Love Bites (8 page)

He eyed her, letting the tension build, before he finally asked, “Do you know what it’s like when I go mad in battle?”

Morgana blinked. Of all the questions he could have asked, that wasn’t the one she’d expected. “I . . . no.”

“It starts with rage, of course. And the fear. But then when I sink into it, the fury quickly turns to euphoria. I feel . . . exalted, like a saint with a vision.”

Morgana blinked, feeling a sudden sense of kinship with him. She’d often experienced that same wild joy herself.

Claws raked across her skin as the wolves closed in, their eyes glowing orange with bloodlust . . . Terrified, she reached for the power, let it roll over her, bringing with it a wild exhilaration . . .

“But the vision I see isn’t some saint’s dream of angels and God,” Marrok continued in a low, too-controlled voice. “It’s the bright pattern my sword weaves. And the blood.” His eyes drifted shut, and his nostrils flared as if at a delicious memory. “Jesu, the
blood
. The smell of it, the taste of it when it hits my face. I love that taste.”

“Well,” she managed faintly, “You
are
a vampire.”

He opened his eyes to meet her gaze again with an expression that chilled her. “My enemies fight, but I fear no fear, no rage. Just the sweet joy of the sword, the parry and thrust, the thud of the blade hitting home, the vibration in my bones. I hear Percival’s voice through the mission ring, making sure I don’t kill allies and innocents . . .”

Morgana knew how that felt too—the icy fear of killing the innocent and those she loved.

He fell silent, glancing away, his eyes seeming to gaze into some distant vision. Abruptly his attention returned to her, his expression hardening. When he spoke again, his voice took on a biting edge. “But then he wakes me, and I see what I’ve done.”

Morgana swallowed, remembering battlefields strewn with corpses. Not all of them killed by Marrok, of course, though many had been. He always struck so quickly, so mercilessly, there was a kind of elegance in his brutality. Even the werewolves hadn’t had a chance.

“When the bodies have been hacked into nothing more than meat, I can’t tell who I’ve slain,” he said with that terrifying lack of emotion. “And for a moment, I always wonder: is this Percival? Cador? Arthur? You? It’s not until Percival reassures me that I’m sure they were all enemies. And every single time, I wonder: If something happened to him, would I have stopped?
Could
I have stopped?”

“Arthur could stop you.” Arthur might have been almost a foot shorter than Marrok, but he was still Arthur. To use the modern parlance, he was
the
alpha of the collection of alpha males he’d assembled.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. I’d rather not take the chance of waking surrounded by the corpses of my dearest friends.” His eyes focused on her face with a frigidity that iced the blood in her veins. “So I beg you to believe me when I say that if you fuck with my team, if you drive a wedge between us, you’d better be prepared to kill me.” His voice lowered to a rumble like distant thunder warning of a hurricane. “Otherwise, I’ll kill you. And that, my dove, is not an idle threat.”

Morgana swallowed. Her mouth felt as if she’d stuffed her jaws with cotton. “I know. And believe me, I have no interest in sabotaging the team.”

For one thing, she needed them every bit as much as he needed Percival—and for basically the same reason. He wasn’t the only one capable of lethal destruction.

But that wasn’t something she could tell Marrok.

He studied her for a long moment before nodding stiffly. “See that you don’t.”

Marrok stalked past her, a rigid set to his massive shoulders. Once again, she followed him.

*   *   *

W
hen they returned to the room, Percival, sprawled on the sectional, studied Marrok. “You done?”

The big knight shot Morgana a cool, warning glance that made Percival wonder what the two had talked about. Marrok shrugged. “Yes.”

Percival turned to Morgana. “Are you going to call it off?”

She met his gaze, her own calm, sure. “Hardly.”

Relieved, Percival lifted the collar off the coffee table where she’d left it. “Then get over here and kneel.”

Now a flicker of anxiety did show in Morgana’s eyes, but she still didn’t hesitate as she approached him without appearing to hurry, the peignoir fluttering around her long legs. Her breasts swayed, full, yet beautifully shaped. The tight points of her nipples were clearly visible through the thin lace of her corset.

His eye dropped to the dark delta between her thighs. The scent of her arousal filled the air, maddening and delicious.

God, he couldn’t wait to taste her. Fuck her. Drink that rich, sweet blood.

Percival stood and moved out from behind the coffee table as she sank gracefully to her knees in a puddle of lace. He had to drag his eyes away from the lush curves of her breasts the red lace corset displayed. Turning his attention to the collar in his hands, he examined it. The two ends were open, waiting to be slipped around that delicate throat. The sooner he collared her, the sooner he could have her.

Fantasies spun through his brain.
Morgana, chained with arms and legs spread wide while he wielded a deer-hide flogger across the beautiful curves of her arse. Morgana, naked, bound hand and foot while he fucked her hard, admiring the stripes.
“How do you activate the spell on this?” His voice sounded hoarse.

