Till Abandon Page 2

  "Mate."

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  Chapter Three

  * * * *

  That's me.

  Voltaire parted her lips but Blake thrust her away and stepped back. His chest rose and fell rapidly. She felt his struggle with the wolf—the animal intent on claiming her, the man fighting to stay in control.

  It would be cute if she wasn't on the edge. She needed to feel him as much as he needed to feel her. Too bad he played hard to get.

  "Who sent you here?” Muscles bunched as he clenched his fists and rocked back on his heels.

  Voltaire hopped off the bar stool and approached him slowly.

  "Here's the thing, mate, nobody sends me anywhere I don't want to go. You'll learn that soon enough."

  "Don't call me that."

  He snapped his teeth at her. The eyes, so familiar to her, flashed green flames. An outline of his hard cock pressed against the front of his sweat pants.

  She licked her lips. “Don't call you what? Mate?"

  Chest to chest with him, she breathed in his wildness and arousal.

  "It's what you are to me, even if you aren't ready to acknowledge it."

  Why the hell am I standing here debating this with him?

  The danger surrounding him grew closer with every breath she took—she felt that shit coming.

  "Did Czion send you here? You can tell him to fuck off. Not happening."

  Voltaire laughed. “I'm here because your wolf wants me here. He's been waiting for five years."

  His exotic features hardened to concrete. “What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "Okay, Blake, I'll thank you to watch your motherfucking tone.” Shaking her head, she murmured, “Men,” under her breath.

  Blake grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around, hauling her back against the wall of his chest.

  Voltaire rolled her eyes as he held her in a chokehold with his left hand. The right held a wickedly curved blade she fell in love with immediately. He pressed the weapon to the side of her neck, the sharp tip nicking her skin.

  "Tell me why you're here,” he growled. “Else I'm sending you back to where you came from in pieces.” And he sounded quite sure about it, too.

  Aww, too cute.

  Voltaire wiggled against his front. Their bodies lined up perfectly so her ass caressed his cock. He sucked in a breath. Leaning her head back on his chest, she sighed.

  You know, mate, all you're doing is making me wet. I've got a thing for aggressive men. She used her mind to caress his back and squeeze his ass.

  He groaned, the sound a deep rumble in her ear. When he pressed closer to her back, she eased the knife away from his tight-knuckled grip with invisible hands. The blade hovered in the air several feet from them.

  "I'm all for knife play,” she whispered. “But we don't have time right now.” Twirling around, she met his hungry gaze. “I get your distrust of me, but why can't you put faith in what the wolf is telling you?"

  His delicious lips thinned. “The wolf isn't in charge, I am. And right now, I want you far away from here."

  "Aww.” She pouted. “If I were any of those other fake-ass bitches you seem to like fucking with, my feelings would be crushed right now.” Sliding a hand up his chest, she leaned in and licked his neck. The wolf went nuts. “But I know better, ‘cause I can see the mini-movie in your head,” Voltaire whispered. “The one where your head is between my thighs and I'm screaming your name."

  He sank his fingers into her hair and jerked her head back. She met his eyes with a wink. Blake's elongated pupils darkened.

  "Get the fuck out of my mind."

  She grinned. “Yeah, no can do. Are you going to let me go, or keep me like this? I think you should know anything with your hands on me is fine."

  The left side of his mouth twitched. “Who are you?"

  "I told you my name. I want to hear you say it, Blake."

  He shook his head, a lock of black falling into his eyes. “I can't. I'm not claiming you, I'm sorry."

  Voltaire cocked her head to the side. Her toes curled. A challenge. Ow-ee. Her spine tingled. He really thought they would say goodbye, that she'd walk away. She read his regret and hunger, but also his strong resolve not to trust her, not with the unexplained magic surrounding her.

  He was thinking of his pack, of the many threats coming from all sides, and he didn't want to subject them to another. Voltaire could respect that.

  All I have to do is prove I'm not a threat...which will be a bit of a problem

  She posed a threat to anything breathing.

  "I think I might admire you more now than I did before.” She smiled at him. “But I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm not going anywhere."

