A Hunger Like No Other (29 page)

Lachlain shrugged as if unconcerned, though he had wanted to see her reaction and capitalize on any gratitude she might have demonstrated.

“The good news is that she dinna like the idea of Cass up here talking to you. Distressed the wee creature.”

Could Emma have been
jealous
? Lachlain knew she could never feel the soul-deep possession he felt for her, but he'd take anything. He frowned. He didn't want her distressed. “Cassandra, you will leave here. No' to return until invited by Emmaline herself. I will no' be moved from this.”

She gasped, truly shocked, but how could she be?

She shot to her feet, shaking, her voice sharp. “It may never be me, but when you are well, you'll see it never could be that
vampire
either.” She flew to the door.

“I'll make sure she leaves,” Bowe offered. “Just after a quick detour to the kitchen. They cooked for an army.” He hesitated, then said, “Good luck.”

Lachlain nodded, lost in thought, hearing cars departing down the long drive.

A king was in residence with his queen, a Lykae had his mate after a millennium, and the moon was waxing. Everyone here knew what that meant. Everyone except Emma.

He'd run out of time. He'd run out of options. His gaze fell to the sideboard, to the crystal glinting in the light.

W
hen Emma woke, she was in Lachlain's arms, with her face tucked against his chest and his fingers gently sifting through her hair. Just before she went irate at the thought of him moving her to the bed again, she realized he was in her blankets on the floor.

Then the dream came back to her in a rush.

She'd seen Lachlain in some kind of war long ago, passing the time between charges. Garreth and Heath—his brothers?—and some other Lykae males talked about finding their mates, musing on what they would look like. They spoke in Gaelic. She understood the words.

“I'm just saying it would be nice if she's fair of form,” one called Uilleam said. He indicated what he meant by cupping his hands in front of his chest.

Another said, “Just give mine a sweet arse to hold on to in the night—”

They quieted when Lachlain walked by, not wanting to talk of such things in front of him.

Lachlain was the oldest, and had waited the longest. Nine hundred years he'd waited.

He continued to a stream by their camp, bounding easily over boulders even under the weight of chain mail. He knelt on the shore
by a becalmed pool and leaned down to cup water to his face.

His reflection wavered for the briefest second. He hadn't shaved for days and he had a long, winding cut down his face. His hair was long.

He was absolutely stunning to Emma, and she reacted viscerally to this remembered image from the dream.

When he'd sat back on his haunches and gazed up at the blue sky, Emma had felt the startling warmth of the sun as though she'd been there. Then a wave of emptiness had hit him.
Why can I no' find her . . . ?

Emma blinked open her eyes. She was
her
. The one he'd longed for . . . .

She'd seen him with rage in his eyes, with confusion, with hatred, but she'd never seen hopelessness as she had in his reflection.

“Sleep well?” he said, rumbling his words.

“Did you sleep with me? Here?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Because you prefer sleeping here. And I prefer sleeping with you.”

“And I have no say in the matter.”

Ignoring her comment, he said, “I want to give you something,” then reached behind him, drawing out . . . the gold necklace from her dream. Her eyes locked on it, mesmerized. It was more beautiful in reality.

“Do you like it? I never knew what you would prefer and guessed again and again.”

Her gaze followed it as it swung like a pendulum. This was proof that she was going loopy, and yet she still had an inward evil grin. “I'll be sure to wear it in front of Cassandra,” she murmured absently.

He caught it in his palm, breaking her stare. “Why would you say that?”

As she often did when she wanted to lie and couldn't, she asked a question. “Wouldn't she be jealous to see you'd bought me jewelry?”

He was still frowning at her.

“It's clear she wants you for herself.”

“Aye. That's true,” he said, surprising her with his honesty. “But she's gone. I've sent her away, no' to return until it pleases you, or never. I will no' have you uncomfortable in your own home.”

Through gritted teeth, she said, “It's not my home.” She pushed away, but he held her by her shoulder.

“Emma, it's your home whether you accept me or no'. It has always been and always will be.”

She jerked from his hand. “I don't want your home and I don't want you,” she cried. “Not when you've hurt me like this.”

His body went tense and his expression turned bleak. As though he'd
failed
. “Tell me how.”

“When you lied, it . . . it hurt.”

“I dinna want to lie to you.” He brushed her hair from her face. “But I dinna think you were ready to hear everything, and I already sensed a threat from the vampires and feared you would run away.”

“But now keeping me from my family pains me even more.”

“I will take you to them,” he said quickly. “I have to meet with some of the clan and then I must go away for a short while. After that, I will take you there myself. But you canna go alone.”

“Why?”

“I am uneasy. Emma, I need you to cleave to me. I know you doona and I fear losing you. They will talk you from any headway I may have made with you.”

Annika would, in fact, remind Emma that she'd gone insane.

“I know the minute you enter that coven alone, I will have hell to get you back.”

“And you
have
to get me back.”

