Authors: Virginia Nelson
Swallowing hard, she nodded jerkily.
“You have to say it,” Jackson reminded her. He couldn’t hide
his smile, not with her scent so very close and her nerves so very obvious, so
very Cara.
“Say what?” She blinked up at him, chestnut eyes glazed with
a need he longed to answer.
“Say you yield,” Bentley answered before he could.
“To both of you?” She stumbled over the question, a blush
touching the gold of her glowing flesh. Her breath sped, signaling she wasn’t
appalled by the answer and her scent, like spring flowers being crushed in a
storm, increased.
Jackson leaned down, growling softly near the shell of her
ear. “Do you want both of us, my Cara?”
A shudder rippled through her and she sagged against the
door. “Yes.” Her whisper was so soft, he had to strain to hear it, even this
close.
“Then yield to us, Cara,” Jackson whispered.
“I yield.” The words freed him and he jerked into motion,
turning the knob to open the door behind her. She started to move with the door
and he snaked an arm around her waist to support her weight.
Bentley moved closer, hesitating as Jackson claimed first
touch. When Jackson spun her, offering her to him, Bentley’s voice shivered
through his mind.
Thank you.
My pleasure, or rather it will be soon. Take her to the
bed.
Not willing to risk missing a moment of their mating, Jackson
took the time to light lanterns, lock the door, and prepare the room so he
could see her every gasp and sigh, while Bentley led her to the bed. It only
took him seconds, since he felt fired with adrenaline and passion.
Spinning to face the bed, he saw Bentley guiding her to sit,
one hand stroking her hair and down her shoulder. The green of his light twined
with the brownish gold of her color, mating tattoos skating across their skin
like writhing serpents of light.
Mates. His soul accepted them as his partners for life,
accepted their bond, before his mind caught up and agreed with the assessment.
Moving to join them, he climbed up behind her, framing her
as Bentley moved closer to the edge of the bed. Unwilling, or perhaps unable,
to resist her touch any longer, Jackson captured her chin, tilting her face up
so he could claim her lips. Power surged at the contact and he realized she
tasted like vanilla—perhaps the flowers he scented on her. One taste wasn’t
enough and she twisted her waist, moving closer to his touch. He might have
planned to rise above her, but when she pushed him to his back, rising above
him like a slender goddess glowing with her passion, he couldn’t resist
allowing her the liberty.
Once above him, she hesitated. “Cara?” he whispered, needing
her flesh. His flesh burned, heated by the beginning of the centuries-old
ceremony of claiming, yet her body stilling sent chills through him. Biological
imperative or not, he’d not force her if she didn’t want this as much as he
did.
Yes, agreed.
Bentley’s mental voice held an edgy
undertone, the emotions riding with his thought a combination of need and iron
control.
Didn’t realize I was projecting, sorry.
Jackson
glanced at the other man to see him pulling off his shirt. He scowled at
Bentley in censure.
Why are you stripping when she’s hesitating?
I don’t know about you, but I’m burning up. I’m happy to
stop, wait, whatever will make her comfortable…but I’d rather not roast in the
meantime.
Jackson grunted. He couldn’t disagree with that logic. He
returned his attention to his lapful of perfect woman. “Cara, it’s just us.
Mating ritual or not, we’re the same men you see every single day. The same
guys you’ve spent a lifetime around. I want you, I’ve wanted you for a long
time, but if you’re not ready…” He trailed off, unable to resist dragging one
fingertip down her arm to watch the blue of his power skate across her flesh in
swirling tattoos of color.
“No,” she whispered the word before meeting his gaze. “No,”
she repeated more firmly. “You’re not the same men because those men don’t
notice me, don’t want me. This is…an aberration. Although Tabitha—”
“We’ve always wanted you,” Bentley interrupted before
running his hand down her other arm.
“I think what Bentley means is that Tabitha didn’t change
the core facts—we’ve always wanted you and I think the feeling has been
entirely mutual on your part. If I’m wrong, now is the time to chime in,
Caralisa, but I don’t think I am.” Tossing out the challenge, he shifted his
hips, dragging her with him as he moved since he wasn’t willing to break
contact with her. The movement allowed more room for Bentley to join them and
the other man leaned on the headboard next to Jackson, both focused on the
woman who held their future in her delicate and lovely hands.
