Horn of the Unicorn Page 7

  “Enough? For you or for me?” Graedor grunted, holding Zarnak’s angry glare as he deliberately lowered his face between her beautiful thighs and curled his long tongue around the pretty pink nub of her clit, then gave it a quick little nip with his teeth that had her releasing a raw cry of surprise. A sharp blast of air hit the lycan’s face as the beast snorted, and then he was knocked back as the mighty nose slammed into his forehead, jerking Grae’s head up so suddenly that his spine popped with a sharp, resonating crack of sound.

  I said enough! Zarnak roared within the lycan’s mind, while the girl stared up at them with dark, velvety brown eyes now shocked wide with fear. It was clear she had not expected them to fight for her, and he knew, without even traveling her mind, that she was lying there for him—and not the golden werewolf at her back.

  Graedor’s lip curled, two long, deadly canines lengthening within the curve of his surly smile, and Zarnak could smell the animal lust on the man—the grey wolf’s desire to fight for the right to finish what the man in him had started. “You want my help or not, Zarn?” Grae rasped with undisguised defiance, and with a painful twisting in his gut, Zarnak realized that his friend was on the verge of challenging him for her. And if he did, he would be forced to kill him. There’d be no other choice.

  Needed it—don’t want it. I did not ask you to bring her here! I understand that you’ve tried to help ready her, but you’ve no leave to take her within your mouth. You, as well as your beast, know she does not belong to you.

  “Well, considering there’s fuck all chance you’re going to let me get my dick anywhere near her,” Graedor drawled softly, his golden eyes shifting with myriad molten colors, “you should be happy my wolf and I are settling for a taste of that creamy little hole.”

  Not…yours. The words echoed through his mind, ragged and raging over the silent channel of communication, even as Zarnak struggled to remain calm. You’re on the verge of challenging me, when you know she’s mine. Do not do this. Do not start something you know we will both regret, he said, forcing himself to sound reasonable, when his possessive need for Tess made him long to pound his friend’s body beneath the lethal power of his legs and hooves with a bloodthirsty vengeance. Graedor stared at him out of glittering, fire-filled eyes, and then, as if wrenching himself from a pleasure-induced trance, he made a noise full of self-disgust and shook his golden head, almost as if he were trying to throw off the heavy, cloying remnants of a dream.

  Please, Grae, do not force me to kill you.

  Long, tense moments carried the heavy rasping of their anger, until finally the lycan arched one golden brow, his lip curling with a small smile as he snickered softly beneath his breath. “You’re an arrogant shit, you know that, Zarn? Who’s to say I’d not toss you on your ass? I did it often enough, before your change.”

  A sharp sense of relief flooded Zarnak’s system. And you sound like you’ve been listening into the outside world too often, Grae. Your vernacular is giving you away.

  “One should always study the ways of one’s enemy.” The lycan laughed softly, no longer champing at the bit for another go at Tess’ glistening cunt. Zarnak could not help but notice, though, that Grae’s hungry gaze continued to fall upon her lush beauty again and again—as if his friend could not help himself. Not that he could blame the bastard. She was a succulent vision of feminine sensuality, and he knew that he’d never seen anything more beautiful or achingly tempting in his entire life.

  They’re not all monsters, the silver-haired sidhe murmured telepathically from within his beastly prison, trying to find his way back to the thread of conversation. But he was lost in the passion-drugged sight of the woman spread wide before him, her doe-like eyes blinking up at him with pure fascination. Now that the tension had eased between the two warriors, her dark, mesmerizing gaze followed the long length of his imposing horn as it shone in the moonlight with an ethereal glow, glinting with arcs of light that shimmered like sparks. And speaking of monsters, I cannot believe you’ve brought her here like this. What were you thinking?

  “You left me no choice.” Graedor inclined his head, his look saying that he knew too well he spoke nothing but the truth. “You would have let her slip through your fingers for fear of hurting her. How fucking ironic!” he snorted, jerking his chin at him. “Do you know where we found her, you thickheaded bastard? In the Dragomaene’s camp, Zarn. Perhaps, if when you visited her these many years, had you ever been able to focus on anything other than her lush beauty, you would have realized where she was being held!”

