Irish Moon (40 page)

The pain in the mournful cry tore at Ashlon’s
heart, yet he did not look. And despite the peril Finn had put
Breanne or Danny in, sympathy for the creature tore in his heart.
Its pain sounded so familiar and haunting, how could he not?

Then the cry stopped. The dull noise that had
swelled and hummed around them suddenly swept away. Quiet enveloped
the air.

For a long moment, neither moved. Ashlon held
her tightly, reveling in her warmth and softness, safe though
trembling. Safe. He breathed in her scent of wet lavender and
heather.

Breanne lifted her head and met his gaze.
“Are you completely daft?”

Ashlon could not help but smile. “Aye. When I
am with you, I lose all sense, Breanne.”

She looked furious and bewildered yet smiled,
as well.

“You could have killed us both,” she
said.

“Better to die with you than to let you die,”
Ashlon said and pulled her face close.

But Breanne pulled back. “Finn.”

Ashlon followed her gaze to a circle of ash
where grass and rock had been. “What happened to him?” He scolded
himself for so easily forgetting its eminent danger.

Breanne stood. Ashlon was loath to release
her but the way she moved begged no argument. Breanne knelt at the
circle and touched the ashy residue.

“He passed through the veil,” she said.

Ashlon frowned. “He’s dead then?”

Breanne shook her head. “I do not know.
Perchance I killed him, or he may be facing his fate in the
Otherworld. Either way, he will not return here.”

He didn’t know how to verbalize the questions
her statement struck in him and chose to remain confused. There
would be time enough for her to explain her ways to him. For now,
he only needed to feel her close, alive and vibrant, again.

Ashlon knelt next to her. The light of dawn
was creeping into the eastern sky in front of them. In the center
of the circle, covered in residue, lay the Bloodstone. The faint
blue hue had returned to it, the color of Ashlon’s memories of
rites and secret ceremonies in a world gone.

With his heart in his throat, Ashlon took
Breanne’s hand. She glanced at their fingers laced together then
looked up at him. Birds began an orgy of chirping. He saw it there
in the light glow of her honey eyes. Promise.

Breanne thought for a moment she might have
gone mad. It was over. Finn was gone. Trouble and tragedy and
terror, stopped.

Ashlon was back, the stone safe and years
worth of study fulfilled. She had faced the worst mortal fear a
woman or man could and now, looking at the emotion shining bright
in Ashlon’s eyes, all she wanted was to feel alive.

A jolt of need ran through her and, mad or
not, she had to feel his mouth, his touch. She needed to taste him
and touch him. Her eyes fell to his lips. She tried to speak the
words and could not find any.

Her breathing became shaky. She tightened her
fingers on his. He responded by pulling her closer, then letting go
to cup her face. Both of his hands furrowed into her hair, pulling
softly, massaging and caressing.

His brows drew together. She let her hands
fall from his arms and touch his chest. She wanted to feel his
skin, hot and smooth like the day she had in the cave. That same
wonder returned now and combined with the need growing in bounds
inside of her.

Ashlon shook. His frown deepened. And for a
moment she thought he might be angry. But, when his next breath
melded with hers as he kissed her so wholly that the world spun,
all her worry disappeared.

Their lips met and she saw and felt and
smelled and tasted him alone. The salt of his skin, the sweet of
his mouth. Her hands found skin and glorious muscle, her nails
raked, trying to get more. His hands left their tender hold to find
her waist and breasts and derriere.

Pleasure tickled her flesh and satisfaction
sang in her soul. He was more than she ever knew she wanted and
better than anything she had. He was the sun and the wind and sent
stars of heat and need coursing through her body.

She helped him shed his clothes and let her
gaze wander over the Adonis look of him in the breaking dawn of
day. And she gloried in the appreciation his eyes shone when he
removed her cloak and gazed upon her naked form. He lay her
down.

Ashlon bent his head to her hardened nipples,
making Breanne moan in ecstasy. He suckled them rhythmically while
teasing the tips, taking equal turns whilst pressing his body
between her thighs.

