Bitter Blood (Blood and Moonlight Book 3)(48)

His head lifted and he stared at her in the mirror. A smile—slightly cruel and wolfish—curled his lips. “Can you handle me? All of me?”

Before she could answer, his hand slid away from her clit. She was left on the edge of her orgasm, every muscle in her body tight and quivering. “Aidan!”

He lifted up her hips and he drove his cock into her sex, plunged balls deep. Her hands fisted over the bar top. “Can you?” Aidan demanded, voice nearly that of a stranger. Too rough.

She kept staring into the mirror. Staring at him. “I can…” Her breath panted. “I can handle everything you’ve got.”

He smiled.

Then he bit her. No, marked her. Because this bite was different. His teeth clamped over the curve of her shoulder as he withdrew, then thrust deep. He took her frantically, driving fast over and over, and Jane wasn’t on the edge of her orgasm any longer. The climax slammed into her, rolling through her whole body and she shuddered again and again.

Her sex contracted around his cock, but he didn’t come, didn’t slow, didn’t stop. If anything, his thrusts became harder. He was growling behind her, rough, animalistic sounds. And when his hands slapped down on the bar near hers—when he caged her there with his body—she saw his claws.

The beast was out. And he was claiming his mate.

Only fair. I’m claiming him, too.

Her hands grabbed his. Locked with his. And Jane was stunned to see claws burst from the tips of her fingers. “Aidan!”

He slammed into her, lifting her up with the force of his thrusts. Her orgasm kept sweeping through her, and every thrust just had the pleasure surging hotter. Her body was so sensitive now, so completely tuned to his.

They were moving together, a rhythm that was too wild and fast but somehow seemed utterly perfect. She wanted that moment to last forever, for the pleasure to never end, but Aidan plunged into her once more, a thrust that took her completely off her feet, and then he roared her name as he came.

This climax hit her harder, sharper, and Jane gasped as her body fell forward. Her head sagged and her drumming heartbeat echoed around her.

She licked her lips, swallowed twice, and finally managed to say, “Aidan?”

He nuzzled her neck.

She stared at their hands. Her claws were gone, his weren’t.

“I love you, Jane.” His voice was still rough, slightly ragged at the edges. But it was definitely the voice of a man, not a beast. “Whatever happens, whatever comes…remember that.”

She lifted their entwined fingers to her mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love you.” She didn’t like those “whatever happens” sort of talks. They usually meant bad things were coming.

Something so bad that it would tear them apart. Her eyes squeezed shut, as if she could hide from the truth, for just a moment. “Nothing bad is going to happen.” The words slipped from her, almost like a child, trying to fight the dark.

A low laugh rumbled from him. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you see? I am the bad thing.”

Ice brushed across her heart.

***

Annette sat on the old, dusty floor. Paris was just a few feet away from her, sleeping now, but still chained. Bags of blood—Aidan’s blood—were in the ice chest at her side.

“Uh, Ms. Benoit?” Garrison shifted nervously from foot to foot. “What else can I do to help?”

She glanced at him. “You didn’t attack Paris when you arrived. I figure that’s more than enough help.” And he’d brought the blood back. A definite good deed that she would see he was rewarded for completing. The redheaded wolf had just found his way to her good side, though most folks swore she didn’t actually have a good side.

She did. It was just well hidden most days.

“I don’t…I don’t want to attack him.”

His words made her head jerk toward him. Garrison rubbed his throat. “His scent…it’s been changing since I got here. He doesn’t smell like other vamps anymore.”

That was good, wasn’t it? A sign that Aidan’s alpha blood might be helping Paris? “What does he smell like?” Because she had no clue. All she could smell right then was the scents of blood and mildew.

Garrison inched a bit closer. Did he know that she had a gun loaded with silver bullets in her bag? If he was lying to her and the guy was about to go for Paris’s throat, she would be stopping him.

No one was going to take Paris away.

The force of her attachment to Paris was…frightening.

“He smells…like Paris.”

Her brows rose.

“The scent of the wolf is there,” Garrison mumbled, frowning. “Woodsy, wild. There’s another scent clinging to him, now, too, though.” He inhaled deeply. “Apples.” He shook his head. “Jane always smells like apples. And lavender.”

Annette stiffened. Jane always smells like apples. She shoved her hand into her bag and brought up her knife.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Garrison stammered. “And what the hell all do you have in that bag?”

Everything I need. Paris was out cold, so she grabbed his wrist and sliced him.

“Stop!” Garrison shot toward her. He caught her hand and pulled her away from Paris. “Don’t you hurt him!”

She wasn’t going to hurt him, not anymore. “I got what I needed.”