Shift of Destiny: Ice Age Shifters Book 2 Page 7

  Moira fanned herself by pulling the hem of her T-shirt up and down, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her rounded but muscled stomach. “Do you think we could open the windows for some ventilation?”

  “Good idea.” Her natural scent, magnified by her perspiration, was making it hard to think of anything beyond kissing her all over.

  He turned to the window, flipped the levers, and pulled up on the sash. It stuck for a moment, then opened. He felt a flare of the building’s wards through his fingers and hoped he hadn’t just sent a silent alarm to the sheriff’s station or the ogre-run security company. Iolo had cleverly keyed the building’s wards to both Chance and Moira, under the guise of teaching them to use the mundane security system, but for obvious reasons, hadn’t explained them.

  He turned back to her just in time to catch her wince.

  “Damn,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “I thought I was getting better.”

  He needed to tell her what was happening, but the words stuck in this throat. He wasn’t usually a coward, but he could lose his mate if he handled it wrong. He pulled out one of the chairs and pointed to it. “Rest here a minute.” She sat and closed her eyes, toeing off her loosely tied sneakers and her socks.

  He studied her a long moment to make sure she was okay, then turned off the overhead light and left her there so he could go open the rest of the second-floor windows. As he forced open one paint-glued window after another, he racked his brain for how to start a conversation he knew wasn’t going to go well. For all her ready sense of humor and imagination, underneath, she was inherently practical and conditioned to be deeply skeptical. He’d bet that as a child, she’d been told to quit dreaming, quit making things up, quit lying about things only she could see. She’d need proof, and despite his potential gifts, the only magic he could reliably work involved shifting into an eight-hundred-pound beast that wanted to groom her and get a good ear rub in return. But he had to do something, because she was suffering needlessly. He stepped into the darkened bedroom.

  “Moira, we need to talk…” His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. She stood by the window, smiling, eyes closed, lit only by moonlight. Her T-shirt trailed on the floor from her hand, leaving her wearing only her thin bra and jeans.

  She turned to look at him, making no move to cover herself. Her slow smile said she enjoyed the stunning effect she had on him. Her curling finger invited him in.

  His beast surged. He knew his eyes probably flashed amber as he stripped off his T-shirt and took three long strides to close the distance between them. He crushed her to his chest, craving the feel of her skin on his. He plundered her mouth, reveling in the sexiest woman he’d ever tasted. She gave as good as she got, voicing a low moan that almost sounded like a purr. He ground himself into her, drowning the pain of the suddenly too-tight pants with the pleasure of feeling her on him. He came up for air, only to have the scent of her blossoming desire drive him mad.

  He slid a hand up her side to cup her lush, pillowy breast and brush his thumb over her stiff nipple. Even through the fabric of her bra, the tip was diamond hard. She arched into his touch. “Yes, Chance, yes.”

  Jealous of the moonlight and whoever else might be flying by, he pivoted her in a wide circle that took them near the newel post of the four-post bed. She glanced at the bed, which they’d covered with stacks of boxes and plastic tubs. “Bad planning. We’ll have to improvise.”

  She pushed his chest, and he reluctantly moved back, closing his eyes in case his beast was visible. He opened them immediately when she took his hand and placed it on her bare breast, her bra nowhere to be seen. “Kiss me here.”

  She raised her hands to grab onto the newel post above her, lifting her luscious breasts for him to feast on. He supported her back with one arm and enveloped her whole dark areola with his hungry mouth, sliding his tongue back and forth across her turgid nipple. Her little gasps of pleasure spurred him to cover her other breast with his free hand and scissor its nipple between his fingers. Her scent sharpened with desire as her hips began rhythmically grinding forward.

  “Touch me,” she breathed. “I burn for you.”

