A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(55)

“Melisande. Look at me. Please.”

Slowly, she opened those tear-drenched eyes, blinking to stare at him.

“It’s me,” he said softly. “Stay here with me.” The last thing she needed was to sink back into that nightmare of what she’d endured before.

With a quick little nod, she kept her gaze locked on his as she pushed him inside her. Then he was sliding deep, drenched in her wetness, as she lowered herself all the way down.

“Okay?” he asked, strangling on the groan of pleasure he didn’t want her to hear.

Again that quick little nod. “It feels . . . you feel . . . good.”

“Thank the goddess. Do you want me to tell you a joke? Keep your mind off it?”

Her laugh lifted his heart even as it forced him deeper and, oh goddess, she felt so good. Her tight little sheath clutched him, milking him, as she lifted her hips and lowered them again, undulating in an erotic move that had him clenching his jaw hard, straining his muscles against the need to surge up into her. Even holding himself rigid as stone, he was barreling fast toward release. No! No, he couldn’t come yet, not before she’d found her own release, or this whole thing was going to be for nothing.

She was gasping now, moaning, her eyes drifting closed, then snapping open, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping the monsters at bay. Finally, she cried out, her inner walls clamping tight around him, over and over. Able to hold on no longer, he poured his seed into her, his fists tight as vises as he staved off the desperate need to hold her as he came.

But the moment it was over, she was off him like a shot. Pale as new snow, she began to pull on her clothes with visibly shaking hands.

Fox took a long, shuddering breath, then rose to his feet and pulled up his pants. They’d made more progress than he’d expected and less than he would have liked. She’d accepted him, and he didn’t think she’d been further damaged by the event. But neither was she healed. Far from it. And the truth was, she might never be. His body felt replete, for the most part, but his arms felt achingly empty and his chest hurt. If only he knew what to do to help her. Unfortunately, it was men who’d hurt her. And while he hated being painted with the same brush as those bastards, he got it. He was three times her size and far more than three times her strength. With her unable to mist away, if he wanted to hurt her, she’d never stop him.

No, he understood the problem. What he didn’t know was the solution. If there was one. He’d never found it with Sheenagh. Not in time.

Fully dressed once more, Melisande started walking, and he fell into step beside her, handing her the blade. Without comment, she sheathed it.

The need to protect her, to slay her dragons, was growing in him by the hour. She’d been through so much, yet emerged fire-honed. Too hard, perhaps, but strong as steel.

Until he came along and started screwing everything up.

Sometimes the psyche built defenses for a reason. Sometimes they were the only things that kept people whole. If Sheenagh had been able to erect some in time, maybe she’d have seen her fortieth birthday. Or her sixtieth. Or even her twentieth.

If he could undo whatever it was between Melisande and him, and give her back her ice and fire . . . make her quit hurting . . . he’d do it.

But what was done was done. He just had to find a way to traverse this minefield without hurting her more.

As they walked in silence, she reached for his hand. Without looking at him, she pulled it to her mouth and placed a tender kiss upon his knuckles.

His heart clenched and he tipped his head back, filled with an incredible sweetness. His arm ached to go around her and pull her close, but he would not risk spoiling the moment for anything. Instead, he squeezed her hand, caressing the silken back with his thumb.

How had this small slip of a woman come to mean so much?

Melisande was still shaking inside, her body buzzing from being thoroughly fed for the first time in millennia, her mind in turmoil.

Touching Fox, feeling him as she took him inside her, had sharpened memories she’d fought for millennia to forget. They’d stolen her breath, making her tremble with remembered pain, remembered fear. The fury. But then she’d looked at him, seen the gentle, aching look in his eyes, and thought only of him.

For a moment, she’d wanted Fox’s mouth on her skin, the stroke of his hands on her flesh. But then the other memories had crowded in again, memories of being violated, hurt, tortured. Fox had held on to her, not letting her get lost in them.

He was becoming her anchor, and far too important to her.

“I used to be so innocent, so naive,” she murmured as they walked hand in hand across the rain-hardened beach. “I loved to dance, to laugh. To make love. Males adored me and I them.” She glanced at Fox and found him watching her intently, listening to every word. “I thought they couldn’t hurt me. If a male touched me in any way that I disliked, I simply misted away from him and never went back. No one could catch an Ilina. That’s what we all thought.”

“How did they catch you?” Fox asked quietly. “Castin?”

“Yes.” Her jaw tightened, hating him as much today as she had that day so long ago. We’d been lovers for months and good friends. He’d always been kind to me.”

Sky blue eyes filled with pain and fury. “I’m sorry, luv. That’s the worst kind of betrayal.”