Eye of the Tempest (40 page)

The feel of him against me was surreal. I was so tired, and we’d been running around like lunatics for what felt like weeks, and the last time I’d seen Anyan he’d been a dog
and
slurping away at his own anus. It was hard to believe that now, here we were, all human (
really human!
I remembered), naked, and in each other’s arms.

Now I can do the slurping!
my libido crowed, causing me to blush. I hated when I blushed at my own sex drive.

And I’m assuming he’s brushed his teeth
, my virtue butted in, all finicky.

He shifted, gently nudging my knees apart so he could move his body between my thighs. His mouth found mine, a soft kiss that quickly deepened into something much hotter. When he pulled away we were both panting.

“Minx,” he murmured, as he kissed his way down my torso. Then, lying between my legs, he shifted onto his right side so he could run his palms up my left calf and over my thigh, spreading healing warmth as he did so.

I didn’t know whether to moan or sigh, torn as I was between sexual excitement and relaxation.

But when he changed sides to run his fingers up my right calf, switching to his lips to trace up my bruised right thigh, I made up my mind.

“Mmm,” I moaned, throatily, as his lips and magic found my aching flesh and healed me. And then those lips kept tracing upward, biting and licking till he paused above my undoubtedly dripping wet sex.

And then he used his thumbs.

Sweet jeebus
, I thought, as he spread my lips apart gently to lick up the entire length of my slit.

I cried out, letting pleasure course through me even as I tamped down on any stray thoughts about how Anyan had become such a proficient licker.

All snark waves ceased, however, when he licked upward again, so slowly, before finding my clit with his teeth and tongue.

I was soon writhing, as he quickly stopped teasing. Instead, he worked my clit with his mouth as I felt two wide fingers slide into me.

“Oh,
puppy
,” I moaned, as he stretched me deliciously. When he added a third finger, curling them slightly to rub against my walls in a way that made me feel so very full, I swore again.

“So wet,” he murmured against me. “I love how wet you are.”

I gabbled something incoherent at him, which I think translated roughly as “You are the lord of my vagina!” before I came, nearly screaming my pleasure and collapsing in a sweating, sated heap. Anyan extracted his clever fingers, although his tongue was still busy lapping at me.

Whimpering, the sensation too much, I shoved weakly at his head. He let me push him aside, before kissing his way back up my body.

The smell and taste of myself on his lips as he kissed my mouth pushed one last, tired moan out of me. Then I flopped back on the bed, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Ravish me?” I said, stifling a yawn.

Anyan chuckled. “I want you wet, begging, and—most important—
awake
when I ravish you, sweet minx.” He settled beside me, drawing me close.

“Sleep now,” he murmured, nuzzling my ear with that nose. “In the morning you’re mine…”

He may have gone into more detail, but I wouldn’t know. I was already fast asleep.

I awoke to gentle snores in my ear and a police baton pressed into the small of my back.

That’s not a police baton!
my libido sang gleefully, way too awake, according to the rest of me.

I waited till my brain and body could catch up to my libido, and then I snuggled back in Anyan’s arms.

That really isn’t a police baton
, I thought, wonderingly.
Which might be a problem…
I was, after all, part seal. And we had a long and sordid history with things the size and shape of clubs.

The hand that suddenly found my breasts, pinching gently at my nipples, effectively stopped my train of thought and I snuggled back again against the barghest.

“Morning,” he rumbled, kissing sleepily at the nape of my neck.

“Morning,” I purred, happy as a cat lounging in a patch of sun.

“You snore,” Anyan informed me, as he stroked his hand down my belly.

“So do you,” I said, and then moaned as—without wasting any time—his fingers eased between my legs.

“Mmm, still wet,” he said, as he moved his hand from in front of me to behind me, parting my lips as he slid a finger inside my warmth. I moaned, and his other arm, the one he was lying on, moved up so he could wrap his hand around my throat.

Easing my head around so his mouth could find mine, he slid up my body till I felt something other than just his fingers prodding at me from behind. Wanting him so badly, needing this after so long and after so many worries, I arched my back, whimpering for him, as I felt his cock part my lips…

And then Blondie apparated into the room, right in front of us.

“No time!” she shouted, flailing her arms. “No time! There’s no time!”

We both lay there, frozen, staring at her in disbelief.

“We have to go
right now
. What are you two doing? Don’t you know what’s happening?” I’d never seen the Original discomfited, let alone completely panicked. A chill slid down my spine.

“What’s going on?” Anyan asked.

She stopped her frenetic movements, really looking at us for the first time. I knew she was serious when she didn’t stop to say anything rude. Instead, her eyes were huge with horror.

“There’s going to be a war,” she said, her voice ominous. “And we have to win. You have to pack for a long voyage and chilly weather. Lots of layers. Now!” she shouted, when Anyan and I just stared at her. “We leave in a few hours!”

