Possession (Shifters Forever More Book 3) Read online

  Seriously. Quit that. I know how you feel about her. But she’s human. So we will do things on human terms. All things.

  A roar in his mind made him flinch.

  I know you care for her. And yeah, she seems to care for you, too. And yeah, we are one. Just you know, it’s not like she can shift into a bear and run through the woods with you.

  Another roar.

  Fine. I’ll see if she wants to roam the woods while we’re a bear.

  The bear rumbled.

  Yeah, yeah. I’m sure she will. Let’s go. Quit blocking the shift. Damn, his bear had it bad for her. As bad as he had it.

  He hoped the shift wouldn’t wake her. He cringed as the creaking and rasping of the shift began. Less than a moment later, with much discomfort, and a tiny amount of noise—he couldn’t completely control the sounds—he was in his human form. His shirt was gone. At what point had they taken it off him? Why did he have no recollection from the point where he reached the SUV with Griz?

  He put his arm around Lana, breathed her very unique scent, loved the way it was imprinted in his mind. He could pick her out of a group of a million—no, ten million—women. He buried his nose into her neck, just as his bear had, and he lay there, in no amount of discomfort as a hardness he couldn’t control began to press against a very curvy derriere that was way too perfectly wedged against his body. He wanted this woman as he’d never wanted a woman before. He needed her with every fiber of his soul, mind, heart, body, and bear.

  In her sleep, she stretched, her body sinuous and rounded against his. Beckoning desires and stoking fires that, god knew, needed very little stoking to become a blazing inferno. He bit back a groan as his erection became painful, a situation which was not alleviated by the now-tightness of his jeans. She stretched further, and then to his dismay—translation, pleasure—her breast, pebbled nipple and all, was in his hand.

  Jesus. What’s a man to do? He didn’t feel right about this. He had no right—though for fuck’s sake he was human! And didn’t want to release her—he moved his hand away, no longer cupping that fullness. Inwardly, he groaned.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lana couldn’t have said what woke her up, but her body was reacting. A weight across her waist caught her attention. She glanced down.

  An arm! Slate. He’d shifted. Sometime—maybe during his sleep?—he’d shifted into his human form. She froze, held her breath, waiting to see if she could feel him breathing. She didn’t want to move, because if he was sleeping, then he still needed the rest. She felt for his chest. It was moving, deep breaths, but his heartbeat seemed fast. Concerned, she turned and tipped her head slowly to chance a peek at his face.

  Her heart seized. He was watching her. His gaze dark and piercing, the amber flames in the depths a sign his bear was near the surface.

  “Slate,” she murmured. “I didn’t know you were awake. You’re better, right? I mean you’re—” Why the hell was she babbling like this? “I’m sorry, I’m just—

  This time her words were interrupted by his lips. Immediately, her lips parted, giving way for his tongue to stake its claim. And stake its claim his tongue did, delving into her mouth, exploring, searing with a heat she’d never felt before, stroking her tongue, making promises she had no right to believe in. And yet, she did. She believed his promises with every beat her heart made.

  “I’m awake,” he affirmed, his voice sex-hoarse, lust-husky. “I’m damned awake.”

  The sound of his voice poured over her like liquid heat. It brought a tightening between her legs, a seizing in her core, a response that was primal and base, and yet so damned cerebral her entire being reacted.

  “Me, too,” she murmured with a voice that didn’t even sound like her own. She twisted around completely and straddled him, wrapping her fingers in his hair and pulling herself down, settling her heat on a hardness that teased her clit through her jeans. She ground on him, letting that hardness massage her core, causing a wetness to flood her body while her pulse raced.

  “Fuck,” he uttered when she moved to take his bottom lip between hers and tugged softly.

  Gladly, she thought, fucking gladly.

  His hands were on her hips, his thumbs playing across her flesh, making tiny circles where the fabric ended and the flesh began. Then he raised them, fingers trailing along her torso, then her ribs, then along the side of her breasts, making her breath catch as she tried to keep kissing him but found herself distracted.

