The Mating Season: Werewolves of Montana Book 6 (18 page)

Did he care more for politics and enlisting the king’s goodwill, even on their mating night?

“Good evening, my sweet. I apologize for my tardiness, but the king had my ear for a long while, and I could not break away.”

Tristan paused and lit more candles. Nikita wrinkled her nose. Tristan had wealth and could afford to waste the precious tapers, but she wanted darkness, not light.

With lithe grace, he strode across the room. He might be inebriated, but even so, he moved with stealth, as quiet as his wolf. She had seen him hunting in the forest, taking down a deer, breaking the creature’s neck before the animal even caught his scent.

Tristan stared down at her, hunger flaring in his dark eyes. “You are most beautiful, Nikita. My Nikita. My mate. But you are wearing far too much clothing.”

With a low growl, he tore off the sheer, pretty nightgown, ripping the delicate material. Nikita shivered, suddenly filled with dread. He would tear into her as well, but she had hoped for more gentle consideration.

Tristan shrugged out of his clothing. Nude, he stood before her. Flickering candlelight showed the angles and planes of his muscled, hard body, the dusting of dark hair on his chest, his long, strong limbs…

And…that.

His penis, thick and long, jutting out from a nest of black hair at his groin.

Her mother had warned that sex would hurt briefly, but her mate would be patient and gentle, as all male Lupines were.

Tristan turned to her, his dark gaze caressing her as she hugged her knees, staring at him. Then he sat on the bed, drew her into his strong arms and kissed her. He had kissed her before, briefly, chastely.

This was different. He swirled his tongue over her lips in little, expert strokes, making every cell in her body tingle. Moaning, she wound her arms around his neck, enjoying his deep, hungry kisses. She could taste the strong ale he’d consumed, and his own delicious, unique taste, like the finest wine.

Tristan tore his mouth away and she fell back upon the bed. He caressed her bare skin, palming her breast. He ran his hand down her thigh and felt between her legs. Nikita squirmed, uncomfortable with his fingers probing her, for it reminded her of the humiliation she had suffered this morning at the hands of the king’s personal physician.

“You’re wet,” he muttered. “And tight.”

The wetness came from the oil her maid had insisted she apply.

“It will make the joining easier, my lady,” she’d said.

Even though her own mother had insisted she come to Tristan with nothing upon her skin but her own scent, as Lupine tradition dictated, Nikita had remembered the whispers of his largeness and applied the oil.

He swept his hands over her body, caressing her breasts until she sighed with passion and blushed, knowing her nipples were growing hard beneath his expert touch. This was the lovemaking she’d eagerly anticipated. Just as suddenly, he dropped his hands. She sensed a sudden tension within him as a fierce glitter entered his gaze.

“I cannot wait. You have driven me mad. You are mine,” he growled.

Then there was no time to think or even breathe, for he was parting her legs and pushing that rigid part of himself into her. Grunting, he gave a powerful flex of his hips and drove deep inside her.

She screamed at the burning pain.

He thrust twice, and she felt the warm wash of his seed flood her womb. Panting, he collapsed atop her.

Stunned, hurt and grieving, she lay beneath him. This was marriage? Mating a male who had no consideration for her, no tenderness?

He pulled out of her torn flesh and she winced. Then he rolled over and lay prone upon the bed.

Fast asleep.

Drunk.

Tears clogged her throat.
A drunken mate on my wedding night. I deserve better.

But she was no weak Skin, to whimper and bewail her fate. She was strong. Lupine. Slow rage built inside her.

Nikita slid off the bed and went to the washstand, washing gently between her legs, bathing away evidence of her blood and his seed.

She tossed down the cloth with a look of disgust.

And then, stretching out her arms, she called upon her magick and shifted into wolf. Tristan might reach for her several more times this night, as her mother had warned, but he would have to dance past one weapon she intended to use well.

Her teeth. Watching her husband sleep, she bared her fangs and slunk off to the shadows behind the wash basin.

Perhaps an hour, or two, had passed when he finally stirred.

“Nikita.” Tristan raised his head from the bed. “Where are you, my sweet?”

From the shadows, her wolf watched him in silence.

He raised his head and rubbed at it. “Ow. I drank too much.”

Then he stood and looked at the blood-stained sheet. “Shit,” he muttered.

Tristan whipped his gaze around. “Nikita? My sweet, please, do not hide from me. I am sorry.”

He walked toward the washstand. “Nikita, my lovely mate, please, come out. Do not be frightened. I am so sorry for how rough I was with you.”

Sorry? You shall be sorry.

Growling, she sprang out at him, and sank her teeth deep into his right thigh. Tristan yelped. She released him and then backed off, still snarling.

Does that hurt? Now you know what it feels like to have someone make you bleed.

Ribbons of bright red blood streamed down his leg. Tristan clapped a hand over his privates. His penis, smeared with her virgin blood.

“Nikita, my sweet. I deserve that and more.” He gave her a contrite look, almost boyish. “But please, for the sake of the children we shall have, if you are going to bite me again, can you aim slightly lower?”

He stuck out his foot. “This is safe enough.”

Her wolf watched him with caution.

Wriggling his toes, he pointed to them. “Nice foot. See? Very tasty.”

Inside the wolf, the woman relaxed a little at his charming smile. He did not yell at her or strike.

Then Tristan shifted, so swiftly she barely had time to blink. He advanced, a powerful and muscled timber wolf. Her own wolf, recognizing the scent of her mate, whined.

Instinct warned her to turn, let him do what he would. He was male, her mate, and much stronger.

He did not mount her. Instead he crossed over to her front and licked her muzzle. And then he did the most extraordinary thing. Tristan rolled over, displaying his belly and his privates.

