Chapter Forty-Four
Joy
Enzo looked magnificent—every ounce the vampire enforcer with his broad shoulders and his skin catching the moonlight streaming through the window. His black silk shirt hung open, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, and his tailored pants lay discarded on the floor, revealing the impressive length of his cock, flushed and ready. My pulse raced as I anticipated what was to come.
I did as he commanded, climbing onto the crimson sheets on all fours, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. He came up behind me, one cool hand slipping possessively around my hip, the other tracing featherlight patterns up and down the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. When he finally slid a finger inside me, the sensation was almost unbearably sweet, each deliberate stroke sending shivers racing up my spine.
I arched my back and ground my hips in slow circles, desperate for him to reach deeper places within me. The intensity built like a gathering storm. He rubbed with increasing pressure, his calloused fingertips creating sparks of pleasurethat sent shockwaves through my trembling body. Heat flooded my inner core, my pulse throbbing in time with his movements.
“Oh, god,” I whispered, the words escaping between shallow breaths.
He withdrew his glistening finger and gripped my hips with both hands, his fingers pressing into my flesh. When he finally plunged inside me, the fullness was overwhelming—a delicious invasion that seemed to reach the very center of my being.
“Harder,” I cried out.
He slammed against me again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the dim room. Each time I spread my trembling knees wider across the rumpled sheets, inviting him deeper until I felt him press against places that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, my fingers clutched desperately at the silken covers, not to escape but to anchor myself as he gripped my hips with hands that would leave violet shadows by morning. I was a prisoner of sweet torture, every nerve ending vibrating with need. The sensations built like wildfire through dry brush, consuming rational thought until my body convulsed around him and my orgasm tore through me, fast and furious as a summer storm.
I screamed in ecstasy, pleasure exploding through every nerve. My thighs trembled uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
He collapsed against my back, his sweat-slicked chest heaving against me as he came deep inside, his fingers interlaced with mine. “I told you I’d bring you pleasure,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his dark eyes still glazed with satisfaction. “That’s one way to try and make a baby.”
He slowly pulled out of me, his breath catching slightly, and climbed onto the bed with a soft creak of springs. He cradledme against him, one arm beneath my shoulders, his skin warm against mine, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my palm. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said as I looked up at him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “And you’re mine.”
“Damn right, I am,” he growled softly, kissing my forehead. “No one’s taking you from me again. I’ll burn down dimensions if I have to.”
I sighed, believing every word. A yawn escaped me as exhaustion finally won. My eyes drifted closed, and I fell asleep wrapped in his arms—protected, loved, home.
Enzo held the limousine door, and I settled beside Serenity. Yesterday’s joy had been replaced by a hollow ache. We were going to bury my brother—my half brother—a man whose name I’d only just learned, whose face I’d never seen in person.
Enzo sat next to me, and our fingers intertwined immediately. I held on like he was my lifeline. Between the battles and everything else, I was running on empty. But I owed my brother this. I owed Morden this.
The others—Steve, Dimitri, Gianna, and Elena—followed in a second car.
I rested against Enzo’s shoulder as we drove, trying to prepare myself. When Pascal turned into The Court of Thorns, Keir’s estate, I straightened. The property was breathtaking—flowering gardens and magnolia trees creating something ethereal and beautiful.
Too beautiful for a funeral. Too perfect for saying goodbye to someone I’d never gotten the chance to know.
The gates stood open. Several other limousines were already parked along the circular drive.
“Looks like the wolves are here too; so is Rocco although he’s standing alone,” Enzo murmured, nodding toward a group of men.
I followed his gaze. Rocco was on the outskirts as if he didn’t want to associate with anyone. He seemed to be his own worst enemy, and I wondered if he was still living at that hotel. “Is the king of the wolves here?”
“The one in the blue suit—that’s Trystan Hunter. He’s their king.”
A man with shaggy brown hair was talking with others who carried themselves with that same predatory grace. Wolves, I realized. I didn’t recognize any of them.
Pascal parked beside a blue limousine. Enzo immediately stepped out and offered me his hand, helping me from the car. The cool air hit my face, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. I was here to say goodbye to a brother I’d never met—someone who’d died protecting Enzo, protecting us. Ari and the queen had taken him before I ever had the chance to know my own brother.
Trystan broke away from his group and approached Angelo. “You left us quite a mess last night, but it’s cleaned up.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about the big bonfire of dead bodies in the bayou. The cathedral and swamp had been littered with bodies—Dark Demons, soldiers, the fallen. The wolves had dealt with all of it.