  Held? A cold, icy claw of realization sliced through his gut.

  “Within the fortress of the Chancellor,” Graedor drawled. “A man they call Montgomery now. He’s no blood relation to her, but she and her sister have been kept there, trapped beneath his power for many years. Fergus and his pixies discovered all when they collected her, traveling the minds of her guards. That is probably how you found one another in the first place. There would have been much psychic energy drawing the two of you together. Though if she is truly your chosen one, then you would have found her no matter her whereabouts. Still, it would have saved you many years of suffering if you had but opened yourself to where she lived,” he ended with a heavy sigh.

  Unable to resist, Zarnak drilled his presence into her mind, instantly seeing that all Graedor had spoken was true. Gods, he should have known! But through all these years, he’d purposefully kept himself from seeking such knowledge. And why? Because he had not trusted himself enough not to bring her here, like this, once he’d known where she dwelled. The temptation would have been too great, and so he’d never allowed himself to seek the information. And she had suffered for his weakness. As Graedor would say, he’d had his head up his ass and rendered himself blind to the truth.

  He had often questioned how he would ever find her, if she were real, trapped as he was within this fucking curse—but the real question had always been how he could live with himself, if he did.

  Fuck! he roared silently within his prison, wanting to rip his way from the beast’s body with such violence that he could almost imagine clawing his way to the surface, through bones and flesh and the bleak, horror-filled nightmare of being held back from the woman he loved.

  “You know, I think that even if you had known she was so close,” his friend murmured, watching him with that all-knowing expression that was really starting to piss him off, “you still would have let her slip away from you, wouldn’t you, Zarn? Mayhap even insisted I take her. Now you have no choice. All I’ve done is taken the matter to a state that even you and your fucking nobility cannot resist,” Graedor murmured, purposefully taunting him by sending those golden eyes on a slow, intimate perusal along the quivering length of Tess’ beautiful body, focusing intently upon the drenched pink slit of her sex, her silken folds creamy and damp, the demure opening to her womb fluttering in readiness for a stiff, hard cock to break her open and fuck her senseless. In her dazed fascination, she had not even thought to close her knees now that she was no longer being held open—and the provocative sight of her naked, dew-kissed quim nearly killed him. He wanted to drown in it, just as he had the night before, and swallow her into his soul, until he could feel and taste her in every facet of his world, his life, his body. He wanted to consume her as eagerly as he longed to be consumed.

  The mighty beast pounded its front hooves upon the earth, its nostrils flaring as Zarnak’s pulse thundered in his ears, the thudding of his heart echoing the ground-shaking tremors beneath him. Was Graedor right? Would he have let her get away, knowing she was so close? Knowing she belonged to him?

  Montgomery never would have survived the passage through the portal, not without one of the fae to guide him, and none from The Wicket Wood—though they were hardly saints—were so dumb as to have struck a deal with the devil’s pawn. No—he wouldn’t have breached their security, and so Tess’ life would have been spared.

  But would he have had the strength to let her walk aw
ay from him—forever?

  He only hoped he would have been able to make such a sacrifice, but to be honest, he was not so sure. He would not have left her in the madman’s hands. No—if he had known, he would have sent Graedor after her and her sister. Sent him to secure their safety and take them to some place where they could live in freedom, unlike the prison within which they had survived. But would he have been able to watch Graedor steal away with his woman, knowing very well that she would soon be writhing beneath his friend’s cock—rather than his own?

  He closed his eyes and let the truth of his thoughts flow through him, steady and sure. No, he truly did not think he could have done it.

  But then, he did not think his Tess would have given herself completely to Graedor either, not knowing that he lived and needed her, no matter the hungry passions of her starved body. Even now, with her juices glistening upon the grey wolf’s mouth, Zarnak knew that she had thought of naught but him. Knew with absolute certainty that she had surrendered to the other man’s touch for the sake of what was to come.

  But gods, how can I do this?