  His mating pheromones must already be affecting her. One more confirmation that he was hers, and she was his. His beast lunged forward again, and he closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to bury his aching, surging dick into the warm, moist heat of her core, and bathe her womb with life-giving seed, mating her for life, but he couldn’t do it. Not until she knew what it meant. Not until he knew she would stay. But he could ease her immediate need, and his.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and swiftly unbuttoned her jeans, then wrenched them and her underwear to her knees. Almost before she kicked them off, he buried his face in her gloriously natural mons and inhaled the full scent of her, making him drunk on her pleasure. He used his shifter strength to lift her hips to his mouth and slid his tongue downward, brushing past her clit to lap up the wetness he found at her entrance. He circled back up to her hardened clit and flicked it several times with the tip of his tongue, backing off at the first warning spasm. He glanced up to see her head thrown back as she rolled one of her own nipples with her fingers. He repeated it twice more, wanting her first orgasm from him to be as good as he could make it, without the teasing becoming torture. The third time, he stayed at her clit and covered it with his tongue while sliding a finger into her entrance and up inside her slick walls. A couple more thrusts and flicks of his tongue sent her up and over the edge, clit and core spasming hard and strong for him. He hung on for the ride until she came down, dimly aware that she’d been murmuring his name the whole time.

  He’d had sex with other women before, and made sure they enjoyed it, but nothing in the world compared to the soul-deep satisfaction of pleasuring his mate.

  Moira looked down at the man kneeling between her legs. She should have been embarrassed. She was buck naked, hanging onto a heavy antique bedpost like a lifeline, and he was still in his jeans, his face and soft beard wet with her juices. But after the best damn orgasm she’d ever had, she couldn’t be bothered with modesty.

  She sank to her knees in front of him and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. “Hi, there.”

  He smiled. A reflection of moonlight turned his hazel eyes to golden amber, and she couldn’t be bothered to care about that, either. She allowed her hands to drift downward to his slightly puffy nipples and brushed them, then licked both her thumbs and did it again, drawing a shudder from him. “I’d very much like to return the favor.”

  “You don’t have to–” His eyes widened and his hips thrust forward when her hand landed on the iron bar in his pants.

  She leaned forward to nuzzle his neck and gently nip at his earlobe, while languidly stroking him through his pants. “I want to.” She undid the top button of his jeans and eased the zipper down. The damp fly of his boxers clung to the tip of his penis. “I need to.”

  He palmed her face and kissed her, still tasting of her and him commingled. “Yes.”

  He stood and removed his boots and socks, then dropped his pants and boxers. The moonlight made the sheen of perspiration and sparse red drift of hair across his chest and down his sculpted abdomen sparkle like white gold. His shaft stood so proud and erect she almost saluted it, but her mouth ached to taste him. She glided her hands up his fantastic thighs and encircled him. She pumped once, twice, then drew in a deep breath and took him into her mouth all at once, as far as she could go, sliding her tongue to caress the sensitive underside.

  He growled in pleasure and caressed the side of her head, then pushed her braid to her back. “That feels...” He threw his head back with a gasp and grabbed the bedpost above when she cupped his balls. He widened his stance to give her better access.

  The constant twitches of his hips said he was already close, and she wanted him to feel as good as she had. She suctioned her mouth tight around him and started moving up and down with purpose, circling her fingers around th
e base to steady him.

  He was growling continuously now. She sped up to as fast as she could go, and slid one wet finger back behind his balls to rub his perineum, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

  He snarled as his whole body tensed when his orgasm overtook him. She swallowed what she could and let the rest overflow down her chin and paint her breasts. She heard a crack overhead, and realized he’d broken the thick bedpost with the strength of his grip.

  She delicately licked the sensitive head until she felt his tension subside.

  She wiped her chin and stood, slightly unsteady, unexpectedly giddy that he’d enjoyed it so much. She hadn’t had real sex with anyone in four years, and no one except the occasional book boyfriend to fantasize about. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into a snuggling embrace on his lap that felt so right that she forgot the sweat and fluids that coat them both. “Now that was magic.”

  He chuckled. “No, that was just you and me.” He kissed her temple. “Together.”

  She flattened her palm on the curve of his pectoral muscle. “So tell me what you think magic is, if not that?”