“O' course I do. I will no' lose you just when I've finally found you.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Why are you so certain about this? For someone who's not a Lykae, this all seems really extreme. I mean, you've only known me for a
week.”

“While I've waited my entire lifetime.”

“That doesn't mean you were right to have. It doesn't mean you should have.”

His voice went low. “No, but it means having you here now feels verra, verra satisfying.”

She ignored the warmth his words conjured, ignored her dream of him.

“Emma, will you drink from me?”

She scrunched her nose. “You smell like alcohol.”

“I had a dram or two.”

“Then I'll pass.”

He was silent for a moment, then held up the necklace again. “I want you to wear this.” He leaned forward to reach around and fasten it. Which placed his neck directly before her lips.

She spied a nick just inches from her mouth. “You've cut yourself,” she murmured in a daze.

“Did I, then?”

She licked her lips, trying not to succumb to the temptation.
“You're, oh, God,
move your neck,”
she whispered, panting.

The next thing she felt was his palm on the back of her head, pulling her to him, forcing her mouth against his skin.

She pounded her fists against his chest, but he was too strong. She finally surrendered, unable to stop herself from darting her tongue out. She licked him slowly, savoring his taste and the way his body tensed, she knew, with pleasure.

Moaning, shuddering, she sank her fangs in and drew.

A
s she drank, Lachlain squeezed her in his arms and rose to sit on the edge of the bed. He lifted her onto his lap, making her straddle him.

He knew she was lost, clinging so sweetly to him, her elbows on his shoulders, her forearms crossed behind his head. The necklace was cold against his chest as he pulled her closer.

She drew in deep.

“Drink . . . slowly, Emma.”

When she didn't, he did something he wouldn't have thought he was capable of.
He
broke away from her.

She swayed immediately. “What's happening to me?” she asked in a slurred tone.

You're drunk so I can take advantage of you . . . .

“I feel so . . . strange.”

When he rolled up her nightgown, she didn't stop him, even when he palmed her between her legs. He groaned anew to find her so wet. His erection was about to rip through his pants.

She was breathing hot and fast against his skin where her lips and teeth had been. She licked him there when he thrust his finger inside her tight sex, then ran her face against his, moaning softly.

“Everything's spinning,” she whispered.

He felt guilt, but he knew what they needed and would take them headlong to it, damn the consequences. “Spread your knees more. Rest on my hand.”

She did. “I ache, Lachlain.” Her voice was throaty, sexy as hell.

She whimpered when he leaned down to drag his tongue over her nipple. “I can ease it,” he bit out as he unfastened his pants with his free hand and his cock sprang forth just beneath her. “Emma, I need . . . tae be inside you. I'm going tae press you down on me.”

He forced her hips lower and lower.
Gentle. First time. So small.

“And then I'm going to take you until neither of us aches like this,” he said against her nipple. Just when he was about to touch her wetness, when he could perceive her heat, she flung away from him, scrambling to the headboard.

He growled with frustration, yanking her right back, until she pummelled his shoulder.

“No! Something's not right.” Her hand flew to her forehead. “Feel so dizzy.”

Put the beast back in its cage.
He'd made a vow to her, never to touch her when she didn't want him to. But her gown was barely covering her, red silk teasing against her white thighs, her nipples hard. He couldn't catch his breath . . . needed her so badly . . . .

With another growl, he reached over and tossed her to her front. As she struggled, he held her down to bare her generous, perfect arse.

Groaning, he brought his hand down on her curves, not a slap, more a pawing that landed hard. Since he'd met her, he'd brought himself to spend each day in the shower. With
her scent fresh in his mind and his hands still warmed from her skin, it was always violently powerful.

She gasped when he kneaded her curves. It would have to be enough.

Time to shower.

*  *  *

Emma still felt his hand against her. It hadn't been a hit or a slap, but—Freya help her—an exquisitely delivered message.

What was wrong with her? Why was she thinking this way? She shivered and moaned. The beast in the cage?—that's what he'd told her. Well, the beast had just swiped a hand out of the cage and delivered a good smack on her backside. It was a masterful, masculine touch that made her want to dissolve, and left her rolling her hips against the bed.

The urge to touch her sex was overwhelming. She wanted to
beg
to ride him. Her body twitched as she fought it.

The necklace he'd fastened around her was actually a choker that had gold strands and jewels cascading down over her breasts. It was heavy on her and felt sexy and forbidden. When she moved, it swayed and tickled her nipples.

Something about this necklace and the way he'd pressed it upon her signaled . . . possession.

He'd done something to her tonight. The bed spun, and she felt like . . . giggling. She also couldn't seem to stop running her hands up and down her body. When her thoughts came, they were clear, but soft and slow . . . .

She didn't know how much longer she could take him touching her without begging for him. Right now on the tip of her tongue,
“Please.”

No! She was already different from others in her coven—part hated foe, weak compared to her aunts.