Morgana looked up at him, her eyes very green and a little nervous. She would have looked downright terrified if she’d known what he was thinking. “Simply by locking it around my throat.”

Percival nodded as he prepared to snap the clasp closed. “Do you, Morgana le Fay, swear to obey all my commands without question or hesitation, yielding your body to serve my needs for the next year, whether for sex or for blood?”

“I, Morgana le Fay, Liege of the Majae, do swear to obey you in all your commands without question or hesitation, yielding my body to serve your needs, whether for sex or for blood, for the next year.” Morgana’s voice was steady, clear, despite the unease in those vivid eyes.

“I, Sir Percival, Knight of the Round Table, hereby accept your Oath of Service.” He pressed the collar’s ends together with a soft click. Magic spilled out of the thin silver band in a glittering wave, rolling to the top of her head and the bottom of her feet with a quiet hiss.

She sighed, her eyes sliding closed, her expression smoothing. Percival would have expected regret at the loss of her power, perhaps even fear at her sudden vulnerability. Instead he saw only . . . was that relief?

Why relief, for God’s sake?

Marrok eyed her, frowning. “Did it work?”

Moving with smooth vampire speed, Cador stepped forward, snaked an arm down and caught one of her erect nipples in a sharp pinch. Morgana jolted, eyes flying wide in startled outrage as she flicked her fingers at him in a familiar gesture. Percival braced for the sting of pain burning through their mission rings.

Nothing happened.

Cador grinned at him like a devil. “It worked.”

Her lovely green eyes widened.
Now
it hit her how vulnerable she was without her powers.

Still Percival frowned, remembering that moment of relief. Almost like someone who’d carried a friend halfway across a desert, finally putting him down beside the blue relief of an oasis. Why had she looked like that? What did it mean?

Who gives a fuck?
snarled a dark mental voice.
She’s mine now by her own oath.
Hunger clawed at him, heat pooling in his balls, making them feel heavy, swollen
. Mine to take in whatever way suits me. Starting now.

He didn’t even recognize his own voice when he spoke. “Turn around and bend over. I want to see your pussy and arse.”

Morgana shot him a wide-eyed, vulnerable look, which had the effect of making him even harder. “What?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“You heard the man,” Cador told her, giving her a nasty grin. “Turn around and show him your pussy.”

She licked her lips, anxiety flickering through her eyes. Then she met his gaze with that cool, defiant determination Percival knew too well.

He grabbed her by one arm and hauled her over to the couch, then sat down and pulled her across his lap, ignoring her instinctive yelp of protest.

Lifting one hand, he brought it down hard on the beautiful curve of her arse with a juicy smack.

N
ice.” Cador prowled around them for a better view as Percival prepared to give her arse another swat. “She’s needed that for a very long time.”

“Pull up the robe,” Marrok suggested, joining him. “Please. I’d love a better view.”

Morgana muttered a curse and latched onto his leg, steadying herself in her head-down position.

With a chuckle, Percival obeyed, flipping the peignoir out of the way to discover that she wore a lace thong that bared her cheeks. One of them already showed the rosy imprint of his palm. With a growl of lust, he lifted his hand again and brought it down with carefully regulated strength. Morgana yelped once, though her tone suggested offended shock more than actual pain. She gripped his thigh as she hung head-down, her long nails digging in, though his jeans protected his skin.

Percival almost broke off to ask if he’d hurt her.
Of course I didn’t hurt her
, he told himself impatiently.
I’ve dommed enough women to know what I’m doing
.

Though none of them had been Morgana. None of them ever gave him a hard-on up to his navel, until he was holding on to his self-control by his fingernails.

Smack followed smack, five of them, making her cheeks jiggle and redden.

Lifting her off his lap, he rose and put her down on her high heels, then grabbed a handful of her silky black hair. Pulling her head back, he growled in her ear, “I want to see your cunt and arse. I do not give orders twice.”

Morgana turned and bent over slowly, stiffly, as if fighting her own instinct to tell him to bugger off. Again, the robe blocked his view, and he reached out to sweep it aside, draping it over her right hip. He grabbed the scrap of lace that was the thong, twisted, and jerked, shredding it.

She gasped. His cock hardened even more, bucking against the fly of his jeans with a hunger so dark and feral, it was all he could do not to unzip and just ram into her like a beast in rut. “Over all the way. Grab your ankles.”

He braced to spank her again—he couldn’t believe she’d simply obey him—but Morgana bent, though with a shivering hesitation that stoked the burn of his lust. A delicious, tantalizing scent wafted from her cunt.

“Smell that?” he said to his brothers in a rough growl.

Cador grinned at him wickedly. “Wet cunt.”