  He stilled beneath her, but his heart sped up a little. “It’s… complicated.”

  “Tell me. I won’t laugh.” She pulled back to look at his shadowed, serious face. “I don’t promise to believe, but I won’t laugh.”

  He shook his head.

  She sighed. Mind-blowing sex brought the illusion of trust, but not the real thing. Her chest chilled, and she felt sticky. “Do you think Mr. Maxen would mind if I took a quick shower up here?” She slid off his warm thighs to stand on the wood floor. That soft lump next to the window looked like her T-shirt.

  “Don’t leave.” He slid forward and spread his legs, then pulled her to face him in a loose embrace. He looked serious, and a bit worried. He started to speak, then let his breath out, as if he was having trouble finding the words. “The world is full of magic, and creatures that can use it. Elves, shifters, fairies, witches, demons, beings you’ve never heard of. They’re all real.” He tilted his head toward the window. “Some them live here in Kotoyeesinay. It’s a centuries-old sanctuary created by a glade of golden elves, to protect themselves and others from the mundane world, where fearful humans would kill them and worse.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I haven’t seen anything like that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  He shook his head. “You have seen it. You told me in the truck last night. The vampire customer in the store. Iolo Maxen, the beautiful dark elf. Sergei, the Siberian bear shifter.” He tilted his head toward the window again. “Powerful illusion charms and spells protect people in the town and make ordinary humans only see what they expect to see. You’re not an ordinary human, but you believe you are. I think the flashes in your peripheral vision come from your magic fighting the spells, and your mind explaining away what you really see.”

  She couldn’t doubt his sincerity. “I haven’t felt any magic.” She twitched an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth. “Except when you made me come with your tongue.”

  He smiled briefly. “You definitely have magic, and more than just your miraculous mouth on me.” He gave her a quick kiss.

  “Are you saying I’m a witch?” She didn’t know if she liked that.

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it. Witches are flashy. Your magic is subtle, almost undetectable, but I’m sensitive to it.”

  “That means you’re not an ordinary human, either.”

  “True,” he agreed. His jaw tensed, but he held her gaze.

  She braced herself to ask the obvious question. She was afraid she was falling for the startlingly handsome, naked man in front of her, and wanted to have her wicked way with him as often as she could before one of them had to leave, but she was suddenly afraid to find out how deep his fantasy ran. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of a man who needed professional help.

  Three muffled chimes sounded.

  “Shit.” Chance moved her back and stood up. “That’s my phone. Shepherd said he’d text me when he got here.”

  Her eyes widened. “Shit!” She bent to scoop up her pants and T-shirt and mentally added a dollar to her swear fund. Where was her damn bra?

  He pulled on his pants, then tossed her bra to her. “You can get dressed in the bathroom. I’ll stall him.”

  She grabbed her athletic shoes and socks. “My backpack.” She’d been so distracted by acting on her sexual fantasies and Chance’s belief in magic that she’d lost track of it. She couldn’t afford mistakes like that. Cold reality was a ruthless wolf with sharp teeth.

  He hopped around on one foot, pulling on a sock. “Near the stairs. I’ll bring it to you.”

  She kicked his boot to him, from where it had somehow landed near the door. “Thanks.” She wanted to kiss him, so he’d know she meant to thank him for more than just the backpack, but there wasn’t time.

  Luckily, the bathroom proved to have enough toilet paper for a hasty cleanup, and Chance thoughtfully gave her his big red bandanna to use as a washcloth. The slightly age-fogged mirror showed she looked only slightly ravished by the time she got her clothes back on and used her brush to flatten the wavy dark wisps around her hairline. She’d have liked to undo and re-braid her hair, but she heard loud boots clomping up the stairs. Chance was probably giving her as much warning as he could.

  She stuffed Chance’s damp bandanna in her front pocket, zipped up her backpack, flushed the toilet, and stepped into the hall, just in time to see Chance and Shepherd hit the top of the stairs. Chance carried a full stack of folded bright blue tarps, and Shepherd had an armful of white plastic pipes.

