Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(73)

“You’re beautiful, Misty,” Graham whispered. “So f*cking beautiful. Damn it.” His words wound into a tight groan, and he hung on, his fingers hard on her soft flesh.

He kept thrusting as Misty held herself up, gasping, laughing, groaning. Everything was slippery and hot, wild and bright.

“Goddess.” Graham rocked back, fists light on Misty’s back, coming into her one last time.

Misty wriggled back on him, loving the tight fit, the heat, the crazy feeling. Then Graham fell onto her, bracing himself to keep from crushing her. He took her down onto the grass, and gathered her back into him, still joined with her.

Graham kissed her face, her lips, her hair, arms wrapping around her. “Damn,” he said, and laughed. “That was f*cking wonderful.”

“Yes,” Misty said, snuggling happily back into him. “Wonderful.”

A lovely feeling. Misty hugged it to her as she held on to Graham, letting herself bask in the moment. Graham and the moonlight shining on her, on her garden, on the flowers around them. Misty snuggled back into him, bringing his hard hand up to her mouth to kiss it.

She’d been made for this night, she decided. And Misty was going to enjoy every last second of it.

? ? ?

Graham gazed down at Misty lying in her bed, exhausted after another round of lovemaking. He’d carried her in here, she already half-asleep. Xavier had decided to be discreet and guard the front, so Misty hadn’t been embarrassed to be carried through the house, their clothes piled in a little heap on top of her.

She’d drifted off after their last time, but Graham didn’t sleep.

He’d gone for days without sleeping before, but this was the longest time he’d lasted without true rest. Shifter wolves could lie in the sun and soak up warmth, relaxing to the point of sleep, but still being alert.

Now Graham was afraid even to doze. He knew with every dream, Oison grew closer, and he couldn’t afford to let him win.

He’d make sure Misty was safe—even if Xavier, the traitor, had to guard her—then he’d get with Reid and Eric and figure out a way to find Oison and take him down. They couldn’t wait much longer—Oison might even now be preparing with his Fae friends to round up Shifters and start controlling them. Jace could help Shifters remove Collars, but it was problematic, and Graham liked the direct approach, and he knew Eric did too.

For now, he’d enjoy his moment with Misty. Graham nestled down into her warmth. He loved her with his entire body, the mate bond snaking around his heart.

He’d suspected the mate bond had been growing for months now, but he hadn’t let himself acknowledge it. He’d known it for certain when he’d helped Andrea cure Misty with the herbal poultice Andrea’s Fae father had sent with her. Graham had felt the warmth in his heart, the burn that had touched him at the same moment Misty had clutched her chest as though something burned her too.

Graham reveled in it now, closing his eyes and drawing in Misty’s scent.

Come to me . . .

Graham jerked awake. At least, he hoped to the Goddess he was awake.

Moonlight filled Misty’s room, the moon at the full. Moonlight was magical. Even Shifters, who didn’t much like magic, acknowledged that on the full moon, when the Mother Goddess was at her height, mystical things could happen.

Fae worshipped the Goddess too, just a weird aspect of her. Instead of the comforting mother figure, they liked the crone-like goddess who wove dark magics.

Shifter. You are mine . . .

Son of a bitch. Graham scrambled up from the bed. Everything in him wanted to go find the voice, to do as it commanded. He broke into a sweat as he fought the compulsion.

Was this what would happen to all Shifters? The Fae made a connection with the Shifter somehow—as Oison had with the water spell—then used the further connection between sword and Collar to make the Shifter come to him. To obey him without question.

Graham couldn’t. He needed to fight with everything he had. If Graham, one of the strongest Shifters alive, could be gotten at this way, what chance did the rest of them have? He thought about Dougal, and went cold.

Well, if Fae had magic, so did Shifters, of a sort. They had mates. The touch of a true mate could heal, and the mate bond could protect against many things.

“Misty,” Graham touched her shoulder.

Misty didn’t respond. Her breathing was deep but so soft Graham had to lean over her to catch it.

“Misty. Sweetheart.”

She didn’t wake. Graham shook her. Misty’s body moved, rubbery, and her skin was cool.

Fear lacing him, Graham shook her again, and again. She was alive, but slumbering deeply. Graham patted her cheeks then harder, but she never woke.

Oison must have done this—maybe the Fae’s connection to Misty through the water spell or the sword cut hadn’t been completely severed. Graham stopped shaking her and smoothed her hair, his hand unsteady.

“He can do whatever he wants to me,” Graham said in a hard voice, “but he’s not having you.”

He leaned down and kissed her, and the mate bond tightened in his heart. Graham kissed Misty’s forehead then her lips again, then he rested his fingers on her abdomen. If what they’d done this night and last had born fruit, Graham would at least have that.

Come to me . . .

The voice in his head was louder, more insistent, and Graham’s body jerked. The words were in Fae, but Graham understood them.