Wolf Moon Rising (Beaux Rêve Coven 3)

They gathered around the tall, majestic oak as they had before. All the witches and their demon brethren stood nude in the moonlight. For the first time, Aoife danced without the cloak of her glamour.

And this time, it was Aoife’s duty to waken the great tree. She drew near and rapped three times on its rough bark.

“Waken, spirit of the oak.

Stand guard while we revel.

Defend our secrets from evil.”

She bit her lip then whispered. “And please forgive us for the sacrifice of the ancient oak.” She rapped again then joined her sisters to dance, moving outside the shadow of its branches to capture the moonlight with their skin.

The flames from the torches they’d struck into the ground flared outward then whooshed inward. She felt the ground shiver beneath her feet then settle. Protected by the Elementals, they were free to dance. Free to consort without fear they’d be seen by anyone not approved by The Powers.

As Aoife swayed, she raised her arms, bathing her skin in the silvery light, drawing its power into her soul. With each turn and dip, she felt herself growing stronger, surer of what must happen. There was a plan. She had only to wait for the clues to unfold to understand it. In the meantime, she’d marry her wolf and rejoice in the echo of their bond.

As she moved around the circle, she found him, standing still, his golden eyes glowing. She halted in front of him and reached out her hand.

He took it and held it high, waiting as she danced beneath his arm. He drew her close then reeled her outward, joining the dance. She smiled, the heaviness in her heart lifting. Soft laughter rang out as they continued to dance toward the hastily constructed bower where they’d mate and exchange their vows.

Where she’d been embarrassed to witness Miren’s marriage, she was eager for the rest to witness her own, so when Sigurd tugged her toward the wooden lean-to with its gauzy curtains, she didn’t hesitate, following him inside.

They rested on a soft, pale blanket and the pillows Radha had made. Someone had sprinkled rose petals over the pallet.

Sigurd moved over her body. His eyebrows lowered.

She raised a finger and pressed it against his mouth. “You prepared me this morning. I need no encouragement to receive you. Come straight inside me.”

“They’ll think I’m too eager,” he drawled.

“Aren’t you? I know I am,” she said, guiding his hand between her legs. When his fingers slid into moisture, she waggled her eyebrows. “There’s your proof,” she whispered. “Now, Sigurd.”

Laughter sounded outside their bower, but Aoife ignored it. So, they knew she was eager to mate. She was a witch—she’d own her passion.

Sigurd shook his head, and his teeth shone as he smiled. “How did I ever think you were the modest one?”

“I am what you’ve made me,” she said, sighing as he settled his body against hers. When his cock prodded her entrance, she took a deep breath and held it as he pushed the tip inside. Just the tip was enough to stretch her opening. It crowded inside. An involuntary gasp escaped, along with an equally uncontrolled clenching.

Sigurd’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Baby, you have to relax,” he whispered. “Remember? Thunder. Echoes. We won’t get there if you don’t let me inside.”

“Seriously?” Miren whispered from outside. “He’s going right for it?”

“Butt out,” Aoife shouted then rolled her eyes.

“Just sayin’.”

Aoife giggled, which eased her sudden case of nerves. “I’m ready. I don’t mind a little discomfort,” she whispered.

“To mark the moment?” he asked with a sly note in his voice.

They were not yet fully bonded and already he read her mind. She smiled. “Exactly.”

“Babe, hold on tight.”

Wrapping her legs around his narrow hips, she let her eyes drift closed as he filled her in slow pulses that deepened with every stroke. Her mouth sagged at the sensation. “It’s glorious.”

“Yes, you are.” He moved faster and deeper.

Chanting sounded all around them. Whether it came from outside their bower or inside her head, she didn’t care.