“I’ve read books—tons of books—searching for situations like
Tabitha’s and there just aren’t any. Triads aren’t something our people form—we
mate in pairs. This is wrong, according to the books.” Even as she said it,
Caralisa shifted, rubbing herself against Jackson’s cock and he sucked in a
breath, unable to form words past the pleasure her touch caused.
Bentley reached out and stilled her motion with a hand at
her wrist, understanding that although the contact brought pleasure, they
apparently needed more words before they completed their vows to each other. “I’ve
studied by your side for years, Caralisa. It’s what we do—you and I record the
histories and we study the past. Which means you know as well as I do that the
world is a constantly changing place and only the species that bend and adapt
survive.”
“Not to mention,” Jackson managed to grit out finally, “you
both spend far too much time with your noses buried in books and not nearly
enough time in action. Do you want me, Cara?” He teetered on the edge of
begging her and silenced himself before he said something that might sway her
decision to what he wanted.
She closed her eyes, head tilted back. Her breathing was
harsh and her fingers clenched at his shirt. “I—”
“Do you want us?” Bentley added the question and her head
snapped down, brown eyes bright with desire as she looked at his bared chest
with hunger clear in her expression.
“I want you both, but I fear I won’t be enough—that this is
a mistake and I might bind us all to a future none of us will be happy with.”
Her honesty meant a lot to Jackson. He was a guard. He
understood responsibility, making choices for the greater good, even if they
were trumped by personal needs. “You’re all I need for happiness. I’ve accepted
that we’re to be a triad. I want us to be together.”
“I want us to be together. We’ve shared dreams—Jackson and
I—of what we can be. I want our dreams to become a reality.” Bentley moved
closer, framing her face with his hand and a flame of need shook Jackson at his
core. Seeing them together—it shouldn’t be something that drove him to ravaging
passion, but it was. He wanted Bentley to bow her spine and lick his way from
her breasts to chin. Jackson wanted to delve his fingertips under the soft
white fabric of her skirt, searching for the heat of her core…
“Let us be all that we can be, Cara.” This time he didn’t
care if he begged. “Forget your books, what you think you know. What do you
feel, my love? What do you want?”
Her clenching fingertips stilled and then moved into frantic
motion, unbuttoning and shoving his shirt back. “I want us.”
It was all the agreement he’d needed. He lurched up,
capturing her face away from Bentley and sealing their lips in a kiss that
scorched him to the marrow. Nibbling on her lip, he paused his invasion long
enough to meet her dark eyes and whisper, “Then let us claim you, my sweet
bookworm.”
Her world shredded, and was replaced by power and fire.
Everywhere Jackson touched ignited with drugged languor while becoming overly
sensitized all at once. She melted into his hands, his mouth—the dance of their
magics combining. When Bentley helped her out of her dress, she moved with him,
turning to rain kisses from his shoulder to his neck before biting down on his
ear.
Instinct, it seemed, knew more than her logical mind because
her lover gasped for her, pulling her closer as he glowed brighter green, the
cut-grass smell of him enchanting her.
Like a bolt of lightning in a summer storm, Jackson captured
her waist, pulling her spine up hard against his chest. The skin-to-skin
contact—when had he stripped off the rest of his clothes?—shot liquefied fire
down her every nerve ending to collect between her legs in a throbbing need she’d
not long be able to ignore. Rubbing back against him, she stopped caring about
how she looked, about whether or not she was enough, and got lost in the raging
inferno that was these two Hunters claiming every inch of her flesh.
Bentley bent to worship her breasts, which somehow didn’t
look too small when he sucked a nipple into his mouth while fondling the other.
Writhing for him, she couldn’t contain the wild, animalistic sounds of her own
pleasure that seemed too much to hold without giving it sound. Unwilling to be
a passive receiver of their torment, she reached between Bentley’s legs,
finding his hard cock—so much bigger than in pictures and yet smoother than she’d
imagined all at one time.
