Page 49 of Fated Exile

It casts the entire assembled pack in the light of its warmth. All around us, werewolves drunk on wine and hope watch and wait with bated breath to see the first mating ceremony that will happen on Glass Pack territory for years. They wait to see if I'll die after I join myself with one of my fated males, or if I live to survive to another day.

Normally by now they'd be headed home with their mates, to celebrate the day in the privacy of their homes, or maybe to just find a shadowed bush or sheltered tree somewhere and do as the wolves do. But there's a palpable tension in the air tonight, a weight to what is about to happen.

Meeting Roarke's eyes, I'm struck by the reflection of the moon in his pupils. He's looking at me but not quite meeting my gaze, a shocking red warmth traveling from his collarbones to his neck and cheeks. There's hunger to the quirk of his lips but concern in his brow, as all around us the weight of the pack's fate hangs in the balance.

A throat clears. I hear someone shout out, "Get it started, already."

Roarke raises a brow. "I suppose waiting doesn't make it any—"

"Hold on just a second." The voice is familiar, full of warmth and humor. I search the crowd for its source, craning my head past Roarke. "The Mating Circle typically picks which mates go first by lighting up the color of their threads when they step close to each other. And right now, I see..."

The voice draws closer, warm flames licking the side of Finn's face as he steps close enough to reach out and touch me. I gasp as he raises his hands and stretches his fingers out towards me, silver-white threads leaping from the tips of his fingers.

"I see a clear choice." His voice lowers and thickens, roughened and pitched for my ears only. "You didn't think I wouldn't go first, did you, Dollface? Someone has to warm you up with an orgasm or three before therealdeal starts."

I swallow, glancing over only to find that Roarke has melted into the shadows.

Blinking, I smile a little at the easy confidence on Finn's face, and take a step towards him until threads jump from my fingers as well.

In a low whisper, I ask, "What do you think the color of them means?"

"Let's make love and find out."

Twenty

Delilah

Finn's outstretched fingers skim against mine, and my pulse skips an entire beat. I feel the spark of his touch on my skin, electrifying every inch on me. The hair on my arms stands on end and crackles with energy.

Silver-white threads surge between us. They wrap around our legs and arms and pool at our feet. He takes a step forward, and I do the same, mirroring his movements instinctually.

"There are so many people watching," I murmur. "I haven't seen many mating ceremonies up close, but usually most of the pack heads home, and only the alpha and the elders stick around to watch. But they're so... riveted."

"It's you that they're watching, Delilah." He pushes my maroon hair over my shoulder, his warm brown fingers skimming my skin. "They want to see your beauty and glory. And make sure that you survive."

Licking my lips, I glance around us. My eyes are on the pack at first, some of them faded into the shadows, others lit by the dancing torchlight. But something catches my eyes: a distant, silver-white gleam of threads dancing around the surface of the statue of Elder Rae. The statue stands on the North edge of the Mating Circle, marking the direction of the North Star.

I glance down, and my breath hitches at the sight of the threads surging beneath our feet towards the elder statue. Or is the light surging from the statue towards us? It's impossible to tell the difference, but the energy is distinct and strange.

"Elder Rae," I murmur, glancing up into Finn's face as he tugs me towards him and nuzzles my forehead. His warm lips press against my cheek, and I shiver, though the torchlight and dancing flames have slicked my skin with sweat. "The statue... it's lighting up with our threads..."

"That explains things." His hand dips to my lower waist and pull me against him. "Elder Rae was the strong and silent type. He practiced meditation and looking inward. His theories of self-control and self-assuredness helped werewolves everywhere learn how to better control the shift and keep packs safe from violence."

I shiver again as he presses his mouth against my neck. My eyes flutter closed, and when I open them, it feels as if the pack has melted away around us. At first I think it's just because I'm so focused on the soft sensations of Finn's body against mine and the anticipation curling in my gut, until I realize that they reallyhavefaded away. That semblance of privacy I insisted Cat give me has settled into place.

Roarke's mind skims against mine, and I let him in to hear his voice, which is clear and distinct in my head.I thought you two should get the chance to start things up on your own. But we'll be here. Watching. Waiting.

I swallow, the heat in his voice stroking through me even as the heat of Finn's body presses against my chest. Mouthing a silentthanks,I send the thought out and close up my mind, drawing my awareness back entirely so that every sensation is focused inward, on what Finn is subtly doing to me.

His hands fall to my hips, curving around them softly. The brown skin of his arms is licked by the warmth of the torchlight and surges with silver threads that dance in the corners of my vision. I inhale and smell the scent of smoke and ash, deep vanilla and sweet coconut.

Finn nips lightly at the skin of my neck and pushes his fingers up beneath my shirt. Something surges within me, and I feel the hunger of my wolf lash against my skin. As he sucks my flesh between his teeth and bruises it lightly, a wound that will disappear in seconds from my werewolf healing, I feel a growl rumble against my throat.

His wolf answers with a growl of its own, the heavy rumble of his chest vibrating against me. Our eyes meet, his irises flicking towards the silver of his wolf. I'm suddenly aware of the clothes separating us, the heat licking over us, thousands of threads pulling us together and ancient stones dragging us down.

"I want you, Delilah. You make me feel things that I've never felt before. And I think I make you feel things, too, that being with me helps you accept yourself for who you are."

The words are murmured against my lips as he reaches for my jeans and lightly tugs them down, his strong hands grasping my thighs and parting them so he can push my clothing to my ankles. My own hands rise up to his waist, pushing up beneath his shirt, my fingers digging into taut muscles and brown skin. He feels hot to the touch, and I gasp as he kicks my jeans away, the sound turning into a faint growl of pleasure.

---