  A blast of cold chilled her spine and killed her smile. Bad things were about to happen. She reached inside her coat and pulled out her guns, one in each hand.

  "We've got company,” she told him quietly.

  His green eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Is this your doing?"

  Ack, really?

  "You know, Blake, if I didn't like you so much I'd shoot you for that. Now get your fucking men,” she shouted.

  He made a rumble-howl and, one by one, his men lumbered through the door of the bar. Voltaire could see questions on their faces as they eyed her and her guns with open hostility.

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved them aside. “Y'all can try to tear me apart later. Right now the felines are on their way and they've got plans."

  "How do you know?” Blake asked. He stood at her elbow, with his men crowded behind them.

  "I've got my ways, mate.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Ways you won't know unless you claim me, and yes, that's blackmail.” Looking over her shoulder, she instructed the men, “I want everyone to stay behind me. Oh, and, uh, someone get me a drink. Preferably something with salt around the rim."

  "We don't take orders from you,” the blond named Marcus growled.

  Um, yeah, you kinda do. Voltaire snapped her fingers and sent him flying backwards into the far wall. He grunted at the impact, then slid to the floor. Talk to me when my drink is ready.

  "Stop that,” Blake said. “Tell me what you know."

  She cracked her neck. “No time."

  The door of the bar splintered. Behind her, a deafening ruckus broke out. Blake's men had all shifted forms, their nails clicking on the wooden floors. Her would-be mate remained in his human form, but his growl rose louder than the rest.

  Voltaire strode forward. Blake tried to grab her arm, but she shrugged him away. Jaguars, as tall at the shoulder as her knees, bounded through the ruined doorway. She waited until all six stood staring at her with their yellow-green eyes, before she addressed the leader.

  "Hello, Czion."

  * * * *

  A jolt rocked Blake as Voltaire spoke to the leader of the jaguars. Did that mean the jaguars had sent her after all? Blake didn't want to examine too closely the twinge of hurt coursing through him.

  The first cat to come through the door reared back on his hind legs. His shiny, black coat disappeared as he shifted back to human. Czion Whitehall rose to his full size, towering over Voltaire in his nakedness, black hair flowing around his neck and shoulders. She swept a glance down his body and Blake's wolf growled in warning.

  "V?” Disbelief was evident in Czion's voice. Clearly he hadn't expected to see her there. “What are you doing—you on a job?"

  Voltaire shook her head. “Personal business—and you're part of it."

  "How so?"

  "Let's see.” She tapped a gun against her chin. “You've declared war on the wolves, no?"

  Czion sent a glance loaded with venom Blake's way. “Yeah, but these were my ancestors’ lands before the wolves stole them. I want them back."

  "Not gonna happen,” Blake snapped at him.

  "We'll see, wolf. We'll see."

  Czion turned back to Voltaire. His gaze softened and Blake gritted his teeth. They h
ad a history, those two, and he didn't like it one bit. Familiarity had the fucking jaguar leader calling her V. He had no right. She belonged to Blake.

  Yet you refuse to claim me.

  "Czion, I'm thinking you don't want this war,” Voltaire said.

  "Are you telling me what I can and can't do?” The jaguar stepped forward. So did Blake.

  Voltaire didn't blink. “This is my mate.” She jerked a finger at Blake. “You don't want to know what you'll set off if you decide to fuck with his pack."

  The scowl on Czion's face faltered for a second, but remained in place. “You have no part in this, V. Stay out of it."

  "I have all the rights I need. He's my mate, therefore his war is mine."

  Her words were loaded with warning. They meant something to Czion, because his tanned face whitened slightly. Blake's chest swelled with pride when she took ownership of him, of his pack.

  I meant every word.

  "He hasn't claimed you yet.” Czion looked from Blake to Voltaire. “His mark isn't on you, nor his scent."

  His face puffed out suddenly, going red as he clawed at his throat. The cats surrounding him hissed but didn't move. They looked like they'd been frozen in place.

