Anka had no doubt that her next and only move was going to hurt. But she’d rather take the physical pain than the dent to her pride.
She lunged forward with all her might, trying to wrest herself from his grip. Instead of letting go, that stubborn bastard Lucan released her hair and wrapped both arms around her waist. As they tumbled down, a moment of pure accomplishment roared through her. She’d brought him to the ground! That was a victory in itself. Now she could fight, tooth and nail. Scratch and claw and battle until he knew she was serious about beating back the Anarki and killing Mathias.
Before they landed, he jerked, twisting his body until he cushioned her fall. The impact still hurt. As he grunted in pain, her shoulder rammed into his unforgiving chest. Her head bounced against his hard shoulder.
As she tried to roll away and continue the fight, he tightened his hold on her and murmured, “Are you hurt?”
She paused, taking mental inventory. “Just shaken.”
Before she could draw in another breath, Lucan rolled them over, positioning her on her back. He slid between her legs, and he used his thighs to part hers wider, settling his hips in the cradle of hers. He was as hard as she’d ever felt him. Fire and need sizzled through her.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he barked, breathing hard.
“Of breaking your hold. Fighting back.”
But all she could feel now was his body against hers, hard in all the right places, sliding across her skin. Everything inside her lit up. Yearning bubbled in her veins.
“Instead of being upright with some mobility to keep fighting, you’re under me, pinned, gravity working against you. Regret that decision?”
Yes. No. She closed her eyes, no longer interested in fighting him. God, she’d never imagined being this close to Lucan again. Pain mixed with longing until it became a terrible ache in her chest. She had to gather every bit of her control not to lift her hips to him and pretend the last three months had never happened, especially when he pressed his erection right against her moistening, softening folds. He wanted her, too—or at least his body did. She bit her lip to hold in a moan.
“How will you get free now?” His voice had dropped to the rough murmur she knew he only used when aroused.
The longing in her chest spread crushing fingers through her.
“I-I…don’t know.”
His breathing was jagged as he braced himself slightly above her, on his elbows. Anka could feel him staring down at her.
“You won’t until I release you.” The words were like a vow, and her heart stuttered. “Why did you come home last night?”
The question came from nowhere, blindsiding her. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I should have guessed that you’d have…company. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”
“I don’t give a shit about my evening or my company. I sent her away and went looking for you. You came home for a reason. Why?”
Anka’s heart started galloping, out of control. He’d sent the surrogate away? He hadn’t taken her to their bed last night and… She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, unable to bloody think of him with the witch.
But all night, as Shock slept beside her, she’d been unable to imagine anything else.
“This does nothing to help my training.”
“Damn it, Anka! This is the first time in months I’ve had the opportunity to get a straight answer from you. I’m not letting you up until I’ve heard the truth. Tell me why you never came home before last night. Tell me why you left me to wonder for weeks if you were even alive. Tell me why you didn’t love me enough to come back.”
Tears threatened. He totally misunderstood. She’d loved him so much that she’d cut her heart out to spare him what Mathias had made her. She had loved him enough to leave him with the fantasy they’d shared for a century. She alone bore the crushing weight of reality now.
“Unless the Anarki are going to pin me to the ground and ask me pointless questions, let me up.”
Above her, Lucan tensed. His harsh breaths fanned across her lips, and she shivered. He was close. So close that if she just lifted her head a fraction, their lips would touch… She wanted his kiss with a guilty need that thrummed heavily through her, with a crushing weight of need pressing in on her chest.
Suddenly, he sniffed, then ripped away from her with a long string of foul curses she’d never heard fall from his mouth before. The second his body no longer covered hers, she felt a bone-deep chill that made her wonder if she’d ever feel warm again.
“The Anarki won’t say anything, just kill you. I’ve promised Bram that I’ll teach you everything you need to know to defend yourself and fight back. But goddamnit, you’d better take a shower before you come back for training. The stench is killing me.”
Lucan snapped his fingers, and the lights slowly flicked on, gradually getting brighter until she saw the angry brilliance of his blue eyes, his stiff stance, the fists clenched at his sides.
She frowned and shrank away from his contempt. “I did shower.”
“Not good enough,” he growled. “You smell like that horse’s arse.”
Shock. Knowing she intended to train today, he’d covered her in his scent, blanketing her body, rubbing all over her. Fresh shame sliced her open. “Sorry.”
Lucan’s stare outlined her body, studying her magical signature with a curse. More shame and guilt slithered through her. No doubt, he’d taken note of the change in her energy level from yesterday—and knew exactly who had provided for her.
Suddenly, his stare zeroed in on her wrist. His eyes narrowed with question, then fury. Anka looked down. Her long sleeves had ridden up in their scuffle. Her breath caught. Oh, no!
She tugged at the sleeve, to cover the red chafing and faint blue bruising circling her wrist, but it was too late. Lucan grabbed her arm, pushed the sleeve up, and inspected the markings. With a growl, he tore at her clothes, batting away her ineffectual hands, until she stood shivering in her bra and knickers.
Incredulous fury rolled off of him as he walked a circle around her, taking particular note of a bruise at her hip. Then he ripped her knickers off and cursed in a long, vile streak unlike anything she’d ever heard Lucan say. Anka tensed, flinched, feeling the stunned rage coming off him in pounding waves. She tugged to get free, but his grip was far stronger.
“Did that motherfucker do this to you?” he growled. “Did he hurt you?
The explanation stuck in her throat. Lucan had always been a tender lover. He would never have restrained her, mounted her like an animal, used her. He would have been horrified if she’d asked him to—and if she’d liked it. Fresh guilt surged. Damn, she felt…dirty. What could she say?
