The coyote whimpered as a deep ache resonated through his soul. He did not understand why they had been apart for so long, nor why she had continued to reject them. All he knew was yearning and loneliness, the pain of their separation a serrated blade in his heart.
Even so, the animal was not the man. To him, the past was done, the wounds of time already fading into distant memory. They would never be entirely forgotten, but he did not know hate, nor hold grudges.
My mate is here now,he thought, tilting his head into her tentative hand.All is well again.
And things got even better when she sank to her knees in front of him. This way, they were the same height. When he closed the distance between them, just as he used to, Camille shuddered and curled her arms around his neck. She buried her face in the ruff of fur there and inhaled deeply.
The coyote rested his chin on the back of her neck and rumbled a soft note for her. It pleased him endlessly to hear her purr back. Even though the fur she clutched was getting wet with tears, he didn’t care. He loved the sound of his mate’s unique purr almost as much as he loved the scent of her, the taste of her skin when he ran his tongue over her cheekbone.
They stayed in that position for some time, but eventually they ended up on the couch. Camille curled up with him under a blanket, one hand fisted in his blond-tipped fur, and whispered to him as she used to.
Once, the coyote had been her first friend. The boy had come second, though in their heart they were truly one being. But his mate needed the wild, unflinching acceptance of the coyote first, so it was what she got. Before she ever let the boy see her vulnerable, she told her secrets to the coyote, and let him wrap his furred body around hers in secret.
The longer he stayed with her, cold nose buried in her fragrant hair, the less he felt the ache of such a long separation.
His mate was safe now. He had given her a den that pleased her, and he would defend her from every threat. He won her. Someday they would have cubs, and their pack would grow, and everything would be as it should be.
Underneath the wild heart of the coyote, Viktor felt something taut and painful in his heart finally relax. For the first time in twenty years, he did not feel as though he was at odds with his other half. He did not need to fight the clawing loneliness and the heartbroken confusion. All he needed was right there, curled up against him.
The future loomed dark and uncertain, but it did not take away the contentment of the moment. And later, when the coyote gave way to the man, it did not stop him from finding pleasure in his mate again.
Man and coyote both relished the softness of her skin. They basked in the sight of her fresh bite, ringed with deep green bruises that looked like a coiled string of emeralds. They relished the taste of her when they sipped at her lips, stroked her with their tongue. They both felt the claim on her sink into the very fiber of their souls when she clutched them close, welcoming them into the slick heat of her with a pleased sigh.
When he sat back on his knees and hitched her lithe thigh over his hip, Viktor picked up a slow, deep rhythm. Both sides of his nature basked in the pleasure that tightened her expression. They watched, transfixed, as her pretty lavender breasts moved, the way her stomach flexed with every thrust, the gorgeous sight of their cock disappearing into her perfect cunt again and again — gold disappearing into amethyst with the sweetest glide.
The fever was a low burning fire in their soul, a deep well of heat that made every touch, every glance, every bite a lick of flame.
They had never felt closer to another being than when they breathed the same air as their mate. They had never felt pleasure like they felt when they thrust harder, faster, and slid a hand between them to stroke her until she came with a hoarse cry.
And when she was languid under him, they gave into impulse and sat up, dragging her into their lap to admire her as he lifted her and brought her down again. Was there ever a sight so arresting as their mate throwing her head back as she rode out the last ripples of her orgasm on top of them? Was ever there a pleasure greater than the feeling of her clenching hard as he thrust upward once, twice, a third time, until they came with a ragged gasp?
No, they thought, an orgasm stealing their breath, their sight. There was nothing better than knowing his mate washis,as man and animal werehers.
Nothing, not even an uncertain future, could tear her out of their claws now.
ChapterThirty-Three
Pack life tooksome getting used to.
Camille didn’t think about the way her life would change when she moved into the den. All that concerned her was being near her consort, being in his life in the way that every part of her craved. It was a joy to leave her lonely apartment behind, and she felt giddy with pleasure when she unpacked her things in the empty closet Viktor saved for her.
Together, they did their best to pretend like every phone call, every message, did not make them tense. They willfully ignored the sword hanging over all their necks. The brittle peace was grasped with the ferocity of two people desperate to pretend that their world did not stand on the brink of cataclysm.
She loved discovering that he slept on the right side of the bed. It delighted her to find his much-loved surfboard leaning up against the back of the house. She even found humor in the fact that he liked to leave dirty towels on the bathroom floor.
The intimacies of the mundane were a balm to her bruised soul. Living with him was effortless.
Living with thepack,however, did not prove quite so seamless.
For someone that had only a handful of close relationships, it was immediately overwhelming to suddenly be embraced by so many people. Each new packmate came with a new social expectation, a new path to blindly navigate as she attempted to make a good impression.
That was the problem, though. She knew what a good impression was for anelf,but for a shifter? She only had her experience with Viktor to go on.
Touch was important. That much she learned from her first introductions, and she thought that she was getting better at offering it to people who were packmates but strangers still. It was a struggle. Once they reached adolescence, elves became very choosy about who they let into their personal space. It went against the grain to open up her arms to every elder and every senior packmate she met.
Of course, not everyone expected it, and not every packmate was a shifter. There were a handful of arrants, a witch or two, and even a lovely vampire. Meeting them helped Camille feel less like an interloper. Certainly, if avampirecould find a place in the pack, she could too.
It was awkward for the first few days, but Camille firmed her chin and pushed through it. Had she not been trained by a lifetime of awkward smalltalk about her mother? She could deal with nosy shifters asking blunt questions about whether she ate people, and she could absolutely traverse the assessment she underwent every time a new packmate sized her up.