  “Lose the pants,” his voice was a low whisper.

  “You first,” she dared, wondering how he’d brought the seductress out in her.

  She shimmied down his legs then undid the zipper of his pants, allowing her fingers to accidentally brush along the dickprint pressing against the denim. He groaned his approval, his desire, his need, then he seized the pants and jerked them down his hips. She raised up enough to help him out of them.

  “Commando?” she said with a smile. “Wouldn’t have taken you for the type.”

  “I was in a rush. It’s been a few crazy days.”

  No doubt.

  Hungrily, she studied the length of him. The width of him. She wasn’t a connoisseur of cocks, and she’d not had much experience with them on a personal level, but damn if he didn’t have the most beautiful cock.

  She licked her lips with anticipation but didn’t realize she’d done that until he chuckled.

  A flame found its way to her cheeks.

  He was still on his back, watching her. “You’re up,” he indicated her jeans with a flick of his hand.

  She tugged her own down. “Not commando.”

  “Nice,” he said, admiring her pink-and-white lacy concoction.

  Luckily, she hadn’t worn her ragtag undies. Lucky for him.

  He sat up and pulled her down. Once more, she straddled his dick. Nothing between it and her throbbing clit but a flimsy fabric that was practically see-through. Grabbing her hips, he ground his cock against her. She matched grind for grind, a moan slipping out.

  With one hand, he seized the back of her neck, wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her down for a kiss. He plundered her mouth, his tongue going deep, her mouth crushed to his.

  Lifting her head away just a spell, he groaned into her mouth. “I want to taste you.”

  The very words created another deluge of desire. Would it be inappropriate if she told him she wanted that as bad as he did? She didn’t get a chance to utter those words as he pulled her body up his. First, she was straddling his chest, then she found herself in a position she’d never been in before. She was straddling his head.

  Sweet Jesus. Her mound was lined up with his mouth. Oh, my. Shit. She’d never been in this position before. Not quite like this. Not ever. And she’d never felt desire course through her veins the way they were right now.

  He hooked his fingers in the lace and pulled the flimsy fabric barrier aside. The idea of it aroused her even further. When his tongue slipped into her depths, tunneling its way in, she leaned back, her hands on his hips, her back arched as he plundered her body with his tongue. His fingers. Over and over. Taking, giving, healing, demanding, forgiving, claiming.

  This! Yes! The claiming of it all took her to a height she’d never been to.

  She bit back a cry as her body shuddered, delivering her to the brink of ecstasy, then pushing her into it headfirst. She heaved forward, her muscles tense—every single muscle in her entire body, it seemed. She writhed down his body until she was straddling him and his mouth—ohmygodthatmouth!—was on hers. Kissing, sharing, tasting.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she whispered into his mouth. She couldn’t stop uttering the phrase until it all blended to become one word that couldn’t come close to what she’d just experienced. An unprecedented heat scorched a path from her toes up.

  “Fuck, woman, you’re killing me.”

  “Who’s killing who?” she gasped. “I need you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Slate
’s heart damned near took a flying leap out of his chest when she said she needed him. “Not half as much as I need you, woman.” His bear was going ballistic in his mind, roaring and bellowing for Slate to claim her as his. To couple-bond her immediately. To perform the act which would mark her as his for the rest of her life. And hell yeah, this was what he wanted. Her. Forever. For an eternity and then some. He couldn’t imagine not having her in his life. She was his. His mate. Fated for him. Fated for life.

  He snagged the panties between his hands and shredded the flimsy piece of—what was it?—silk. Then he raised her up, planting her entrance at the tip of his hard-as-fuck cock. Her entrance, the heat of it, teased his head. He moved gently, letting his cock rub her clit, trying not to rush her, not to push too fast, too hard.

  Her groan though. Damn. She shouldn’t have groaned like that.

  Slate couldn’t have said what happened next. One minute he was trying to refrain. Trying to control their momentum. Not wanting to rush her, then next he was buried balls-deep in her smoothness, relishing the sloshy wetness of her as it slid down his cock and onto his sac.