When she could stand no more, he broke away
from her breasts. But, then he went lower. His tongue traced a
shivery path down along her belly and hip and lower still until
Breanne thought to grab her hands into his hair and stop him.

“Ashlon,” she said. “What are you doing to
me?”

“Loving you to the absolute fullest possible
extent,” he said, not looking up, his tongue skimming the top of
her apex. “Making you mine.”

Breanne closed her eyes and swallowed. He
didn’t move. Her heart beat faster as she slowly released her tight
hold on his hair. Whatever he meant to do to her, she must trust
him not to hurt her. He had not hurt her before.

He still waited. She exhaled a shaky breath
and let her thighs fall open. The ache of need throbbed there and
only worsened when he moved downward and touched his tongue to her
mound.

Breanne bucked with surprise. Ashlon waited
again and took his time. He began at her topmost peak and drew
tantalizing dips downward. Her body moistened and swelled. He
groaned against her, his mouth making lapping sounds as he suckled
her flesh. Astonished at his skill, Breanne arched into his wet
touch as his tongue dove into her core. He cupped her rear, lifting
her so as to bury his face deeper. Within crazed moments he
enflamed her desire with his licks and touches and strokes. He sent
circles of pleasure spiraling through her, building into a tunnel
of want.

As she approached the same
crest he took her to before, Breanne gripped her hands into his
hair, willing him closer, deeper, craving more.
More
. Yet he resisted. He suckled and
licked, pulling gently back until she felt his hot kiss there no
more. The chill of air did little to abate the heat he
created.

Desperate, her eyes flew open and found his.
She followed his gaze until she saw his arousal standing proudly
before her. She joined his kneeling position and grasped his
length. Ashlon's head tilted back but his gaze remained locked to
hers, asking for some unnamable gift. Understanding washed through
her. The wet heat he created throbbed, emboldening her to lower her
mouth to his prick and gingerly press her lips and tongue to
it.

Ashlon groaned and stilled her head. "Your
touch is too sweet. You'll unman me," he whispered.

He brought her upward and took her lips in a
penetrating kiss. There, she tasted her juices on him and it shook
her. Suddenly, she thought she would surely perish without feeling
him inside of her. Silken and strong. Proving to her how alive she
was, how magickal he made her feel.

“Please,” she whimpered, pulled at him.

Ashlon groaned. His arms held his weight
steady and as he kissed her neck, he entered her. As he filled her
body, he filled the void and in slow circles and thrusts, he
rebuilt her need higher and wider than before. Breanne met each
stroke, demanding more, raking her nails into his skin. He answered
fiercely, nipping her neck. He bent and took a nipple into his
mouth. She gasped at the new level of pleasure yet wanted more.
Then, with a deft roll, Ashlon pivoted their bodies so that she
rode him.

Breanne paused at the turn then saw the
daring in his gaze. She took the challenge and was happy for it
once she felt the change in her pleasure. What was deep and
resounding became like a caress. Slowly at first and ultimately
with abandon, she rocked up and down his hard length, inspired by
the slick feel of her body in the position of power until she
screamed out his name and sweetness took her under.

She heard her name on his lips, as well, as
her body clenched and climax spread in waves through her. His prick
slid blessedly in and out with each grip around his flesh. Then she
felt him pour into her, his strokes falling still as his body
reached her depths. Ashlon hugged her close, rolled her back over
then dropped his weight onto her.

Breanne let her mind and body linger in that
perfect moment while her breathing returned to normal. She didn’t
mind his weight despite it straining her chest.

When she opened her eyes, a bright day was
blooming above them. It was the first sunny day she could remember
in a very long time.

Chapter Twenty Five

“Isn’t it strangely true, Rose, take care in
what you wish, for it may come true,” Breanne said as she watched
Rose twine flowers into her hair.

Rose sent Breanne’s reflection in the mirror
an all too knowing smile. “Are you going to be complaining of this
for the rest of your days then, Bree? Am I going to be old and gray
listening to you tell my grandchildren of how you one day long,
long ago had gloriously curly hair and wished it away
straight?”