  He had thought all he must save her from was himself. Even when he’d begged her to come to him the night before, he’d known it was wrong. Selfish and entirely unfair. How could he harm her when every cell within his body screamed to keep her safe, to cherish and love her as no man had ever devoted himself to a woman?

  And now…now he was going to cause her the ultimate pain, simply because he could not fight himself.

  Signaling Graedor with a nod of his head, the other man moved back over Tess’ body, securing her thighs out wide at her sides within the powerful grip of his hands. Zarnak’s gut coiled at the sight of the lycan’s dark hands upon her pale flesh, but he choked down the possessive burn of jealousy, knowing it must be done. There was no question of going back now. No other road to travel. His friend’s actions had, indeed, sealed their fate—and he could not deny that he was viciously, savagely thrilled with the outcome.

  She blinked up at him, staring into his eyes, her dark gaze fathomless and deep, and he marveled at the fates that had brought them here, together, granting him that which he had most wanted, but had never thought to have. The ultimate joy battled with his conscience, until finally the needs of the beast overrode his restraint and, for a moment, he eased his head upon her trembling stomach, simply soaking in the feel of her, the sumptuous scents of her skin and the rushing beat of her heart.

  Easing back into her mind, Zarnak sought to quiet her fear. Feel only the pleasure, little one, and give me your pain. I will gladly take it. Always. I would eagerly take all your suffering, all your fears.

  He paused, listening to her breathing, her blood rhythmically flowing through her veins, and could see her mind going hazy at his bidding, as if a soothing fog had smoothed its way through her thoughts, calming her.

  May the gods forgive me for that which I am about to do, he silently growled, lifting his head to look at her face. The damp silk of her lips trembled with emotion, cheeks flushed crimson while her eyes squeezed painfully tight, and he knew he had never seen her more beautiful, because within moments she was going to belong to him forever. For all eternity. A sharp blast of air from his nostrils shifted the long tresses of her dark, silken hair around her shoulders, surrounding her face like a veil of lustrous midnight, and it was a physical pain not to be able to hold her within his arms and touch the damp heat of her skin with his hungry flesh.

  Groaning, he snarled a possessive sound of triumph as he lowered his head between the thighs that Graedor held pinned with his steely strength.

  “Easy, Zarn,” Grae cautioned in a low voice tight with worry, and he huffed a gruff sound in response.

  The instant the tip of his horn touched the wet, damp tissues of her quim, his knees nearly buckled, so great was the grinding rush of searing, rapturous pleasure that scraped down his nerve endings, causing his teeth to gnash, his eyes to all but roll back in his head. The warrior buried within the beast dripped with sweat, ached with restraint, determined not to harm her, and yet knowing that he must breach her virgin barrier to be free.

  Wanting her enough to do it…

  But at the last moment, he stopped, trembling with angry frustration—with painful, consuming hunger—as her untried muscles clenched down upon the breathtaking sensitivity of his horn. All at once, the impossible knowledge that he loved her so completely that he could not risk harming her, filled him in a surging, drowning wave, burying him beneath the weight of guilt and regret. He tensed ever tighter, muscles tremoring and hard with purpose, prepared to pull from her velvet, liquid sheath, and run. He could feel his flight, his hooves pounding upon the fertile floor of the forest until he reached the cliffs and threw himself from the craggy precipice of the highest point. Threw himself upon the mercy of the gods and begged their entrance into the lands of the dead, as far from temptation as he could fall.

  “Don’t you dare run, Zarnak,” Grae snarled beneath his breath, the lycan’s voice thick with fury and disbelief. “You fucking finish it!”

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled back but a fraction, then slightly more—willing his love for her to overcome the beast’s dark, greedy lust—but then she let out a wailing cry, her small hands moving to his head, gripping handfuls of his silken mane as it fell along the sides of his head. He was distantly aware of Graedor shouting at him, his roaring words angry and violent, but he could no longer focus upon their meaning. His breath stopped in his lungs, every cell burning with raw, nearly blinding anticipation, so sharp it should have sliced him to shreds, ribboned him with disbelief as her slender fingers twisted, tangling in his mane.

