Page 208 of Evil Hearts

“Vicious,” she murmurs. Her fingers slip into my waistband, and with one solid yank, the thin weave splits. At the surprising show of strength, again, I whip my face toward her, taking in the creature nestled between my legs.

I am no longer certain she is just a girl, but what sort of monster she is evades me. All I know for certain is that she has bewitched me.

Lying back in the grass, moonlight strikes her auburn hair, tumbling loose over her shoulders to bleed into the deep scarlet of her cloak. Her luscious curves draw more saliva to pool on my tongue, and I linger too long on her breasts, aching to draw them into my mouth.

She does not shift under my hungry gaze, nor does she look away. Another lupine smile curves her lips. Slowly, she trails her fingers over my hip and across the top of my thigh, tickling the tightly grown fur. I shudder, and she continues the maddening path along the inside of my thigh, higher toward the crux of me.

A single stroke has my eyes rounding, and the delicious rasp of her voice saws my every nerve ending as she meets my gaze. “What big eyes you have.”

I cannot laugh, cannot move for fear that her touch will cease. Pleasure I have never known steals my every thought. When she strokes me again, splitting me with her finger, I fall forward, slamming a fisted hand in the grass. My elbow quakes, threatening to bend when she circles the peak of my sex. Sparks burst as pleasure coils deep in my belly.

“Have you done this before?”

All I manage is a shake of my head. Czerwony does not stop, but she moves away from the place that had me seeing stars.

“Is this too much?” she asks, stroking gently. “We can slow this down, Fenra. I do not wish to—”

“You do not frighten me.”

Again, that sad smile pulls at her lips. I hate it.

Bending my elbow, I steal her mouth in a kiss, forcing my tongue between her lips to sweep and suck until that sad smile is nothing but a memory. I have never wanted anything as much as I want her. Not my vows, not this wood. For all the years I have held my post, I know now that my purpose was to find her in this glade.

She must glean this from my kiss and the press of my hips, for she strokes me harder, teasing that place until I rock against her, seeking more of those clever fingers. My Czerwony, she abides, jerking away to again bare her throat as her finger presses inside of me. I gasp, burying my face in the crook of her neck, and a second finger spreads my lips, pressing against my walls and filling me with a bliss I cannot describe.

My fingers tremble. My toes curl, and the pressure in my belly grows tighter, hotter. She bends or crooks her fingers—truly, I do not know what she does, but I will demand a lesson later—and her palm presses against the peak of my sex, sending frissons of pleasure to add to the mess inside of me. I am too small for this sensation, too weak a vessel to hold all that is growing within me. My fangs find her neck, my tongue lapping against her pulse point as if I could drink her scent and make it my own.

I am aware that my hips rock, demanding more of her touch, and Czerwony grants me this gift. She cups my breast, sweeping the nipple with her thumb. The added sensation builds a tingle throughout my body, and with no warning, I explode.

Pleasure shoots to my extremities. I tear away from her throat as a vicious howl rips from my throat. Birds scatter from the trees, and the will-o-wisps blink out. I do not care who or what hears me, and neither, it seems, does Czerwony.

A dry laugh bubbles in her throat, and she guides me down to kiss her. This time, our embrace is soft and wondering—a slow sipping of lips and gentle nibbles. She strokes my back as Ishiver against her, ending our kiss only to nuzzle her cheeks and kiss a sweet line down her throat. The place where I bit her is red and raw. Blood beads and draws ribbons over her creamy skin, blending perfectly with the red of her cloak.

The mark will bruise and scab. It will likely scar, and the thought fills me with an inordinate sense of pride—a sense ofmine.

“Admiring your work?” Czerwony asks.

I lift my head to take her in, a wonder growing in me that is as foreign as every other sensation she granted my body.

“I think it may scar.”

Heat fills her eyes, and her cheeks flush. “Good.”

Kissing me sweetly, she untangles our legs and scoots away to stand. I follow, grabbing her arm as my legs shake beneath me, earning another wolfish grin. Emboldened, I draw her close, tucking the cloak over her shoulders before wrapping my arms around her.

“What sort of monster are you?” I ask when I am sure she cannot run away.

“Not a monster.” Czerwony ducks her head, looking to the side. “A familiar.”

The phrase, like so much of this evening, is a stranger to me. I draw a claw down her jaw, sweeping her hair behind her ear and waiting until she looks at me to venture my guess. “The witch?”

It would make sense. We stand in a circle of stone covered in witch-blessed runes, after all.

Czerwony nods. “She is too old to reach the village, and the villagers will not treat with …”

“With a wolf.” This I understand. It took years for me to gain what passes for their trust. “That was you in the wood?” Another nod and the pieces fall into place. I heard the soft padding of feet around my shelter as I slept and dreamt of her scent. “You kept my watch.”

“You were injured because of me.” She shrugs.

---