  "Do you think not having his mark makes me more dangerous, or less?” Voltaire asked quietly. “You've seen me in action, Czion—what do you think?"

  Sweat poured down the jaguar's face. Palpable power swirled around the room, making the wolves behind him paw the floor and emit curious growls. Now they felt the magic Voltaire carried. The cats’ eyes darted back and forth. They were frightened for their leader, yet couldn't do anything to save him.

  Czion clawed at his neck, fighting to remove the invisible hands that seemed to be squeezing the life out of him. “Don't do it,” he gasped. ‘This isn't your fight, Death Bringer."

  Blake's heart stuttered. All sounds from the animals ceased. It was as if the words Czion had spoken had snuffed out all the life inside the bar. But then, that was the effect the Death Bringer had on everything. She killed for the Council—the best and deadliest enforcer they had. Still, some people thought her a myth. No one had any real proof she existed.

  Yet, if what the jaguar said was true, the Death Bringer stood next to Blake. His mate, the woman in white. He should've suspected something, but his wolf and his needs had collided, swamping him.

  We'll talk later, she promised inside his head

  "You're wrong, Czion. This is my fight, too. I'm giving you one chance to walk away and take your cats with you.” A wave of her hand must've revived the jaguars at Czion's feet—they growled but didn't move. “I wouldn't want to hurt you too much. Remi wants that honour for herself."

  Desperation flared in the head jaguar's eyes. “How is she? Does she—Is she...?"

  Voltaire laughed. “Remi is Remi. She's still unbending and no, as far as I know, she's not seeing anyone."

  Czion swallowed. “Does she still hate me for that night?"

  What one night? Blake's hackles rose. Growls rumbled in his chest.

  Calm the fuck down, Blake. I thought you didn't want me? You refused to claim me, remember?

  Damn it to hell. Voltaire belonged to him. The wolf knew it. Blake knew it, too.

  Really. Now you change your mind? Voltaire huffed in his head.

  "Remi likes to pretend that night didn't happen,” she told Czion. “She's hard-headed that way."

  Czion nodded. “Yeah, I know that."

  Blake had heard enough. “Alright, enough playing catch up.” He met Czion's gaze. “Get out, and take your cats with you.” They'd fight another day—right then Blake needed some alone time with the woman next to him. Grasping Voltaire's elbow, he pulled her with him out of the wrecked doorway.

  She matched his stride easily in her heels, tucking the guns back into her coat. “Where are you taking me, shifter?"

  Blake led her to the rear of the building and into the dark woods at the back of the bar.

  "We need space to talk, Death Bringer.” He spared her a glance.

  She stood out, a stark contrast in the middle of his hunting grounds, clothed in white against the black of the night. Appearing untouchable...yet her body begged to be touched. By him and no one else. Her arousal tickled his nose, sending the wolf into a fucking frenzy.

  "Do you know, whenever someone calls me that, it's loaded with fear?” she mused. “You say it, and it sounds like an endearment. I like it, shifter."

  Blake clenched his teeth, afraid to look at her for fear he'd pounce. Afraid he'd fuck her right there on the ground, with leaves as their bed and the starry skies as their cover.

  That's what I want, Blake. I want you out of control.

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  Chapter Four

  * * * *

  They entered a clearing and Blake grabbed her throat, slamming her against the bark of a tree. A small gasp left her lips, but she didn't fight him. “You want me out of control?” he grated. “I've been out of control from the moment I set eyes on you.” Her pulse beat frantically under his hold but not from fear. Warm, musky arousal mixed with the crisp air and wrapped around him, around them.

  Voltaire licked her lips and kept those fucking eyes on him. “Whatever you're feeling, I'm right there with you.” The throaty voice reminded him of thick Irish Cream. Smooth and sweet. Intoxicating. He flexed his fingers around her neck. “This isn't my magic making us feel that way, Blake. This is us, what we do to each other."

  God, he couldn't think. His arousal, hers, and the wolf's clamour for release made his head spin. Images of sinking his cock into her wet heat, of marking her delicate neck with his canines played out in his head. Blake squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to hers. “What do you want from me?” Agony and fear mixed with his arousal, making his voice a low growl.