“She’s got a pretty arse.” Marrok sounded hoarse. He shifted restlessly. Percival forced himself not to send the other men from the room so he could devour her in greedy solitude, drinking from her throat between fucking and buggering her.

Liege or not, I’m going to kick Arthur’s arse for putting me in this position—
after
I finish fucking her until she can’t stand up
.

*   *   *

M
organa had never been so aroused in all her long life. Gripping her ankles in white-knuckled hands, she fought not to pant. She’d had fantasies like this. Wanton daydreams after particularly difficult missions, when she knew the team had headed off to one of their perverted mortal clubs to punish and fuck whatever lucky submissives fell into their hands.

Now here she was at last, bent and spread.

“Wider,” Percival said in that rumbling growl. Sliding an arm around her waist, he lifted her onto her toes and kicked her spiked heels further apart, then lowered her to her feet again.

Percival parted her vaginal lips with big, warm fingers. As if he owned her, as if she were a slave and not just an Oath Servant. “Merlin’s balls, she really is wet.” He slid a broad forefinger into her pussy in an endless, seductive stroke and pumped.

For an electric, humiliating moment, she listened to the juicy evidence of her own arousal. Morgana watched upside down through her wide-spread thighs as the three men stared hungrily at her glistening pussy.

“Why, Morgana, you kinky little tart,” Cador drawled. “This
is
turning you on, isn’t it?”

Her face blazed with the heat of a furious blush. She wanted to deny it, but she’d done enough lying for one night. She was on thin ice with Percival as it was.

“Fuck me,” Marrok breathed. “Look at that. So wet. She’s so damned wet.”

“And so fucking helpless,” Cador added in a wicked male purr. “No magic at all. No way to keep Percival from doing any damned thing he wants with her. Lucky bastard.”

God, her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded so hard, she knew the three vampires must hear it. Did it make them hungry?

“You’re shaking,” Percival rumbled. “Are you afraid, Morgana?”

The words came out of her mouth by sheer unthinking reflex. “Don’t be absurd.”

“What?” Percival snarled.

Morgana, you idiot,
she thought, as her heart sank, remembering belatedly that she’d just thought she’d lied to Percival enough for one night.

A hand fisted in her hair and jerked her upright, forcing her to stare up into Percival’s furious gray glare. “The next time you lie to me, I will consider it an invitation to give your arse the pounding you’ve needed for a very long time. First with my hand, then with my dick deep in that tiny hole of yours. Are we clear on that?”

She swallowed and gasped out, “Yes sir!” And felt herself grow hotter, wetter, as she pictured him carrying out that deliciously brutal threat.

Percival’s grin chilled her blood, suggesting that he was imaging it just as vividly. He stared into Morgana’s eyes, his gaze hard and feral. “Gentlemen, perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone with my new Oath Servant.”

“What, you want us to leave now?” Cador protested. “Just when it’s getting good?”

Marrok thumped a big hand on his shoulder. “Of course we wouldn’t mind, Percival.”

“Lying bastard,” Cador grumbled, and jerked his shoulder, dodging Marrok’s second swat. “All right, all right. Have fun, Percival.”

Percival laughed, the sound more than a bit sinister. “Oh, don’t worry.” He bared his fangs at her. “I intend to.”

The door closed behind the two men. Dry-mouthed, Morgana stared at Percival as the two knights climbed the stairs, Marrok’s laughter booming over the sound of whatever wicked remark Cador had just made.

The distilled male menace of Percival’s gaze sent a wave of ice across her skin. “Now, witch, you and I are going to have a word.”

The ice turned to heat when he grabbed the hem of his blue knit shirt and dragged it off over his head. She sucked in a breath, then hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“I get hot when I work.” He tossed the shirt across the back of the couch without breaking the intent focus of his gaze. Morgana longed to look away, only to find herself frozen like a rabbit in a combination of fear and erotic anticipation.

He was . . . incredible. She’d seen Percival without a shirt before, of course, but there was a world of difference between seeing him shirtless during laughing horseplay and . . . this. Knowing he owned her now, that she’d taken an oath to obey him, fuck him, however he wanted. So she stared, listening to her heart’s frantic thump.

All that sculpted brawn, the swells and hollows of muscle groups clearly defined, the branching veins snaking down his biceps, his triceps. Body hair formed a silken golden cloud on his chest, narrowing into a fine line down his belly and pointing the way toward the massive bulge behind his fly.

Oh, goddess . . .

He took a step forward, and she bit back a scream as he swept her off the floor the way an angry man would pick up a bag of frozen peas. Whirling, he took three long paces and banged her back against the nearest wall.

Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a startled yelp escaped Morgana’s lips as he pinned her there with the hot, hard weight of his body. “Now,” he growled, “let’s discuss this habit you have of lying to me.”

