I lower my arms and surrender to him. When his snout finds the column of my throat, I tilt my chin up without thinking, offeringmore. He burrows in with a rough sound, rolling us slightly so his massive body partially covers mine. The weight of him is perfect and possessive.
His hips press against mine, and that’s when I feel it. His clothes are shredded around us, and a long, thick, burning-hot length drags heavy against the side of my thigh. My breath catches sharp in my throat. He stills his hips, but his snout stays buried in my neck, lips and teeth grazing sensitive skin. I should push him off. I should find some shred of sense. But when he pulls me tighter and threads his claws gently through my hair, a rush of slick heat spills from my core, soaking between my legs.
He senses it. The purr in his chest drops into something more primal. His hips roll forward again, firmer this time, grinding that massive, hard cock against me with deliberate pressure. God help me, I arch and push back, chasing the friction like I’m starving for it.
Mate.
The word echoes through my mind in a voice that isn’t mine, dark and velvet-rough. My gasp is sharp, surprised. I mean to shove him away, but my hands betray me, clinging desperately to his thick arms instead. My fingers sink into soft fur and the rock-hard muscle beneath, gripping tight as another pulse of raw need throbs through me.
“Was that you?” I ask, breathless, voice wrecked with lust.
He pulls back just enough for me to see his eyes. His vivid green irises now blown black with hunger, heavy-lidded and feral.
Something pops, and part of the faehound's face crumples. I scream and roll out from under him, finally finding a little flight in me, and sit on the floor, paralyzed again as I watch the faehound shrink and crack and shift until there's no faehound left. Just a man. Just Conall. Beautiful, bare Conall.
He gasps for air, as if the change had taken everything he had. His eyes sweep the room until they land on me.
"Ivy." My name breaks on his lips as he moves across the bed toward me. I flinch before I can stop myself. The shift from beast to man was too jarring. My brain won't process it.
He stops and puts his hands, still claw-tipped, up. "I'm not going to hurt you, Freckles." He approaches more slowly, with less desperation and more care. I let him come. I try not to look, but I can't help it. His shoulders are tense, his abs bunching as he comes around the bed, tail flicking behind him. His cock hangs heavy and full between his legs.
"Ivy," he drawls, and my eyes snap back to his smirking face. He grabs clean boxers from his duffel and shoves them on.
That does make it slightly easier to concentrate. He approaches again, and I let him. He still has the tail, the clawed fingers, the pointed ears, the greenish-black hair, and patches of green skin, but otherwise he's just Conall.
He crouches in front of me, bringing us to eye level, and scans me from head to toe like he's checking for injuries.
"I'm sorry. I was sleeping, and my hound decided to take over."
I turn the words over, but they still don't quite land. "Your hound? I thought you were the hound."
He rubs the back of his neck. "I am, but he's like his own pocket of consciousness with his own thoughts and feelings, which are really my thoughts and feelings. He gets more say when I'm in hound form, and I feel him all the time, but it's all really me. Does that make sense?"
I tilt my hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. "So like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?"
This earns a chuckle that warms my cheeks. "Yeah, but neither of us is a psycho, and we're both aware of the other."
"Well your hound form doesn't snore, so that's a plus."
He narrows his eyes at me. "I do not snore."
I pause, debating whether or not to tell him about that deep voice that had called me mate. His brow furrows. He kneels on the floor and reaches out slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, but I don't. His fingers graze my cheek.
"What's the matter? Did I hurt you? Please tell me." The deep concern in his voice cracks something I've been trying to hold together around him.
I shake my head. "No, you didn't hurt me. But when you were in hound form, I heard a voice." His hand stills. He freezes for a moment before letting his hand drop. I look anywhere but at him, hoping he doesn't see the ridiculous disappointment I feel at the loss of his touch.
"A voice?" he asks. He sounds upset but I have no idea why.
"Yes, it was deep and grumbly, kind of inhuman. I think…could it have been your hound?"
His expression goes to stone. Gone is the man who crossed the bed toward me naked just minutes ago, so concerned about whether I was hurt. This man may as well be a statue for all the emotion he's showing.
Conall gets up fast and turns to his duffel, rummaging through it.
"Conall?" I ask from my place, still on the floor.
"We need to get going. Laz wants to meet us. He thinks he may know what spell your aunt used."
