Kenna
Evander’s mouth crashes against mine. The roar of the waterfall behind us fades to nothing but a gentle hum as the sound of his pleasure–a low, guttural growl–fills my ears and blur my senses.
We’re both stark naked and slightly sweaty from shifting. There’s nothing between us now–nothing stopping us from just being with each other.
He picks me up and kneels with me in his lap, his hands on my hips to hold me in place.
“You’re so beautiful when you shift,” he whispers, nipping the shell of my ear. “Like a pure, moonless night.”
His kisses dust over my jaw and neck, igniting a fire in my body I never want to stanch. I wiggle my hips, grinding against him, making mewling, desperate sounds of desire as his skin brushes over mine.
I’m aching for him. Every touch and smooth, heat-filled word out of his mouth sends me into a fr
MaeveMisty doesn’t ask questions, and I’m thankful for it. Blake watches with a scowl as Soren sits on the edge of the bed and extends his arm to Misty, who inspects it then looks at me. “It was an accident,” I tell her, swallowing past the guilt, and honestly, shame of hurting Soren like this. “I meant to do that to Blake.”Misty glances at Blake with a frown. “What the hell has gotten into you two?”Blake widens his stance, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his shoes instead of answering her question. “Later,” I breathe. “Can his arm be healed fully?”Misty nods, but her eyes betray the motion. She inspects his wounds with a sigh then motions for him to lie down. Soren looks at me with a skeptical expression shimmering behind his eyes but does what she asks, and in a matter of seconds, Misty’s light begins to dance around the room. Soren takes several shallow breaths as she grips his hand, sending her magic of light and healing deep into his veins. I watch, ti
MaeveWhen I was young, Aviva told me a story about her early days in the Silverhide pack and the first time she ever saw Ryan in his beast form. I didn’t understand why back then, but she explained that newly mated couples occasionally go through a bit of a rough patch in the first days of their relationship. The men, she explained, were generally uncontrollable and often territorial of their new mates, going as far as to attack other males for even looking in their direction. Touching another man’s mate, however? Especially his heavily pregnant mate?That’s a death sentence.“Soren!” I rush out, but it’s too late. Soren and Blake collide, Blake’s iron grip on my upper arm snapping away in an instant, leaving me teetering off balance in the dark hallway. The sound of the men colliding with the wall and my new plaster cracking and falling to the floor brings me back to startling focus, and I quickly flip a light switch, flooding the corridor outside of my room with glaring light. “Y
Maeve“What did you say?” My mouth goes painfully dry. I try to swallow but fail, humming a choked sob as I search his eyes for understanding. The four feet of distance between feels like an ocean when he balls his hands into fists at his sides, widening his stance like he’s preparing for battle, and maybe he is. I can feel my own power prickling over my skin as it stands. “You’re my mate, Maeve.” I imagine this is what it feels like to be stabbed in the heart. I clutch the corner poster of my bed for support as I sink onto the mattress, overcome by… a sudden, overwhelming understanding that makes the last nine months make absolute sense. This whole time. All of these feelings–this insane, otherworldly heartbreak… “How long?” I ask, unable to look him in the eyes. “How long have you known?”“Since the morning after you danced on that table at the hotel in the Highlands,” he admits, his voice level and deep, like he’s holding back whatever he’s feeling. “I nearly–”“You almost ma
MaeveI wake to total darkness, shooting upright as my heart thunders in my chest. I rarely dream, but I felt… uneasy, to say the least, about something that now I can’t fully remember. I reach up to rub my eyes, exhaling, then inhaling deeply before going completely rigid as the events of the last several hours come back to me in a rush. I fly out of bed–at least, I roll–stumbling into a pair of slippers while cradling the swell of my belly and groping in the dark for my robe. There’s a slight chill in the late winter air as I rush out of the bedroom, sliding around the sharp corner into the living room where a single lamp is on, illuminating the two figures sitting around the fireplace, which has burned down to embers. Soren lifts his head to look at me, his eyes dark and details blurred by the shadows. Patton rises, the frantic look in his eyes softening as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I obviously just interrupted a tense conversation judging by the look on both of
MaeveThe next person who enters the suite is familiar, and it’s a relief. Patton, only half an hour after Jane left to start spreading the word to those we trust, arrives in a hurry, his face washed in concern, then frustration, when he races down the hallway with Niall hot on his heels. Niall, tall and muscular, with dark hair and brown eyes, his skin a rich golden brown against the deep crimson of his guard uniform, skids to a stop when he sees me on the floor in nothing but a nightgown and robe with a stranger’s head in my lap–a stranger who broke into the castle, no doubt, sliding past my guards, and my shields, for Goddess’s sake. “Maeve,” Patton rushes out, trapped between what he feels is duty to me as a friend, as Soren’s friend, and being in the presence of a royal. A queen. He gives me a weak, awkward bow before giving Niall an unsure glance and moving closer to us. Niall, unaware of the situation and what he was walking into, grabs Patton’s arm, but I shake my head, hol
MaeveMy hands move to my stomach on instinct, cradling the heavy swell and the baby currently kicking the absolute life out of me. My lips part with another heavy breath, but words fail me as the phantom, the man who blesses my dreams, lifts his head and meets my eyes. He looks… the same, but different. That wry, charming boyishness has bled into something hard and dark–hollow, just like I’ve felt for nine months. He’s wearing that same dusty blue backward ball cap, but his hair is a little longer, curls poking out around his ears. His eyes are the same trio of colors but lined with dark circles–exhaustion, I realize, as I take another tentative step into the room, not daring to blink lest he disappear. The column of his throat bobs as he holds my gaze, searching my eyes, my face, his eyes uncharacteristically wetting as he licks his lips and lets his gaze lower to my stomach. I feel a sudden jolt of uncertainty, maybe even shame. “Soren,” I suck back the word as it splinters int