  “Lose the top,” he urged.

  She seized the hem and pulled her blouse over her head, leaving behind a bra overflowing with a bountiful of breasts, nipples hardened peaks begging for loving, touching, teasing, tonguing.

  She shrugged out of her bra, and the fullness, including those rosy tips were there for the taking. His. All his. He pulled her down, taking one in his mouth, his tongue flicking it, teeth grazing the pebbled surface while his hand cupped one, hefting the lovely weightiness and fullness. He switched his mouth to the other breast, while he thumbed the now-spit-damp nipple with his thumb, coaxing it to painful pleasure. He took his mouth off, cupped both breasts with his hands, squeezed them together, tongued the spot where they met, then tweaked both her nipples.

  She groaned and, her writhing took up once more, her breasts heaving with every breath and every thrust she made.

  He tried once more to gain control, except she began to thrash, moving her hips wildly, riding him like he was a fucking bronco, raising up and dropping herself on his cock.

  “Fuck, Lana. Easy.” He tried to hold her hips, but between his desire, her need, and his bear’s insistence, his self-control was lost in a fuckfest. She’d unleashed a tornado within him, and it appeared he’d untethered a tsunami within her.

  He couldn’t say he’d ever experienced a love like this. Or sex like this. He grabbed her and flipped her over, taking her from behind, riding her, plunging deep while holding his climax back.

  When she moaned and tightened around him one final time, he lost his control, releasing with her. And at the same time, his bear pushed Slate’s head forward, sinking canines into the back of her neck where it met her shoulder and marking her as his.

  Fucking shit! What’d you do that for?

  He held her close, his arm beneath her, cupping a breast while he half lay on her.

  “Slate? What was that? Was that—”

  Did he apologize? Should he? His damned bear pushed him into doing something that involved her without talking to her about it. Did she know about the couple-bond?

  “I hope…well, I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this.”

  She rolled over beneath him, facing him but still under half his body.

  “How I’ll feel about you? This? The sex?”

  “Do you know what couple-bonding is?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I haven’t experienced that myself but—”

  He smiled.

  “What are you smiling about? I haven’t.”

  “You have now.” He said it with a small grimace.

  “You…did… Do you know what that means?”

  “Means your mine. Hoping you’ll feel the same way. Pretty sure you do.”

  She shoved his shoulder gently. “You know I do. But wait. How do you feel? Why don’t you say it?”

  He found himself loving this spunky, sassy woman more than ever. “I love you.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He grabbed her chin, half-gently, half-roughly. “Kinda customary to say that back, you know. When a guy says he loves you, if you feel the same way, you know, kinda how it’s done.”

  She laughed softly, teasing. “I love you, Slate Youngblood.” Her expression turned serious. “But then, what now?”

  “Now? Now we get that damned demoness thing out of you. Then we find my brother. Then we work on a fucking-happy-ever-after thing.”

  She gave a nod. “About Dunnigan. I think…he’s alive. I mean, I’m pretty certain he’s alive, but also, I think he’s okay.”

  “I’m inclined to believe that. I had one last vision. But I’d still like to see my brother.”

  “I don’t have siblings, but I understand. Completely.”

  A knock on the door interrupted further conversation.

  “Hey, you two.” Griz’s tone held mirth, but lighthearted mirth, at that. “We’re going to be touching down in New Orleans shortly. Lézare sent a car.”

  Lana pointed to a duffel. “There’s some clothes in there. For both of us. And a restroom over there. She pointed to the second set of restrooms at the rear of the plane.

  “I may have underestimated Griz and them. And I guess they’re trustworthy.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  “I’d say so.” She kissed his lips then slipped away to get the bag.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Slate stepped out of the hold and into the main cabin area, holding Lana’s hand. The plane had landed softly, while they’d sat in staff seating in the hold, twining fingers, and on occasion, locking lips. Now they were ready to get the show on the road.