Breanne laughed, causing a painful tug on her
head. “Ouch. Be careful, Rose or you’ll have me bloodied.”

Rose clucked her tongue. Breanne hadn’t meant
her hair, smooth as a pond’s surface on a warm summer day ever
since she’d rid the earth of Finn and his curse. Breanne didn’t
miss the curls she’d often complained about in her life. But, she
had been referring to her girlhood feelings for Quinlan, to how
inaccurate they had turned out to be.

She and Rose had not yet managed to speak of
the wrong Breanne did him, though clearly there was no grudge from
his sister. Worse, she and Quinlan had not spoken at all since she
had left his side during her mother’s wedding feast. It was the
single gray cloud on her otherwise happy day.

She was about to wed the one true love of her
life. So, long as he returned this morn as planned, from his final
leg of journey in hiding the stone.

“I did not mean my hair, Rose.”

“Aye, I know it. But, I’m not the person to
be offering advise on that which you did mean. He is my brother and
you are nearly my sister and I cannot choose between. All I can say
to you is what I said to him, time will heal the wound well
enough.”

Breanne’s chest panged. She hoped so. She
missed him and knew Ashlon must, as well. In the short time since
Ashlon had come to them, Quinlan had acted as a friend, a guide, a
confidant. In many ways, he had represented the whole clan. It was
a shame that Quinlan would not be there today to bless Ashlon’s
official join to it.

In a few hours, when Ashlon safely returned
with Ramsey from the north, he would wed her. And of all things, he
would do so by choice. Niall had declared Ashlon would have no
choice once he was found, but when she and Ashlon had returned to
the keep that morning hand in hand, he’d not taken him in chains as
promised before.

Niall in fact had clasped Ashlon’s arm in
welcome and taken him straight away to speak privately. Breanne had
chewed her nails in worry and fatigue, feeling certain something
might go wrong after their close won victory.

The worry grew to anxiety when Shane
MacSweeney brought Quinlan in to join the private discussion.
Obviously, her future and recent scandalous behavior was the topic
burning ears behind closed doors. But the few persons up and about
were thankfully too worn from the evening’s festivities and near
disaster to raise a brow in her direction.

Shane didn’t even glance her way when she
time and again paused near the door, stared at it as though the
wood’s grain might hold answers, then stalked away. Not even a
chuckle.

When the door opened and Niall’s booming
voice carried notes of humor to her ears, she breathed easy. And
Ashlon’s face told her all she needed to know, so much so that she
took the coward’s road and didn’t face Quinlan or look at his
expression when he left the room and keep thereafter.

Ashlon did not disarm her with a smile or
rush to her side in glee. He appeared neither puffed nor awkward,
as she’d seen many a suitor over the years look after a similar
conversation with Niall O’Donnell. In fact, he did not even speak
to her, just nodded and walked away.

It was in the way he walked. There was an
unmistakable lightness in his step, an easiness in his carriage.
Relief surged through her as she watched his back and had any doubt
remained, Niall soon quashed it when he called her in to tell her
the decision.

“He has given me his word and, hard pressed
as you might think me to take him at it when he left afore as he
did, I will trust him to return,” Niall had said once the door
closed. “Quinlan has taken the news as well as can be expected
considering the whole of it. He is young. He will recover.”

Breanne did not know what to say to him. The
reproach she half anticipated had not come. Niall seemed in truth
rather unsurprised and if she did not know better, she might think
him gloating. But, that would not make sense at all. Why would he
force a betrothal with Quinlan if he knew it would not see
fruition?

“Ashlon will return in no more than six days
time and will marry you. By Beltane, you will be a wife and living
in your own home, running your own household,” Niall said.

For the first time, her belly didn’t clutch
at the idea in fear or panic. Her own home. Her own household. She
hadn’t the first inclination for either until now. Now, both seemed
a boon.

She also held not a pinch of concern over
whether he would come back to her or not. With Finn’s demise, the
weight of her presage that had carried like an extra bone in her
body, was gone.