Page 32 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

Was it seconds or hours later that he dreamed she was calling his name? The dull glow of sunlight through his window…he raised a hand to shield his eyes, still half asleep. Claire’s voice, he’d dreamed he’d heard Claire’s voice. It filled him with an impossible sadness and an impossible joy, all at once. Even if she was gone, it gave him some comfort to know he could still dream of her—

“Darion, what the hell?”

His eyes slid open. He wasn’t dreaming. He was lying on his bed, fully dressed, in clothes that had definitely seen better days—before he’d spent a solid week in the forest fighting demons by himself, that was. But that wasn’t what was important right now. What was important was the woman whose head was resting on his shoulder, and clearly had been for some time, judging by the unbelievably uncomfortable waves of pins and needles that were rushing up and down his arm.

“I was meant to forget everything,” she was muttering, her voice raspy with sleep but still snapping with vexation. “What did you do? Did you mess it up somehow? Answer me,” she added sharply, and he uttered an undignified yelp as she grabbed his elbow in a shower of pins and needles. “What?”

“My arm’s asleep,” he managed with some difficulty, disoriented and bewildered and feeling a sudden, shocking burst of hope threatening to overwhelm him. “Claire. Claire, you remember me.”

“Yeah, that’s the blasted problem. Where’s Anessi? Where’s the rest of the lorekeepers?” She was frowning as she pivoted to pin him with those impossibly dark eyes. “Why are you still covered in demon blood, you grub?”

He couldn’t help it. Something inside him burst—something that had been under far too much pressure for far too long, something that had at last given way at this final, absurd straw. Claire stared at him, utterly nonplussed, as a wave of laughter rushed through him. It was a strange sound at first, uneven and halting like a gate that had all but rusted shut, but the more she stared at him with that mixture of confusion and disapproval, the more laughter seemed to well up in him. And finally, when he was howling fit to burst, he saw her lips twitch upwards too, and knew that everything was going to be alright.

“Explain yourself,” she said sharply, jabbing him in his still-tingling shoulder once his gales of laughter had subsided. “What have you done with Darion? Did the lorekeeper take your memories instead, or something?”

“No,” he managed, shaking his head. “No, Claire, listen—we’re soulmates. You’re my soulmate. That’s why.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, two spots of bright pink color appearing in her cheeks. “Um,” she started. “Not that I don’t have—several follow-up questions—but what exactly does that have to do with anything?”

“The spell.” He was so giddy he could barely breathe. “The lorekeeper’s spell, she said it was rigged not to work if we were soulmates. She cleared away your memories, but they were preserved by the magic of it.”

Claire was still staring at him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me that my memories were saved by the power of love,” she said, enunciating each word clearly and precisely. “Because in that case, I would have to make fun of you for about nine hours, and I genuinely don’t think I have the energy. Soulmate,” she muttered, cutting him a sharp look. “About time you admitted it.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m—I was an idiot. Iaman idiot,” he added, pleased by the slight twitch of her lips at that.

“I dreamed that you apologized,” she said after a brief pause. “I dreamed that…that you talked rather a lot, actually. Probably more words than you’ve ever said to me, all in one hit. It was impressive.”

“I…may have talked to you in your sleep, a lot.” He pushed through the embarrassment. Right now, he was too grateful that she remembered him to waste any time on feeling embarrassed. “I thought you were…gone.”

“So did I,” she said softly. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up here instead. With dried demon blood on my favorite top,” she added, grimacing as she sat all the way up. “What is it with you and ruining my clothes? Shower. Now.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Darion almost stumbled in his haste to get into the bathroom, tearing his gore-soaked clothes from his body and dumping them straight into the bin while he waited for the water to heat up. What he hadn’t expected was for the unmistakable silhouette of Claire to step into the bathroom after him…and his heart skipped a beat when he saw that she was every bit as naked as he was. She stepped into the shower cubicle with him, her dark eyes fixed on his face, and it took every drop of willpower he had left not to grab her right then and there and pin her against the tiled wall behind them.