“You might want to remember I’ll get my powers back.” She winced the minute the words were out of her mouth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Percival smiled. Someone who didn’t know him well might have thought it a pleasant expression. Morgana, however, recognized the carefully throttled rage in the tight curve of his handsome mouth.

“But you don’t have those powers now, do you?” Leaning in, he whispered the words in her ear, each syllable a warm puff against her sensitive flesh. “And I have all of mine.” He cupped her breast through the thin lace gown she’d stupidly worn to tempt the three knights.

She licked her dry lips. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Won’t I?”

“You don’t hurt women, Percival.”

“Lord Percival,” he gritted.

“What?” She was too close to real terror to grasp his point.

“You will address me with respect. Lord Percival, Sir Percival, or my lord.” He bared his fangs. “Not. Percival.”

She swallowed, staring at those lupine teeth inches from her face. “Yes, Lord Percival.”

“That’s better.” A tight smile of satisfaction lit his starkly handsome face. “Both arms over your head, wrists crossed.”

“Why do . . . ?”

His eyes narrowed. She hastily obeyed. “Thank you.” He caught her wrists in one big, warm hand, pinning them against the wall. She knew without trying that she’d be utterly unable to break his implacable grip.

Stepping back, he gave her body the kind of long, insulting up-and-down scan no Magus had ever given her. Then he met her eyes again, silently daring her to protest.

She kept her mouth shut. Nobody had ever said Morgana le Fay was stupid.

That smile flashed again as he wrapped his free hand in her lace robe. Fisted it. And ripped, shredding the peignoir as easily as if he were tearing down a cobweb. She couldn’t seem to bite back her gasp. Still holding her gaze, he hooked a finger in her corset and gave it a slow tug. The laces popped like cotton thread, leaving her clad in only a lace garter belt, stockings, and heels.

She stared up at him, her mouth dry. When she’d tested the collar in the past, just to control her powers, she’d felt relief at its success, but wearing it for Percival was something else again. It felt more profound somehow. In handing over control to Percival, knowing she was at his mercy, she felt an even deeper sense of . . . letting go.

Percival looked her over, scanning her naked body. “Nice.” His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Very nice.”

She licked her desperately dry lips. Why in the hell was she getting so wet? Nothing about this ruthless domination should be so intensely arousing.

And yet it was. Merlin help her, it was.

Morgana opened her mouth for some bit of acid sarcasm to make him let her go so she wouldn’t feel so bloody vulnerable. Perhaps “
I’m delighted you approve
,” or “
You always did have a bard’s way with a compliment,
” delivered in a suitably icy tone.

Before she could get either line out of her mouth, his eyes narrowed. She snapped her teeth closed so fast, she almost bit her tongue.

“I’ve always loved your tits, Morgana.” The words may have been flirtatious, but the cold warning in his tone was anything but. “I’m going to like being able to do any damned thing I want to them.”

For the sweet sake of the Lady, that was a
threat, Morgana told her idiot cunt. It kept growing slicker anyway, responding to . . . something. His eyes, his dark velvet voice, the white points of the fangs that flashed when he spoke. His sheer, fucking size . . . Gods, he was
dangling
her by her arms, yet her feet were still well clear of the floor.

His nostrils flared, and one corner of his lip lifted in a carnal cross between a sneer and a smile. Reaching between her legs, Percival stroked a finger between her labia and deep into her sex. “Ohhh, yesssss. You are creamy, aren’t you? And how can anybody who regularly fucks a forty-foot lizard be so bloody tight?”

“Obviously, I shape-shift,” she gritted.

“That would help.” He added a second finger, pumped deep again, and flicked his thumb over her clit. She jerked at the knife-sharp delight.

Percival grinned. “Liked that, did you? Too bad. I’m afraid you’re being punished for today’s tactical goat-fuck, so you won’t be coming. I will, though. I intend to enjoy you thoroughly.”

The fingers withdrew from her traitorous pussy and reached for her right breast. The knight’s big, warm hand gave it a squeezing stroke before tugging and twisting its aching nipple. Milking her, he watched her face in erotic calculation.

Morgana dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze, not with him beaming raw dominance at her with the intensity of a laser. That proved to be a mistake; when she looked down, her gaze fell on the bulge behind his fly.

Horned God, it was
huge
.

Percival laughed, a dark chuckle, and stepped against her again, pinning her against the wall. Pressing his face against her throat, he inhaled as if dragging her scent deep into his lungs. “You smell delicious.” His lips moved against her skin with every word, a warm, sensual tease. “My two favorite things: pussy and blood.”

“Percival . . .” When he stiffened, she corrected herself. “My lord Percival . . .”

“Can you keep your mouth shut, or would you prefer a ball gag?” He scraped the tips of his fangs over her helplessly banging pulse. “I don’t care to be interrupted while I’m eating.”