Velvet Cataclysm (Princes of the Underground 1)

Alison had said she shouldn’t believe him, Christina recalled as she turned anxiously in bed and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Not too surprising, since Alison trusted no one.

One thing was for certain, she wasn’t going to be forced to be holed up at Whitby all summer long, although Aidan was another matter entirely. If Aidan needed to be kept at Whitby, she’d agree with that once she understood the terms completely. Aidan’s safety was paramount.

Even though the coach house was situated on the farthest western side of Whitby, she thought she could hear the waves of Lake Michigan breaking hard on the beach as the storm built, the sound echoing her own restless spirit. With a grunt of irritation, Christina rose from bed, finding her discarded dress on the floor with the assistance of a bright flash of lightning. Thunder shook the night as she made her way down the stairs in the darkness.

She paused in the downstairs hallway, her heart freezing when she saw a flash of lightning reflected in a pair of gleaming eyes.

“Scepter,” she gasped.

The huge, sinewy wolf rose without a sound. Christina realized he had situated himself halfway between Aidan’s bedroom door and the stairs that led to her bedroom. Aidan must have heard Scepter scratching at the front door earlier, asking for shelter from the oncoming storm, and let him in. Christina hadn’t initially approved of her son letting the half-wild animal into the house, but she’d quickly learned the wolf was the perfect guest—clean, silent, and gone quicker than either she or Aidan would have preferred.

She stroked the animal’s soft fur as she passed and opened the door to Aidan’s room. Scepter followed her as she checked on the boy. Aidan was already fast asleep after letting the wolf inside, his breathing even and peaceful.

She shut his bedroom door and checked that the front door was locked. When she turned from her inspection, she saw that Scepter stood in the hallway watching her, his ears standing up on his head.

“What is it, boy? Is everything all right?”

He made a plaintive sound in his throat, a mixture between a soft growl and a whine. She ran her palm along his neck, scratching lightly.

“It’s the storm that’s got both of us prickly,” she whispered. “That and what happened tonight. I think I owe some of your brothers and sisters thanks for saving me on that subway platform.” She frowned, realizing that the wolves and their strange behavior was something she hadn’t gotten around to asking Saint about. She recalled that solemn, watchful half-circle of wolves blocking her way on Whitby’s grounds. Her stroking fingers paused.

“Scepter?” she asked, her voice shaky with uncertainty.

The wolf looked up at her.

“I’m going to bed. Do you want to come with me, or stay down here?”

She got her answer when the wolf padded behind her up the stairs. He stood silently as she settled back into bed and drew the covers over herself. The wolf turned around once in a circle before lying on the floor next to her bed and resting his head on his paws.

Christina realized that her eyelids had gone leaden. She saw Scepter’s gleaming eyes watching her in the darkness before she succumbed to sleep.

She dreamed she lay before a hearth containing a roaring fire, the heat penetrating and pleasant. Her body shifted in a sinuous stretch, her naked skin sliding against the softest, sleekest fur. An insistent pressure grew in her, a need for action, a biological imperative like thirst or hunger…but different. It took her dream-self several moments to recognize it as a sexual need unlike anything she’d ever recalled…

…although there had been once, hadn’t there?

She groaned and turned belly-down onto the fur pelt. Her pussy felt enflamed and wet, her nipples hard and aching to be touched. She fumbled, her hands feeling clumsy, and grasped at one sensitive crest, squeezing lightly. She writhed in painful arousal, every silky hair on the pelt stimulating her prickly skin to even greater levels of excitement.

This wasn’t sexual arousal, it was a wild, frantic mandate—the frenzy an animal must feel when it goes into heat.

Mate or die.

Thunder crashed in the distance as she squirmed in agony on the fur pelt. Her body felt like it wasn’t her own, and yet she’d never before been so profoundly aware of every patch of skin, every pulsing nerve. In a fit of crazed lust, she threw her arms out and squeezed the fur against her, wishing she could surround herself in it.

The soft fur smoothed beneath her writhing body, becoming sleek, skin-gloving muscle. She pressed desperately, needing to feel that male strength against her soft, female flesh, her entire world narrowing until nothing existed but a blind sexual need.

“Restrain yourself, lovely. Do what I cannot.”

Bright light flashed. Her eyes opened. She found herself staring up at Saint’s shadowed form. Lightning illuminated the room. They were both naked, and Saint reared up over her, his erect penis throbbing against her belly, his full testicles pressing against her swollen, aching labia.

“Saint,” she whispered anxiously. She licked her upper lip and tasted salt. The room lit up again and she saw they were both covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. She felt so hot…so aroused. She thrust against him, desperate for pressure. He flexed his hips, sliding his stony cock up and down between her sex lips, stimulating her aching clit.

She arched up in an agony of pleasure. He caught her wrists with one hand, pinning them down on the pillow. She cried out shakily when he leaned down and tongued the valley between her breasts with a wet, raspy tongue. He made a humming noise of satisfaction in his throat, as though he highly approved of the taste of her perspiration-damp skin. He lifted his head.

“If you won’t control yourself then we’re lost.”

“Not lost. Found. You are my home. I’m yours, Saint,” she murmured, saying the truth she’d always known out loud for the first time.