Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,26
her nose in instinctive response, her raven seeking connection to his wolf.
A look of satisfaction came over his features as he inhaled deeply. “I can smell you now. Not your wolf, but your otherness is there for me. Only for me.”
“Only for you.” She could not risk allowing it to be exposed amongst the rest of his clan.
There was a reason Verica kept her raven nature subdued, and her brother did as well. Sabrine could guess what it was, too.
The rest of the Faol did not have Barr’s tolerance for other.
She reached up and caressed his face, the stubble of his blond day’s growth scratching against her palm. “You are a special man, Barr, unlike others of your kind.”
“I am glad you think so.” His voice resounded with confidence.
Shaking her head, she grinned. “You are also too arrogant for your own good.”
“So you say.”
“I do.”
“Maybe I should prevent more accusations from coming out of that lovely mouth.” His gray gaze caressed her lips, making them tingle and part as if the look was a kiss in itself.
“Perhaps you should.” If it meant more of that most pleasurable kissing, she was all for it.
He bent down and once again claimed her lips with passion she had no difficulty matching. In fact, it was so easy, it frightened her.
What would she do when she had to leave this man behind? For leave she must. Her life and the future of her people depended on it.
Calloused fingers brushed up her side until one giant hand cupped the small curve of her breast. He teased her nipple with his thumb until she thought she would come off the bed. Each swipe of his thumb against the tender bud sent a matching spear of pleasure through her womb, making the flesh between her legs contract as well.
Heated sexual approval radiated between them. “You are so responsive.”
“You have many to compare me to?” she asked, making no effort to hide the irritation such a thought caused her.
His light brown brows rose as his lips twitched. “Not so many.”
“How many?” she demanded, her hands clenching against the stonelike contours of his chest.
No man should be this strong. Nor this irresistible.
“One, maybe two.”
“Which is it? One or two?” she demanded, her agitation growing.
“My laird discouraged sex for anything but a committed mating.”
She recognized the distraction for what it was, but she could not help observing, “Doesn’t that prevent some of the Faol from controlling their change?”
“Until they have had sex? Yes.” Subtle tension drained from the set of his shoulders.
“That does not sound strategically sound.”
“He believes some things are more important than strategy.”
“Like love?”
Barr laughed, the warmth of it going through her in a wholly different kind of pleasure. “Maybe now he’s found love with his wife, but not before. No, he considered the possibility of creating a sacred bond in a casual or badly conceived pairing something to be avoided at all costs.”
There was something more there, she could hear it in her beautiful warrior’s voice. “Why?”
“His father true mated an Englishwoman who betrayed our clan, causing our laird’s death and that of many of our best warriors.”
The woman who had caused his brother’s scarring had been their laird’s sacred mate. The pain that had caused the pack was in every line of his rugged features. “She was human?”
“Aye.”
“It is too easy to underestimate their strength.”
“That is what the Balmoral’s wife says.”
The Balmoral lived on an island and the Éan knew little about them. “Does she?”
“Aye, being human herself and having brought the Balmoral to his knees, I think she might well be right.”
“It is the Faol my people watch most closely,” she admitted.
He gave her a strange look but did not demand she explain further and for that she was grateful. She could not do so without betraying the Éan and she would die before doing that.
“So, one or two?” she asked again, when it became clear he thought he had sidestepped her last question so neatly.
He sighed, his big body pressing against hers. “Two.”
“That does not make me happy,” she said, not really understanding her own reaction but uninterested in pretense.
“I can tell that it does not.” His eyes devoured her with their concern. “Neither woman was a lover.”
“What does that mean?” He’d had sex with them. He’d just said so.
“One was a widow grieving the loss of her husband.”
“So, you were just comforting her?” Sabrine asked, the sarcasm dripping like vinegar from her voice.
He looked relieved. “Yes, that was it exactly.”
“How lovely for her.”
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