Desire Unchained

She stirred, and he ran his hand up and down her arm. Her smooth skin, still curiously devoid of his dermoire, prickled with gooseflesh beneath his palm. Why hadn’t the mate-markings appeared? Was it possible that he was bonded to her … but that she wasn’t bonded to him? If so, he was looking at an eyeful of disaster. He required sex like humans required water. To live. Sex for a bonded male could come only from his mate. If the bond wasn’t reciprocated, she could take off, have sex with whomever she wanted. If he couldn’t get to her, he’d die.

He’d have to attempt her part of the bonding ritual again. He couldn’t afford for her to be a free agent while he was tied to her.

“Runa?”

“Mmm.”

He nuzzled her hair, inhaled her natural, earthy fragrance. “Come on. Let’s clean up.”

She didn’t answer or move, so he unlocked the morphestus manacles with a command and carried her into the shower. Gently, he set her down. She smiled at him in a slightly dazed way, swaying on legs so shaky he worried she’d drop. Without thinking, he folded her into his arms and held her upright. When the spray from the double heads jutting from opposite rock walls hit her, she moaned, threw back her head, and damn she was beautiful.

Keeping one arm around her, he poured a stream of liquid soap over her shoulders, covered her in the pearly syrup until it dripped down her arched back and between her breasts. Carefully, tenderly, he washed her, all the while thinking what a moron he was for letting himself enjoy this.

She made an erotic sound, something between a gasp and a moan, and he pulled her closer, used his body as a buffer against her orgasmic spasms. Her noises, the feel of her slick, wet skin against his … it was enough to get him hard again. Not that it ever took much, but after the sex they’d just had, he should be sated for hours.

Hell’s gates, he was in trouble.

He should never have brought her into the shower, should have cleaned himself up after the sex and left her to fend for herself. And she could. Of that he had no doubt.

Appreciation for her strength swelled in him, made him smile as he combed his hand through her hair. This new Runa threatened his world as no female ever had. Even if he couldn’t sense her physical and emotional needs and moods, he’d find himself attracted to her. Sure, she was gorgeous, more so now that she had an edge about her, but it was more than that. Beneath the stronger, more aggressive personality she’d developed over the last year was the soft femininity and nurturing disposition he’d been raised to appreciate. He’d always told himself that he’d taken care of his sisters and mother, but truly, it had been the other way around.

Gods, why couldn’t Roag have bonded him to anyone else? No other female tugged at his heart like Runa. No other female drew out his protective instincts the way she did.

No other female stood a chance of making him fall in love.

She was still only half-responsive as he rinsed and dried her, but as he tucked her into bed, she managed a yawn and a mumbled, “Food?”

“Yeah, I brought food. It’s cold now, but I’ve never met a cold burger I didn’t like.” He fetched the bag he’d tossed to the floor earlier. She sat up, her gaze both groggy and dreamy as she dug into the fries and quarter-pounders.

“Thank you,” she said between bites. “I’m starving.”

“I can see that.” He smiled when she stopped shoveling food into her mouth to glare at him, but it was a mock glare, because she chomped down on a fry and gave him a playful grin. Overtaken by a sudden urge to caress her pouty bottom lip with his thumb, he reached for her. With a curse, he checked himself at the last second and thrust a napkin at her to cover his actions. “You have ketchup on your mouth,” he lied. “And ah, sorry about last night. I kinda got tied up at the hospital.” He stretched out on top of the covers next to her. “That was a pun.”

She froze midchew. Swallowed. “Tied up? Seriously?”

She looked so cute that this time when the urge to touch her made him itch, he gave in to it, trailing a finger along her exposed hip. “Funny thing. Seems that when you bit me in Roag’s dungeon, you transmitted your lycanthropy to me. So last night when I stepped out of the Harrowgate into the hospital, I grew fur and fangs, and then tried to eat half the staff.”

“But …” The color drained from Runa’s face. “You said you’re immune to it.”

“Under normal circumstances, yeah. Eidolon thinks whatever allows you to shift at will affected your disease, and therefore—”

“Your resistance to it.” She closed her eyes and fell back against the studded-leather headboard. “I’m sorry, Shade. I’m so sorry.”

Emotion clogged his throat, a knotted mix of pleasure that she cared enough to be sorry, guilt that he’d gotten her turned into a werewolf, and anger that he’d let himself feel anything for her at all.

“Don’t be,” he said roughly. “If you hadn’t bitten me, I could have died from the pain I was in.”

“Still—”

“Don’t,” he barked. “Eat your food and get some rest. We’re heading to the hospital in a couple of hours.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy. Will we be coming back here?”

“We’ll have to.” He measured her response as he leaned in, some sick perversion wanting to get a rise out of her as he said, “We need to chain ourselves up.”