  “Shepherd offered to help put together the trash drop.” Chance smiled, and Shepherd blushed.

  She beamed at them both. “The more the merrier. What can I do?”

  Chance tilted his head toward the stairs. “Bring up the last two tarps and my tool bag from the office, and see if you can find the switch for the lights out back.”

  Bless the man for accepting her help and not relegating her to the sidelines. It was annoying to have to prove her capabilities time and time again. She put her backpack next to the bannister, then practically skipped down the stairs.

  When she returned, she found the men at the window they’d be using for the chute’s entrance.

  “...thought about hanging the frame from here instead of nailing it to the outside,” said Shepherd, tapping the window frame, “but I’m worried the wood won’t hold.”

  Moira put the toolbox and tarps on the floor, then stepped closer to the window. “If you have any winch wire or furniture straps, you can do what we rigged after the hurricane. Put a folded blanket over this”—she patted the sill—“to protect it, and bolt the straps to the framing studs below. We have to replace the plaster anyway, because of the new ducting and insulation.”

  “That’ll work,” said Chance, crouching to rap on the wall with his knuckles. He smiled up at her, like he couldn’t help it. She knew how he felt. Just seeing his thighs flex under his jeans as he stood up made her want to kiss him, then lead him back to the bedroom again.

  “Now all we need is the lights.” He pointed toward the window.

  “Oh yeah. Lights. On it.” She made herself leave the bedroom before she lost control altogether.

  Shepherd’s gravelly voice echoed after her. “Your mate is a clever woman.”

  “She’s not my… here, hold this,” said Chance.

  Moira paused at the top of the stairs, hoping to hear more, but they stopped talking. She thought about the words as she went down the stairs. If “mate” was a slang term for “hookup,” then she was glad Chance wasn’t the type to lick and tell. She didn’t even want to think about the implications if Shepherd meant “mate” like shifter romance novels used it.

  She remembered seeing a bank of light switches near the loading dock, so she turned right at the foot of the stairs and headed through the wide doorway, into the cooler
air and motion-activated lights of the workroom, still pondering her growing connection with Chance. He was definitely crazy-hot, and she wanted him again, soon, but he might also be crazy-crazy, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if their relationship made him worse.

  It wasn’t until she got well past the entryway, into the middle of the big room, that she remembered Mr. Maxen had told them to stay out. She froze, meaning to turn around, but was suddenly beset by flashes everywhere, as if dozens of paparazzi cameras flashed in her face. She slapped her hands over her eyes, and the flashes vanished. She counted to ten, then angled her hands away briefly. More flashes dazzled her before she blocked her eyes again.

  She couldn’t go forward or backward playing blind man’s bluff without running into shelves full of irreplaceable antiques. From the thumping she heard above, neither Shepherd nor Chance would hear her if she called out for help.

  Besides, it was too embarrassing. She’d just been feeling smug about being treated as an equal, and they’d start thinking she was fragile. She didn’t want to be a sheltered princess in a tower, she wanted to be a self-rescuing princess who shot back at imperial stormtroopers and led the rebel alliance. Who stood up to evil, rather than running from it.

  Chance had said the flashes were caused by her magic, trying to help her see the truth. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The secret truth that she’d hidden away for so long was, she wanted to see. Wanted to believe what Chance believed, and not just because she wanted him.

  The idea of a hidden world—and acceptance for the rare, the unique, the impossible—filled her with a deep longing to be a part of it. She loved her foster parents dearly, but they’d never quite understood her. She’d always thought it was because she’d had to grow up fast and was twelve by the time she landed on their doorstep, but maybe it was because she was truly different. Not special, like all teenagers dreamed of, just different. She didn’t need the attention, or thirst for revenge against everyone who told her to shut up and keep her freaky eyes down. She just wanted to be free to be herself. Free to be like Chance and Shepherd, even if they were both shifters. Or even if they weren’t.