And with that she apparated me right back to my own bedroom. I landed with a thud on my twin-sized bed. My clothes, shoes, and the labrys landed with a louder thud on my bedroom floor just a few seconds later.

I lay there, blinking at the ceiling, while I adjusted to the idea that I would
not
be shagging Anyan in the next few minutes but that I
would
be going to war.

Sitting up, I looked around to muster the will to begin packing. Again. Then, overwhelmed, I stared down at my shoes, splayed out against the double-headed ax.

For starters
, I mused, eyeballing my now filthy, battered, and holey Converse,
war calls for a new pair of kicks
.

I’m thinking a Champion wears red
.

Look out for TEMPEST’S FURY
,

book 5 of the

Jane True series
,

coming in summer 2012
.

Acknowledgments

My family gets first dibs, as always. Thanks to my mom and dad for always being there—up to and including coming all the way to PA to make spinach dip. Thanks to Chris, Lisa, Abby, and Wyatt for always making me feel I have a home.

Thanks to my friends whom I call when I’m lonely: Jana, Loren, Kristin, Ruth, Jimmy, Mary Lois, and Arlene. You’ve made another big move bearable and I’d be batcaca crazy without you.

Thanks to my new colleagues and students at Seton Hill University. I’m really enjoying getting to know all of you, and you’ve made my working life such a pleasure.

Thanks to all the amazing people at Orbit: Devi, you’re a marvelous editor and you’ve made me such a better writer. Jennifer, you get it done, lady, and thanks for all you do. Thanks to Alex and Jack for getting Jane’s face out into the wild, and to Lauren and Sharon for making that face so pretty. And thanks to Tim Holman for overseeing it all. I’m so proud to work for a company with Orbit’s reputation.

Thanks to my agent, Rebecca Strauss, who has to be the best agent ever in the history of the universe.

Thanks to my secondary readers: James Clawson, Christie Ko, and Mary Lois White, and thanks to Diana Rowland, my critique partner, whose own work always inspires.

Thanks to the League of Reluctant Adults. I don’t know what goddess was smiling on me when she sent me all of you, but I know she has a foul mouth and a snarky sensibility. I’m constantly, deliciously shocked by your shenanigans, and I’m honored to be one of you. Viva la League!

Finally, but with every bone in my body, thank you to my fans. The love you show Jane and me is outrageous, and we appreciate it very much. You really
get
her, and that pleases me immensely. Thank you for all the ways you support me: I couldn’t ask for cooler fans.

extras

meet the author

Nicole D. Peeler
lives outside of Pittsburgh, where she’s a professor of English literature and creative writing in Seton Hills’ MFA in popular fiction. Yes, folks, she’s mentoring students in writing urban fantasy. Or, as she likes to say, “infecting them with her madness.” Equally infectious is her love of life, food, travel, and friends. To learn more about the author, visit
www.nicolepeeler.com
.

introducing

If you enjoyed EYE OF THE TEMPEST,
look out for

SOULLESS

The Parasol Protectorate: Book the First

by Gail Carriger

Alexia Tarabotti is laboring under a great many social tribulations. First, she has no soul. Second, she’s a spinster whose father is both Italian and dead. Third, she was rudely attacked by a vampire, breaking all standards of social etiquette
.

Where to go from there? From bad to worse apparently, for Alexia accidentally kills the vampire—and then the appalling Lord Maccon (loud, messy, gorgeous, and werewolf) is sent by Queen Victoria to investigate
.

With unexpected vampires appearing and expected vampires disappearing, everyone seems to believe Alexia is responsible. Can she figure out what is actually happening to London’s high society? Will her soulless ability to negate supernatural powers prove useful or just plain embarrassing? Finally, who is the real enemy, and do they have treacle tart?

Miss Alexia Tarabotti was not enjoying her evening. Private balls were never more than middling amusements for spinsters, and Miss Tarabotti was not the kind of spinster who could garner even that much pleasure from the event. To put the pudding in the puff: she had retreated to the library, her favorite sanctuary in any house, only to happen upon an unexpected vampire.

She glared at the vampire.

For his part, the vampire seemed to feel that their encounter had improved his ball experience immeasurably. For there she sat, without escort, in a low-necked ball gown.

In this particular case, what he did not know
could
hurt him. For Miss Alexia had been born without a soul, which, as any decent vampire of good blooding knew, made her a lady to avoid most assiduously.

Yet he moved toward her, darkly shimmering out of the library shadows with feeding fangs ready. However, the moment he touched Miss Tarabotti, he was suddenly no longer darkly doing anything at all. He was simply standing there, the faint sounds of a string quartet in the background as he foolishly fished about with his tongue for fangs unaccountably mislaid.

Miss Tarabotti was not in the least surprised; soullessness always neutralized supernatural abilities. She issued the vampire a very dour look. Certainly, most daylight folk wouldn’t peg her as anything less than a standard English prig, but had this man not even bothered to
read
the vampire’s official abnormality roster for London and its greater environs?