  A warm hand cupped his jaw and his eyes snapped open. Voltaire's arms remained at her sides, yet fingers caressed his face, sifted through his hair. Something to get used to.

  "Make me yours,” she answered his question. “Mark me, bond with me. Not because the wolf wants it, but because you want it, too.” She moved her hands, then, to wrap them around his waist and pull him to her.

  The wolf rumbled at the contact, even though they were both clothed. Without conscious thought, Blake rubbed his cheek against hers, inhaling the faint hint of lilacs. His chest constricted, hindering his breathing. Voltaire's hand travelled up his chest in a tight caress and he opened his mouth to gulp air into his lungs.

  Rubbing her front on his erection, she licked his ear, then whispered, “More than anything, I want to hear you say my name.” She inhaled, then slowly let out a breath. Hard nipples poked his chest, sending spikes of need to his cock, which was already weeping pre-cum. “Say my name, Blake. Please.” That last word quivered, the first sign of vulnerability from the deadliest of them all.

  Fisting her hair, he jerked her head back. Voltaire went willingly, eyes closed, exposing her neck to him. Silver-blue moonlight glinted off her hair and illuminated the steady pulse in her throat as she awaited his next move. Blake leant forward and dragged his tongue down the column of her neck, tasting her salty skin, delicious enough to nibble on.

  Voltaire shuddered and pressed her hips into him. Blake rubbed his cock against her, rocking a sensational rhythm. She lifted her hands and clutched his hair, pulling hard. A series of growls rumbled in his chest as she arched her back, giving him better access, showing him her readiness for...whatever.

  What he wanted was his woman, his mate. No more waiting, putting it off. He'd take her, mark her, possess her. God help them both.

  Holding her with his right hand, he pushed the floor-length white coat off her shoulders. The material dropped to their feet, her guns hitting the ground with a low clunk. The claws on his left hand popped out and he tore her tight blouse off her body with a single slash. She wore no bra and her dusky pink nipples stood to attention, begging for his mouth.

  He oblig
ed. Blake licked one, then the other, moaning at the feel and taste of her. She tasted of winter—clean and crisp. Voltaire cupped his head, held him to her as her body trembled and another wave of arousal swamped them. Taking his focus off her nipples, Blake shredded her jeans with a flick of his wrist. He barely noticed as they fell in tatters to the ground.

  Voltaire wore no underwear. He straightened and her hands fell to her sides. His woman stood naked before him, seemingly impervious to the November cold. Smooth, creamy skin gleamed in the moonlight, the same light giving her white hair a silver-blue tint. Her firm breasts were perfect, the size of his palm. Her flat stomach tapered out to flared hips with enough flesh for him to grab on to. Toned thighs and legs seemed to go on and on.

  The most beautiful vision. His mate.

  Voltaire grabbed him by the neck, forcing his attention to her face. “Get undressed, Blake.” Her raspy voice dripped need with every word. “I don't want to make love, not now. I want to be fucked.” Reaching between them, she fondled him through his sweat pants. “By you."

  His balls tightened, his cock pulsed furiously. She was an aggressive little fuck. God, he loved it. Husky laughter echoed in his head. Gritting his teeth, he stepped away from her. He kicked off his pants, pulled off his T-shirt, and used both their clothes to make a bed on the layer of leaves littering the ground. When he'd finished, he looked up at her. She stared back in silence.

  "Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. She obeyed with a twitch of her lips. As soon as she was in position, he pounced, covering her back with his front. Yanking her hair, he whispered, “You asked."

  She turned her head, brushing her lips on his cheek. “Bring it, mate."

  He pressed a hand to the small of her back, pushed her down until her cheek lay flat on the ground and her ass hovered in the air. Blake knelt behind her and brought his face to her pussy. He pulled her wet folds apart gently, exposing the tiny hole, and inhaled the ocean. The wolf howled, ready to devour. Blake's cock felt like granite, his tip dripped pre-cum onto the ground. He wanted to ram into her, lose himself in her tightness, but he couldn't.