  “Damn you,” she seethed in a terrible voice filled with bitter heartbreak and horror, “you will not leave me!” She gripped him, struggling to pull him closer, and then suddenly her hips arched, as she thrust herself upon his keenly sensitive horn, and with blinding, earth-shattering clarity, Zarnak felt the burning tip breach her maidenhead, spearing into the depths of her pulsing cunt, her warm blood coating the silver casing of his horn in a scalding, deliciously wet wash of ecstasy.

  Svarqak, what had she done?

  Fuck! he roared within his pounding skull. How deep had he gone? He lurched back, tearing his mane from her grip, raising his head to stare at her from horrified eyes.

  Her scent and taste filled his head. The feel of her beneath him, as he pressed his nose to her thigh, drugged him with pleasure, and yet his heart refused to beat from fear that he’d harmed her. She lay against the rock, thighs splayed, her milky flesh trembling with emotion, while her juices streamed, two single traces of blood flowing from the mouth of her cunt. He closed his eyes against the heartbreaking sight of her sacrifice, filled so full with emotion he did not know how he would ever contain it, only to open them and look upon the most beautiful sight he had ever been blessed with.

  A small, tremulous smile spread across the lush beauty of her rose-colored mouth, her lips damp and smooth like silk, and she blinked away the gentle wash of tears in her dark eyes as she huskily said, “Come to me now, my beautiful warrior. Now you’re free.”

  No sooner had the words left her lips, than he felt the fire. It began in the hooves of the beast, and spread like an undulating wave of blistering, eating flames through his body, until he pulled away from her, afraid that he would harm her with the wrenching spasm coursing through his limbs, his abdomen, pounding within his skull. Like a great caving pain within his head, he felt his horn withdrawing into his forehead, clawing its way though his body, until its sensitive, scalding heat could be felt tingling at the base of his thick, aching cock.

  His head flew back, the long hair of his mane whipping sharply against his burning skin, and he roared…but it was not the raging cry of a beast.

  It was the furious, thundering shout of a man.

  Chapter Five

  Staking a Claim

  Carry me off into the blue skies of tender loves,

  roll me in
dark clouds,

  trample me with your thunderstorms,

  break me in your angry rages.

  But love me, my adored lover.

  Sarah Bernhardt, French actress to Jean Richepin, French writer, 1883

  One moment, Tess stared upon the majestic beauty of the unicorn, and in the next, she watched as the magnificent beast seemed to pull inside itself as something—someone—even more breathtaking emerged. It was like watching a living thing struggle for life by fighting its way through hell, only without the mess you would have expected. But then, Tess supposed magic or sorcery or whatever the hell this was wasn’t necessarily subject to the rules of normalcy. She couldn’t help thinking she should be horrified by the sight of the beast’s transformation, but she wasn’t. Breathless, expectant, exhilarant—yes. But for some bizarre reason, she wasn’t afraid.

  At least not yet.

  Tess wanted to pull him to her, but before she could move, he was on her. A hard, heavy, burning body of heat collapsed over her, jolting against her as spasms of agony seemed to rack his long length with torturous precision. The rough shouts rending the quiet of the forest quickly lowered into deep, guttural sounds the moment he fell upon her, his fevered face buried in the side of her neck, so that each harsh, rasping breath and rumbling growl pressed against her skin through the humid warmth of his open mouth. His lips pulled back over his teeth in an agony-filled grimace, she knew without even seeing, because of the hard presence of his teeth against the trembling column of her throat, and even that somehow threatening sensation filled her with sensual awareness.

  “I do not want to hurt you,” he whispered in a rough, breathless snarl of sound.

  “It’s okay,” she answered soothingly, wanting nothing more at that moment than to comfort him. “I’m here, and I’m fine. We’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Like hell it is, he growled silently within her head. And then, as if looking into his mind’s eye, Tess watched a series of breathtaking, mind-numbing visuals unfold within her thoughts in an erotic tableau that fascinated her as much as it shocked, and she knew precisely what would happen next. Knew in crystal, mesmerizing detail exactly what he wanted to do with her—do to her—because he’d just warned her with those stunning images.