  Griz appraised him. “Looks like you’re going to live.”

  “Thanks to your help.”

  “Welcome back to the living.” A brunette with flashing blue eyes said. He knew her. She’d brought them tea when he’d first gone to the B&B with Ciara and Krisztián.

  “Mae.” He held his hand out. “Thank you.” He didn’t know what he was thanking her for exactly, but if she was here, then she’d done something. And he knew from hearsay that Mae Forester was influential in the shifter community.

  Another man stepped forward, a touch of gray on his temples. Dark-haired, swarthy, intense, with nearly black eyes. “Tito Tiero.” He held out a hand.

  “Lana’s mysterious benefactor,” Slate said, but in a friendly way. This guy had saved him after all. And he’d been good to Lana, based on what she’d said.

  Tito laughed. “She’s like a daughter to me.”

  She blushed—something he’d become particularly fond of.

  “I have news,” Griz said. “Good news.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  Griz’s gaze remained locked on Slate. I got a call from one of my nephews. Seems there was an email in a spam folder for Del Cruz Security. An email address that Dunn has.”

  This drew Slate’s undivided attention.

  Griz continued, “The email in the spam folder was from Dunnigan Youngblood. He wanted them to reach out to me. Wants me to find his brother Slate. To let Slate know he’s fine, but he has to stay on the down low because they know he’s a deathbender.” He glanced at his phone, reading. “And to tell Slate to be careful because, even if they don’t know about Slate’s skills, they know about Dunn’s and they may think Slate has the same abilities as Dunn.”

  “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Mae asked.

  “The vision I saw,” Slate said without elaborating.

  “Me, too.” Lana added, “I was going to tell you. But…” And that enchanting blush was back.

  Mae and Griz looked away, Tito chuckled.

  “Anyway,” Slate said.

  “Yeah, anyway.” Lana recovered. “He’s fine. But still, we’re going to look for him, right?”

  He didn’t respond. It wasn’t just him anymore. He had Lana. She wouldn’t have survived being
shot like he had. He couldn’t take the risk. “We’ll see.”

  The plane attendant entered the cabin then opened the door leading to the outside. “Ready?”

  Griz led the way down the airstairs where a limo awaited. “Leave it to Lézare to send a limo.”

  Mae laughed. “He does like to do things in a grand way.”

  “He’s a relative. Distant relative. Though not one we keep up with in any sort of regularity.”

  Slate wondered if there was a story there, but doubted he’d be on the receiving end of that one. He studied the landscape. Flat. Not a single mountain. Nothing like Bear Canyon Valley. And the air, that humidity he’d heard the South was famous for, was no exaggeration. His shirt felt like it was plastered to his skin, and he wasn’t even sweating yet. But he would be soon. With the humidity came a heat so sticky it brought to mind wet cotton candy on a hot summer day. After evaluating the landscape, he turned his attention back to matters at hand.

  A man stepped out of the back of the limo. Immaculately dressed and groomed, definitely a shifter, from the physique. He held his hand out for a svelte blonde.

  “I haven’t seen Natalya in ages,” Mae said. “It will be good to catch up with them.”

  After introductions were made, Lézare glanced at his mate Natalya, then said, “We’re dropping her off at Quake. She’s having a meal with my sisters. Anyone hungry? We can stop in if you are. I’m sure they’ll make room for us.”

  “No,” Griz interjected. “We need to get this matter taken care of. Mae’s got a basket of sandwiches courtesy of Tito’s chef on the plane. We can eat on the run if we need.”

  “Exactly,” Mae agreed. “We need to get to Leandra and Sidonie before we have another incident.”

  “Say no more.” Lézare held the door open for the ladies first, followed immediately by the men.

  After dropping Natalya off at a large restaurant, three stories tall, with a doorman—Or a gatekeeper perhaps, thought Slate—at every door, they’d begun a thirty-minute drive during which Lézare—in a Frenchie Southern drawl—regaled the Bear Canyon Valley group with stories about his sisters, vampires, and local lore.