Chapter 2

M y pulse hammers in my throat and my core floods with heat. I sense them letting their pheromones run rampant and welcome it. Not that I need any chemical assistance wanting my mates—not by a long shot. It just makes it that much more enjoyable.

Fin presses his big body up against my back, his nose and lips at my left ear. His fingers curl into the hem of my shirt and peel it up. I lift my arms over my head, and he whips it off, tossing it aside. His fingertips trail down my sides, making me gasp and squirm at the ticklish touch. I sense Stirling in front of me—the shadows are so thick around us that we can't see anything at all. They're my shadows—a trick I discovered after trying to replicate Raphael's shadow-link: I can summon shadows, play with them, guide them, use them, and manipulate them.

Stirling's hand grasps my waist and his lips touch my navel, tongue dipping in, eliciting another shivering gasp, followed by a giggle. Fin works the clasp of my bra and the undergarment slides forward; Fin catches it and flings it away. Stirling unbuttons my jeans and drags the zipper down. I feather my fingers into his hair, scraping my fingertips against his scalp.

Fin's hands smooth around my sides to my belly and glide up to cup my breasts, lifting them and letting them drop heavily before pinching my nipples. I whimper as Stirling yanks my jeans down with sudden, rough aggression, turning them inside out as they catch at my knees. I jerk my foot out of one leg and then the other, and then Stirling is sliding my panties off, and I'm naked for them.

Stirling catches my left leg behind the knee, pulling it up so I'm forced to balance on one leg—Fin curls a strong hand around the back of my thigh, pinning my leg against my belly. And then, before I know what's happening, he has my other leg as well, and now I'm helpless in his arms, his broad hard chest at my back and his powerful, gentle hands holding me up with my thighs splayed open.

Stirling's mouth huffs a hot, blooded breath over my sex, and then his tongue laps against my seam. I whimper, launching my arms up over my head behind me and wrapping them around Fin's head and neck. Stirling's tongue dips inside me, probing deep, and his nose nudges my clit and his hands carve up over my belly to caress my tits.

"Make her scream," Fin murmurs.

"Then hold her still for me," Stirling growls. "She likes to fight."

I play along, fighting against Fin's hold. And the fun part is, we don't really have to worry about holding back. I can thrash and fight as hard as I want and I won't hurt him, and he can hold me as tight as he wants without worrying about the same. So, I really fight, trying to get away using purely physical strength.

But strength is still a function of biology and proportion, and Fin is far, far larger and stronger than me, so he holds me in place without effort.

There's no safe word because we don't need it. They feel me, mentally and emotionally. They know me, inside and out. If I stopped enjoying what they were doing, they'd probably know it before I did.

Stirling licks up my sex rhythmically, slowly, teasing, one hand pinching and rolling one nipple and then the other. I work my hips, seeking more pressure, more tongue, more heat—just more .

"Drink from her," Stirling breathes.

Fin kisses behind my ear, and then the side of my neck, and then his tongue laps against my jugular, and venom sears through me, sinking into my skin and soaking into my bloodstream, and then his fangs hit and pierce. At the same exact time, Stirling's tongue flits against my clit, making me thrash and jerk, and then his tongue weaves around the rim of my hood and pudendum, and then—fuck, fuck, god, his fangs sink into the soft plump flesh above my clit and his mouth fuses around me and he drinks from me and his tongue probes my clit between swallows.

I fight, then, bucking and thrashing as orgasmic pleasure blasts through me. Stirling is busy—not just drinking, but touching, pinching, rolling my nipples until they ache and pulse, and his other hand traces under his chin, down my sex. He scoops a finger into my clenching channel, pulling wetness out. He smears it in a thick hot line down my taint to my asshole and then over the tight knot of muscle—pushes, gently.

"Oh, fuck, Stirling—god!" I cry out, already on the brink of climax.

Fin drinks from me, great, glutting gulps of my fae blood. I scrabble at his head, pull on his hair, tipping my head to the side to give him all the access to my throat he needs. I feel my body responding to him, feel my blood pulse hot and thick, rushing through my veins, eager to find his mouth—and Stirling's.

I groan low in my throat as Stirling's finger slips inside me, bit by bit—readying me for him. He sips my blood for a moment or two and then withdraws his fangs and licks the cuts closed, and then his tongue lashes my clit with hungry fury.

I come with a scream, thrashing wildly against Fin's implacable, loving hold. Stirling's knuckles bump against my bottom, and then he pulls it slowly outward, tongue flicking faster than ever. My orgasm bursts apart into a million individual quaking instants—Fin's lips against my skin, the aching pierce of his sharp fangs inside me, his hands keeping my thighs open for his brother, Stirling's finger driving into me and pulling out with gradually increasing speed, his other hand toying with my breasts, and his mouth worshiping my pussy, lips fused and tongue ravenous and wild.

I feel prana surge, and I give over to impulse—I lighten my body. I feel Stirling and Fin do the same, and then I call upon the wind again, and we float up off the floor. The currents play beneath us in geysers and torrents, and we twist in mid-air. Fin rotates to his back and now we lay upon nothing, upon the air of my magic, and Stirling stretches out and the shadows boil and swirl, and there's only us, only the sensations of my mates around me, beneath me, loving me, worshiping me.

I fumble behind my back and find the fly of Fin's jeans. Rip at it. Shove the zipper down and plunge my hand behind his underwear to grip his hot hard cock. He growls against my throat as I caress him, forefinger and thumb sliding down to his root where I open my hands to cup his taut soft balls—this gets me a half-laughed groan as he drinks from me.

"Let me taste you," I whisper. "Please, Fin."

"Put us down," he answers, closing my skin where his fangs were.