“Yes.”
“That’s it!” he shouted, his contempt echoing all over the room. “I’m done, Anka. Whatever he’s holding over your head, whatever he’s using to force you to endure this.” He held her wrist right under her eyes. “It ends now. I’m going to kill him.”
“Lucan…wait! Don’t. I-I asked him to.”
Chapter Four
As gray clouds hung low in the afternoon sky, hovering over the small, somber gathering of magickind, Lucan bowed his head out of respect for Tynan’s passing into the next life—and because if anyone saw his face, they’d realize he was a breath away from homicidal.
At the O’Shea estate somewhere much farther north than he’d ever ventured, he glanced up to see his friend and fellow warrior laid out on a cold stone slab, his battered body naked except for the ceremonial burial cloth spread over his hips and groin.
In his mind, all Lucan could see was Anka, her wrists chafed and bruised, her backside black and blue, her expression guilty. All he could hear was his former mate’s hesitant, stuttering confession that she’d asked the fucking wanker Shock to hurt her.
“This day, we send a great wizard and a brave warrior into his nextlife. Go in peace,” a stooped old priestess in a red cloak droned to the group of a couple dozen witches and wizards.
Lucan sure as hell hoped Tynan had finally found some peace. And beheld his true love, Auropha, in this nextlife. As long as Lucan had known him, Tynan had never had either.
The fallen wizard’s brother, Asher, was nearly a replica of Tynan. Dark hair, gray eyes, but without the “storm cloud ready to drench” mien. Instead, Asher gave off a tightly reined anger. Not surprising, Lucan thought. The wizard’s older brother, who should have had hundreds of years ahead of him, was dead—largely because of the people assembled here to pay their respects today.
Beside Asher, Bram stood, head bowed, his golden hair ruffling slightly in the chilly breeze. Beside him, Sabelle stood looking painfully beautiful, holding hands with her mate, Isdernus. Big, burly Ice didn’t bow, not out of disrespect. He watched the gathering protectively with narrowed green eyes, ready to defend his mate and friends at any sign of danger. Arthurian warrior Marrok and his mate Olivia made a perfect picture of grief, clinging together for comfort. Kari sobbed quietly on Ronan’s shoulder, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. The big twin looped an arm around his dainty mate’s waist, consoling her as best he could, but Kari had been perhaps Tynan’s closest friend. The pretty human barmaid wouldn’t easily recover from this loss. Beside her, Tabitha squeezed Kari’s hand. Ronan’s twin, Raiden, stood behind his redheaded mate and stroked Tabitha’s belly, growing with her coming youngling. Fiery Sydney cast worried glances down to Kari. Syd’s mate, Caden, watched with a frown. Their friend Felicia had remained behind since the service required magic, and the sweet Untouchable negated it. Undoubtedly, her mate and fellow warrior Duke hovered nearby, watching over her.
A terrible truth struck Lucan in that moment: Everyone here had someone to rely on, to adore, to turn to in crisis, someone with whom to unburden themselves, to share laughter, to make love, to grow old. Everyone but him. Even Bram had Emma. Though they’d been apart since the morning after their mating, Lucan knew Bram would find the errant human again someday. It was only a matter of time.
Lucan’s own mate—former mate, damn it—had given herself to a Mathias supporter. She lived under Shock’s roof and slept in his bed voluntarily. And she had asked him to hurt her.
Anka had been saying for months that she wasn’t the same witch he’d mated a century ago. Maybe she told the truth. The woman he’d known would have been horrified if he’d been rough enough to leave marks on her body. He would have been horrified with himself. And now…he didn’t understand at all.
“What is the matter with you?” Caden murmured in his ear.
He cut a glance at his younger brother. “Nothing.”
Caden raised a dark brow. “You’re growling. Honest to fuck growling. What happened during your training session with Anka this morning?”
“Later.” This was hardly the time or place.
At the head of the slab, Asher took a sacred vial of water and cast a protection spell over it. “Peace, brother. Go with my love.”
The grieving man looked like he wanted to crack open and break down. He swallowed back his pain and gave the jewel-encrusted decanter to Bram, who murmured words over it for well wishes and a happy nextlife. Everyone else did the same, including the few distant relatives of Tynan’s who’d chosen to attend. Across the slab, in the back, Lucan spotted the sophisticated Sebastian Blackbourne, apparently the Magical Council’s representative here. His father, Carlisle, headed up the Council. A more sniveling, backhanded bastard Lucan had rarely met. The son didn’t seem like the father. But Lucan well knew that appearances could be deceiving. That calculating expression on Sebastian’s face told Lucan the dodgy git was up to something.
But that wasn’t the only thing on his mind. This morning when Anka had first arrived at Bram’s estate, he’d thought she looked well, far more like the Anka he’d shared a century with. An hour in her presence had shattered that illusion. This Anka argued, stood her ground, was determined to do things her way. This one was a fighter.
Damn if that hadn’t made him hard.
The vial of water came his way, and Lucan bowed over it, adding a spell of protection. He couldn’t wish upon his departed friend a happiness he didn’t feel. Inside the vessel, he sensed Sabelle’s siren magic granting him calm and joy. Bram’s addition to the magical concoction was the most potent. No way Tynan would dare to have a miserable nextlife, and Lucan knew his best friend had put that amount of energy into the spell because of his crushing guilt. Tynan’s death wasn’t Bram’s fault…but as leader of the Doomsday Brethren, Bram disagreed. He should have saved Tynan somehow. Lucan made a mental note to punch some sense into his friend later.
As the rest of the gathering added their magical enchantments, Caden leaned over to him again. “Spill it now.”