He gave a shout as she cupped him in her palm, arching into
her touch as she squeezed gently and began to rock her hand up and down his
length. “I want to taste you,” she told him.
“Gods, yes, taste me. Take me. Do what you will with me, my
Caralisa.”
Jackson’s hands slid down the outside of her thighs, dragging
her back toward him. “If you’re tasting him, I shall taste your sweetness, my
Cara. You’re so wet for me. Your glow is shimmering and look how our colors
combine…” A glance back showed Jackson’s face unusually open and vulnerable. He
seemed fascinated with her flesh and the play of light and color swirling
across her skin.
Arching her ass closer to him, figuring that was agreement
enough, she bent at the waist while Jackson kept her on her knees with his
hands braced on her hips. Bentley cooperated, kneeling in front of her, the
hardness of him glowing with his power as he stroked back her hair so he could
see her.
At first, she tried to be gentle, licking carefully at his
length and stroking with her palm from the root of his cock to the tip. But
when Jackson’s tongue slid between her legs, she opened her mouth to moan and
took Bentley deep on her exhale. Sucking on him as if it would somehow guide
Jackson’s efforts between her own legs, she pushed back against his face,
seeking more.
He cooperated, spreading her legs farther and sucking hard
on her clit, but it wasn’t enough. It only made the tension snap tighter,
making her want more, rather than alleviating her grating need. “Claim me!” she
begged as she continued to stroke Bentley with her hand. “Gods, Jackson, please
claim me.”
The bed shifted as he moved, then she felt him rub his cock
in the wet heat of her slit. Closing her eyes, needing to focus, she sucked
Bentley deep as Jackson’s slow torture raked her decadent delight to new
heights.
He shoved inside her, one long thrust, and she sucked
Bentley deep into her throat, swallowing around his hard length as her body
accommodated the thick weight of a man. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t enough
either. She shoved back, pulling him deeper as she released Bentley’s cock.
Then she sucked Bentley deep again and Jackson moved and she
got lost, swaying between them as cut grass blended with the crushed flowers of
her own scent, all of it more somehow with the spring storm scent of Jackson
riding them as his body rode hers.
The harder she sucked, the faster Jackson moved. He began to
chant, his voice soft at first, “Mate, my mate.” After a second, Bentley joined
him even as he buried his fingertips in her hair, guiding her motions. “Mate,
my mate.”
All of it spiraled inside her, like a clock being wound too tightly,
and she shuddered with it. Before she could back away from Bentley’s dick in
her mouth, before she could try to find words to ask for more, Jackson’s
fingertips found her clit and his strokes sent her raging into the storm.
She lost her ability to suck, clutching Bentley between
slack lips. She crooned as sound and light exploded behind her closed eyelids.
Power shoved out of her, like a stream of magic she could feel and smell and
sense. One final suck, a good hard one, followed by another stroke to her clit
and another thrust into her waiting heat and she shattered into a billion
fragments of light, orgasming in spasms. Hot jets of salty fluid, which somehow
tasted more of herbs than anything else, signified Bentley also lost his battle
with passion and she swallowed his release.
Behind her, Jackson shuddered and stroked her in long,
soothing motions signifying his release. “Cara, my mate.”
“Our mate,” Bentley corrected, and both men moved to
reposition her between them. Finally opening her eyes, she looked up at the
swirling colors around them like some cocoon of power and she tried to find the
words to describe what she’d just felt.
The vision came out of nowhere, sucking her away from the
sensation of being sandwiched between her men and instead tossing her onto the
ramparts of the castle on a cold, starless night. A night more sinister than
any night should be. In the inky murk, a violet light shone from one of the
pillars of the castle and she recognized it and her location as home—here, in
the City, the last pinnacle of their dying people.
The violet light was joined by a silvery glow, layering
colors into a watercolor wash across the sky. In the unnatural stillness, cold
and bleak, the glows were a comfort, a balm, and she knew somehow their queen
protected them.
But then the colors were overwhelmed by a darkness, as if
the night itself swallowed them and she was tossed unceremoniously back into
her body.