It was the most vulnerable position a Lupine could show to another, for she could easily tear his throat out. Her gaze went to his sheath and balls. Or other things.

Shaken by this trust, she shifted back into Skin and walked to the bed. Nikita climbed into it, watching him shift back as well.

Tristan sat on the bed, blood from the bite wound trickling upon the bedsheet. What irony. The sheet stained with virginal blood would be stained with his blood as well.

He rubbed a hand over the dark bristles on his face. “That did not go as I had intended. I had planned to woo you gently, and coax you to lie with me, not act like a rough brute. I was drunk. There is no excuse for my crude behavior. I beg your forgiveness, my lady.”

Nikita said nothing, only watched him.

“If you are willing, and please Danu, I hope you are, allow me to show you what pleasure our joining can give you. I promise,” he touched his finger to his lips and then touched her cheek, “that I will not hurt you again. Please, Nikita.”

He was her husband, her mate. She had little choice. But seeing the tenderness in his gaze and his chagrined expression, she gave a little nod.

Tristan lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles.

Then he made love to her again, his time with his hands and lips and he was gentle, and patient. Pleasure filled her and this time her screams were not from pain, but ecstasy as she cried out his name and clung to his broad shoulders.

Afterwards, she lay in his arms, stroking the damp hairs upon his chest.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded.

He sighed, and rubbed his cheek against the fall of her long hair. “I am such a blasted fool for mistreating you that way. And I regret that I must hand off the sheet from our bed to the steward tomorrow, to show proof you were pure.”

Tristan snorted. “Damn stupid Fae tradition that King Emer insists upon for all his noblemen. We Lupines have no need of such archaic and primitive rites.”

She raised her head. “There is no need. King Emer knows I was a virgin.”

Tristan frowned. “How?”

“The exam he ordered.” Nikita pulled away from him, sat up and plucked at the covers. He stayed her hand.

“What exam?”

Furious heat ignited her body as she recalled the shame and humiliation. “The one King Emer insisted I have to prove I was a virgin, and worthy to become your mate.”

Tristan went very, very still.

“It is normal, I suppose, in these circumstances. You’re a high powered official in Emer’s court mating with a commoner Lupine who is rich only because my family owned land. My mother tried to protest, but Emer’s physician said there would be no marriage if I refused.”

“What did they do to you, Nikita?”

She didn’t dare to look at him as her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “They made me lie upon a table, naked, and put a sheet over my body, and spread my legs. There were ten members of the court there as witnesses. The Fae physician looked at me…down there. He touched me…it was unpleasant.”

And it had hurt, though not as much as when Tristan had taken her. What had hurt more was the laughter of the assembled noble men and ladies, looking on as if she were an animal.

Only the sound of his harsh breathing filled the cold room.

“And then?”

“Emer himself came into the room. He wanted to personally…see.”

She could hear Tristan’s increased heartbeat, feel his gathering rage as his scent changed. “He dared to look at you?”

“It wasn’t the looking as much as what he said.” Tears pricked her eyelids, but she refused to cry. And Emer was their king, their ruler. She had little power.

He was Tristan’s friend, and Tristan was his closest, most trusted advisor, the lord of all shifters.

“Nikita.” Tristan clasped her arms very gently, brought his face close to hers. “You are my mate now. My life partner. You need not be ashamed, but I must know everything. What did that bastard say?”

At the swear term, she blinked in surprise. And then she searched his eyes and saw the real concern there, amid the rage. Nikita touched his face, tracing the aristocratic lines of his cheekbones. Tristan came from noble blood and she was only a commoner, but in that moment, she felt she could trust this Lupine, aristocrat or no. He would never hurt her.

“He looked…at my private place and laughed.” Shame pricked her. “And said, ‘Look at that. Fresh wolf cunt.’”

Tristan’s fingers on her arm tightened.

“And then they all laughed.”

A low growl rumbled from deep in his throat. Tristan released her arms and sprang off the bed, pacing back and forth. “That fucking bastard. That bastard! How dare he insult you, my mate!”

With a snarl, he picked up one of the pretty silk pillows from the bed and threw it across the room. Claws emerged from his fingertips. He raked them down the thick tapestries lining the wall, shredding one. “I should tear his throat out.”

“Better his throat than the tapestry. It is a very nice tapestry.”

He looked at her, and gave a harsh chuckle. “My Nikita. You are a treasure.”

She was not alarmed at his fury, but relieved at his protective streak. Perhaps she did come first in this mating, as his vows had stated. But then fear filled her as well, for Emer was a powerful Fae king with the might of the Fae army behind him. The Fae ruled over shifters like Lupines.

“I daresay you are not the only Lupine who wishes to rip out his throat. The fathers and mothers of all virgin Lupines who must endure this new, brute tradition would agree with you,” she told him.

Dying candlelight gleamed upon his skin, shadows dancing over the muscled flanks as he strode across the room and joined her in bed. She was accustomed to his nudity by now, and it felt natural. More natural than the binding clothing, the thick gowns required by Emer’s court.

“All Lupines are required to this barbaric ritual? Since when?”

“Since King Emer made a law for shifters, all shifters, more than two moons ago.” Nikita shook her head, bemused. “Have you truly been so blind to the needs of your people, Tristan?”

Guilt touched his expression. “I have. Too long I have been in Emer’s court, away from my own people and their woes.”

“We have little power. Especially not the commoners, Tristan. The Fae rule over us and do as they please.”

Her mate’s body tensed, as if he came to a new realization. “Our lives belong to him. Drust warned me, but I refused to listen, hoping things would change. Hoping
I
could change them, since Emer respects me.”