Page 29 of Fated Protector

My supposed Mate is up and about, pacing the length of the room like a madman. He looks up when we enter the room, his expression is carefully neutral, but his eyes sweeping frantically over the two of us. Will goes to Jack and picks his brother up in a bone-crushing hug. Jack hugs him back, and when they break apart, they both have a wet sheen to their eyes. They almost lost each other last night.

"Okay, now that you are good and healed," I say, pointing an index finger at the front door. "I want you out of here."

Jack's eyes widen, and Will lets out a low chuckle. "You heard the lady, Jack. Time to leave the premises.”

"But, Princess –" Jack says in protest, but I shake my head at him.

"I need time alone. Time to think. Time without you breathing down my neck all the time."

"But I like breathing down your neck!" says Jack, attempting a flirty smile that falls when I shoot him a menacing glare.

"I'll repeat it. Go away. I know I'll be safe because I know there's no chance of you going more than a block from here if I'm that lucky. But I want to be alone."

Will already has one foot out the door, and Jack sends me a sorrowful look before he hangs his head and follows his brother, leaving me alone in the bookstore for the first time in days.

I quickly slip through the fireplace door, heading into the magical side of the building. I skim the shelves until I find the book Will mentioned, but another one catches my eye.The Strange History of Magical Objects.I wonder if it contains anything about the vampire’s amulet in there. I snatch it up with the other book and take them upstairs for some afternoon reading. Within a few minutes, I'm cackling to myself, finding precisely what Will had talked about in the book on Rougarous. I rifle through my purse to get the supplies I need and prepare for Jack's inevitable return.

It isn’t long. Within twenty minutes, Jack is banging on the door to the stairwell that goes to the apartment. Inside, I sit on the stairs, patiently waiting. After a moment, the knock stops, and he lets out a litany of curses. I swing the door open and look down to find Jack sitting cross-legged in front of thirteen copper pennies. He's staring at them, counting under his breath, but every time he gets past the twelfth penny, he mutters “Fuck!” and starts again. He looks up at me with fierce eyes.

"Of all the legends about Rougarous," I say lightly, "this one is the one that's true. And it isawesome."

"So, the thing about Mate bonds," he growls, "Is that I want to jump your bones, but I kinda want to strangle you too."

I burst into laughter as he shakes his head and starts counting the coins again. Apparently, Rougarous are dispersed by the sight of thirteen pennies because they are compelled to sit down and count them. Unfortunately, every time they get to thirteen, they become confused and have to start all over again. I don't know why, but that's just how it is. It's definitely more useful to me than the legend about Lent.

"Keep counting, buddy," I say, heading back up the stairs with lighter footsteps. "I'll be back to check on you later." He bites out more curses, and I head upstairs to start my dinner.

* * *

After dinner,I find that my need for revenge has cooled. I stretch languidly, then head down the stairs, sitting on one about halfway through. At the bottom of the stairs, Jack has completely given up sitting cross-legged and is just sprawled next to the pennies, head resting on his arm as he counts.

“One..two..” he mumbles, sounding like a rejected Sesame Street character. “Three..four…”

“Okay, champ,” I say, and he glances up at me. “I could ask you to do this in French and Spanish too, and you’d probably do it for me, but I think you’ve had enough for the day.”

He narrows his eyes. “Five…six…” I hurry to the bottom stair, just within reach of him, and pick up one of the pennies, putting it in my pocket. He sits up in a flash, looking down at the pennies. “Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!” he shouts, then he turns on me. I realize I’m about to be tackled by a very angry but very horny Rougarou.

He lunges at me, pinning my arms against the stairs with one hand. “You,cher, are a pain in my ass.” He swats at my ass from the side to punctuate his sentence. The heat in his gaze makes me instantly wet and squirming. He rolls his hips against me, his thick cock as hard as steel through the denim.

Jack leans close to my ear. “You wanna count?” he growls. “Then let’s count.” He bites at the side of my neck, sucking his mark into my skin before pulling away almost violently. “That’s one.”

He lets go of my wrists, only to yank at my waistband, snapping the button clean off. It clatters on the floor behind us, and he gives me a naughty smile. “That’s two.” He holds up each of his hands to me, and I watch in astonishment as the nails turn to claws. He rakes them down the sides of my pants, and the fabric falls to the stairs in tatters.

“Three, he says, moving to my damp panties. He leans forward, inhales the wet cotton, and his eyes flash like molten gold. “Mine,” he growls, and I know I’m not imagining the slight lengthening of his canine teeth.

“Y-yours,” I stammer. With one fist, he grabs the seam with his claws and shreds my underwear, and my back arches at the intensity of it all. He may make me come just by his savage behavior alone.

His claws subside back to nails, and he grabs onto each of my thighs, pulling them apart and baring me to his hot gaze. The action is so quick that he nearly knocks my knees against the sides of the stairwell, and the muscles in my thighs tremble as wet heat pools between them. “Four,” he snarls, and then he dives in.

He runs one long finger along my seam, coating himself in my wetness. I arch at the sensation, and he shakes his head. “Don’t make me hold your wrists again.” He leans back with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Or I could tie them.”

“Jack,” I pant, any remaining dignity lost to the throes of sensation racking my body. “Please.”

“Sure, princess,” he says. He presses a wide thumb to my clit, applying perfect pressure while swirling in tight, clockwise movements. He presses two fingers into me with his other hand, and I buck against the twin forces. And then, his tongue replaces his thumb, and I’m a goner.

His tongue flicks over my clit, back and forth in teasing, calculated movements. Each one is almost like a physical strike, and I clench against his fingers every time. My hands, no longer held back, grab onto the stairs as my belly twists with pleasure. He nips the sensitive nerves with his teeth, grinning up at me, his mouth slick and swollen. “Five,” he says against my core, letting his warm breath tease the oversensitized flesh.

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the coming wave of pleasure, to make myself last just a little longer. Still, he plunders and explores me until I’m thrusting against his mouth, mumbling nonsense words and pleading for more. He adds a third finger, and as he does, he flattens his tongue against my clit. I crash into convulsions of ecstasy, twisting and writhing against him as he sucks me through my orgasm. When I catch my breath, he grins at me. “Six,” he says lazily, flicking my clit as punctuation until the tension starts ramping up again deep in my belly.

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