,” he rasped between licks. “’Cause you are daft.”
Her temper flared at the jab, but it sizzled away as arousal rushed through her. They were both under the spell—her magic, their lust. I should stop him.
Any noble impulses faded away when he snatched off his own shirt to reveal his muscular torso. His skin was tanned, his chest hair a crisp V the same hue as the thick black hair on his head.
When his hand went to the waistband of her pants, she caught his wrist, ignoring the whiskey’s pull. “These stay on.”
He rocked between her thighs, his hard length dragging against the seam until she gasped. “I canna get a babe on you.”
“I’m aware,” she said tightly, her power kindling.
He jerked above her as if he’d felt the blow of it, his lids going heavy. “Virgin, no?”
“What business is that of yours?”