She tilted her head, a faint smirk on her pretty lips as she gazed challengingly up at him, for all the world as though she could read his thoughts. Maybe she could, he thought faintly. He’d learned a lot over the last few days about just how powerful the soulmate bond could be. And if she could read his mind, that would explain how she was able to wrap her arms around him and touch him in all the spots where he wanted her most. She was steadfast in her efforts, lathering up the washcloth again and again to scrub dirt and dried blood from his body. There was no hiding the effect it was having on him, no pretending that his moans were sounds of pain and not pleasure. Not when he was as naked as the day he was born, his manhood achingly hard and brushing only very occasionally against the warmth of her skin.

All intentional, of course. Any doubt he’d had that she was teasing him vanished with one glance at that wicked smile of hers.

By the time she’d finished helping him wash himself, he was so consumed with desire that he was genuinely worried he might pass out. He even swayed a little when he stepped out of the shower, and when Claire stepped to his side to steady him, he seized his chance, swooping down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss. She made a sound of protest, and for a moment he thought she was going to pull away…but then she was kissing him back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, and when he heard her breathing picking up, he knew he had her exactly where he wanted her. Dizzy or not, his strength hadn’t gone anywhere, and he grinned against her lips as he scooped her off the ground and into his arms. It was a little like the way he’d carried her home from the community center, but this time, she was a much more enthusiastic participant in the journey.

And she had another trick up her sleeve when they reached the bed again. He moved to lay her down, intending to pin her beneath him, but she twisted and writhed with surprising strength, reversing the position he’d intended so that he was lying on his back and she was sitting astride him, straddling his waist with her palms flat against his chest. A flash of the afternoon they’d spent together in this very room, in this very bed, what felt like a hundred years ago…according to his aching cock, at least, it had been far, far too long.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, I remember this one.”

“So do I, thank God,” she said, her smile as brilliant as the sun. And before he could so much as kiss her again, she’d positioned herself above him and then slid herself down in one smooth movement, engulfing his cock and making him arch his back helplessly with the shock of sensation that ran through him. He seized her hips in his hands as she rolled herself back and forth, agonizingly slow, as though experimenting with the angles. The nonchalant smile on her face didn’t fool him, however. He could feel her hips trembling, hear how quickly she was breathing. They’d only had a day or so together, but he was a quick study—and how could he not remember the signs that she was getting close to her climax, when they were so unbelievably sexy?

She wasn’t alone, of course. Every teasing caress in the shower had inched him that little bit closer to the edge, and having the heat of her engulf him in one fell swoop would have been enough to push him right over if he hadn’t been deliberately holding himself back. But he wasn’t going to let this be over so soon. Claire was breathing hard, holding herself up with the press of her palms against his chest. He reached up to kiss her, hard and sweet, and she lowered her torso to deepen the kiss as she rocked and ground her hips against him, sending fresh pleasure through them both with every movement. He was moaning with every jerk of his hips, thrusting himself up to meet her momentum, grimly aware that there was only so long he could keep doing this before his building orgasm escaped his control. But he didn’t have to wait too long, not judging by Claire’s breathing, by the distant, unfocused look in her eyes, by the way she was shuddering and gasping for breath. They both held on for as long as they could, stubborn to the very end…but somehow, when his orgasm broke over him just before Claire’s hit her, Darion couldn’t bring himself to regret the loss too fiercely.

Not when the most beautiful woman in the world was gasping his name.

Chapter 19 - Claire

This wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured her wedding day, Claire reflected.

Not that it was her wedding day—that would be tomorrow. But the wolves had insisted on a rehearsal even though they had decided to keep the ceremony small, and Claire had come to learn, over the last few months on this island, that wolves took pageantry incredibly seriously. Renfrey had been pacing back and forth at the front of the room all afternoon, murmuring his lines under his breath, wincing whenever he hesitated or made a mistake. Syrra and Lyrie kept having hushed conversations about the decorations, as though a single flower being out of place would spell ruin for the entire island. And Claire had lost track of how many of her guests had come up to her to run their choices of outfits past her. It had been a mistake to mention that one shouldn’t wear white to a wedding. The wolves had extrapolated that simple superstition to mean that any outfit that in any way resembled the bride or groom’s would be a terrible mistake.

“I like Renfrey’s speech,” Darion said softly, leaning down to murmur quietly in her ear.

“Yeah, he really hit his stride in the ninth draft,” she muttered, pleased to hear a soft huff of laughter in response. Darion was laughing a lot more easily these days, but it still felt like a huge victory whenever one of her jokes got a chuckle from him. “Darion, this is a nightmare. I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

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