The Sanction

Chapter 6

It had been several days of insatiable pleasure. The ache in her limbs throbbed sweetly through her body as she stretched beneath the thick furs. Amarinda groaned and rolled over – only to be met with hard warmth. Panicked, her eyes darted open. At her side, he slept. The deep breaths he took fanned her face and forced her to blink. Her first thought was to move away, but the temptation to cuddle close was too great. Ever so slowly, she inched closer still, not wanting to awaken him. He would push her aside and grumble curses as was his habit each morning. He regretted having spent the night, he said. She was blamed for her witchcraft, for seducing him each time he saw her fed. In the nights passed their joining had taken on a new intensity she did not understand. He was thorough, fierce even. There were instances she swore his features shifted, as if he was at the brink of undergoing the change right before her eyes. Then he would kiss her, or pull away, or hold back on how violently she knew he wanted to ravish her.

Surprisingly, Amarinda was not afraid. She had been regaled with so many stories about the Weres, she knew his near explosive violence stemmed from the fact that the full moon was already rising. Tonight, if she was not mistaken.

A quiver began in her belly and ended in her toes. Absently, she allowed her eyes to assess him. The furs covered his lower half. Her cheeks near flamed. She knew what it covered and how fulfilled it made her feel. Light fingers trailed the line of hair that disappeared there up his abdomen. Every dip and valley she outlined, wanting to remember him as he was now, unguarded and asleep. He boasted many scars she saw, some more pronounced than others, some healed uglier than some. The hair that matted his wide chest was silken to the touch. She twirled her fingers there and pressed her nostrils to his shoulder to inhale the very essence of him. His scent put her in mind of the clean mountain brooks and the stones on the river bed that made wading through the water near uncomfortable. The memory made her smile, and she lifted her hand to stroke his jaw line, to outline the shape of his mouth that was always twisted in a scowl – and froze like a thief that had been caught.

His eyes were focused upon her face. The depth of the almost orange taints there forced her to swallow hard. Flushed, she allowed her hand to fall. That he should see her so, near worshipping his form mortified her. She made to move, wanting to be away from him before he pushed her away as he was wont to do each morning, and gasped, stunned, as he gently slid his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his chest.

The tension seeped out of her body and through his, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. One leg was flung over his stomach, and her fingers tentatively began their exploration of the texture of his skin. The steady beat of his heart was constant and powerful. His embrace tightened ever so lightly. She sighed. She felt protected with him. Safe. The thought forced her to pause. She should not allow herself to want him, to want to be with him. This was nothing more than a romp. How many others had lain here, in his arms? How many others had experienced paradise at his touch? The pain in her chest could not be compared. She did not love this Were, but love him or not, he was her mate. She was joined to him now. When he returned her to the Coven, she would be unable to survive. It would mean her death. He did not want her. Amarinda did not know what hurt more.

These were the only moments she would have with him. These were the hours she would have to remember for the rest of her life. There was no one else for her. Even if she took another lover, he would never make her want to yield, or want to give of herself the way he could.

Through a bout of hot tears, Amarinda lifted her head and kissed him passionately. She buried the gasp in his throat and demanded his tongue. He allowed her access to explore there, to draw him into her as he had so expertly done many times before. The warmth of his hands stroked her body. She became alive at his touch. She would remember this kiss, she vowed. She would remember the smell of his skin and the way his lips felt on hers, the callous of his hands and the way it near bruised her tender flesh when he took her passionately, the flicker of amber in his eyes when anger fought his control, and the tiny dimple that hardly ever showed, for he was not wont to genuinely smile very often.