I guide us over the bed and pull the wind back into me. We settle on the mattress, and I feel Fin pull away and undress. Stirling does the same, and I banish the shadows so I can see them. Naked, Fin kneels to one side, and Stirling, kicking away his jeans and underwear, rolls to his knees on the other.

I shuffle closer to them, cupping Stirling's face in one hand while pulling Fin in for a kiss with the other; Stirling palms my face.

"My turn," he growls and claims my mouth.

They playfully pretend to fight over me, then, pulling and pushing me back and forth, trading kisses until I'm breathless.

I pull back, and press my thumbs to both their lips, grinning. " My turn," I breathe.

I trail my hands down their chests and stomachs, over their hard, rippling abs, and clutch their cocks. Fin growls and Stirling groans as I caress their lengths. I stroke them in unison, licking Fin's nipple, and then Stirling's…Fin's navel, and then Stirling's…sinking to sit on my shins, I caress Stirling's length with a slow twist as I wrap my lips around Fin.

Stirling works my hair free of the braid and slides his fingers through my luminous white locks, sending it cascading around my shoulders before gathering it and wrapping it around his fist. He applies gentle, coaxing pressure, encouraging me to slide my lips down Fin's length. I pull up and work Fin's thick, throbbing root with my hand as I transfer my mouth to Stirling, swallowing around his pulsing length.

Back and forth, then, caressing one while taking the other in my mouth, teasing and teasing, only giving them each one slow, tongue-swirling slide of my lips around their hard, begging cocks.

When I taste the tang of pre-cum beading on their tips, I pull away, gaze up at them, licking my lips and pumping my hands around their cocks from root to glans.

"I think she's ready for us," Fin murmurs, caressing my cheek. "Are you ready, Maeve?"

"Maybe," I say, licking a bead of pre-cum from his tip. "Depends on what you're gonna give me."

He wraps a hand around my nape and pulls me closer to him, claiming my mouth and reaching between our bodies to hook a finger inside me, plunging it deep, smearing my essence against my clit before adding a second finger, and then a third. I moan into his mouth as he works me to the cusp of climax with his fingers, his tongue dancing with mine. Stirling kisses my shoulder between my shoulder blades and then shifts to kneel behind me and licks my throat on the opposite side of where Fin drank from me. The venom throws me over the edge and I come, squeezing hard around Fin's fucking fingers, and at the moment of climax Stirling smears his saliva against my asshole and presses a finger inside me, and I shatter even harder, screaming into Fin's mouth as I lose myself in wild rapture.

Shaking and shuddering, I topple down the other side of orgasm, caressing Fin's hot length. He pushes the fat soft head of his cock to my entrance.

"Want it?" he whispers into my whimper.

"Mmm-hmm!" is all I can manage, panting and gasping.

"How about this?" Stirling whispers in my ear. I hear a crack of a plastic lid and hear his fist sliding slick around his length, and then feel warm wetness coat my rear entrance, and then Stirling presses against me.

"Ohhhhhhhh fuck—fuck, yes. Yes. Please yes," I say, breathes with anticipation.

Fin moves to his back and brings me with him to kneel over him, knees and shins beside his hips; Stirling kneels tall behind me, hands caressing my back, my sides, my hips, my ass cheeks. I groan as Fin surges deep in a quick, powerful thrust—he bottoms out inside me, his hands cupping my heavy, aching, swaying breasts. Stirling, meanwhile, eases in with delicate gentility, gripping my hips. I whine high in my throat as Stirling fills me, and then his hips clap lightly against my ass and I can barely breathe, hyperventilating at the wild fullness of having them both inside me.

"Oh fuck, my loves," I breathe. "So good—you feel so good."

Stirling remains still, buried deep inside my ass, and Fin slowly pulls almost out, fluttering a few short, teasing strokes before driving in once more. I lean over him, crushing my breasts against the hard anvil of his chest, pushing my hips high and back—begging silently for more.

Fin carves his hands down my sides to grip my ass cheeks and holds me apart so Stirling can slide deeper. "She wants more, brother," he growls. "She needs you to fuck her."

"Is that true, my mate?" Stirling whispers.

"Y-yes," I stammer, aching with need. "Please."

"Please, what, my love? Tell me what you need."

"You," I answer, pushing back into him. "Fuck me. Fuck my asshole, Stirling. I need it."

He squirts more lube onto us where we're joined, and then slides almost out, pausing, and then driving in while Fin pulls out.

I cry out as they move, my fingers knotting in the sheet with desperate strength, so overwhelmed that all I can do is breathe and take it. Stirling slides home while Fin hesitates with just his tip nuzzled between my nether lips, and then Stirling pulls out, and now I'm almost empty and aching for my mates to fill me again. Before I can beg, they give me what I need—both of them thrusting deep in synch. I scream, pressing my torso lower and pushing back into them. I dig my clawed fingers into Fin's chest, dragging my lips against his sternum.

"Again," I whimper. "Please. Again. Don't stop, my loves. Please don't stop."

Moving in perfect unison, they draw back and this time plunge in without pause, and the fullness chokes my breath and makes my pulse hammer. They bottom out inside me with a slap of flesh against flesh. Stirling braces his hands on my back at the top of my ass while Fin pulls at my hips, and now they find a new rhythm—alternating once more.

Fuck, I don't know which I like better.

"You're gonna come for us, aren't you?" Fin says.

"You're gonna come hard," Stirling orders.

"Together," I gasp. "All of us together."

But I can't help it. I can't stop it. The climax builds inside me with volcanic force, and I'm powerless to hold it back. I press my mouth to Fin's pec and envenomate him and sink my fangs into his muscle, tasting his blood as it floods my mouth in a slow hot sweet seep. I cry out and feel myself clenching and spasming as my orgasm builds and builds, and Fin and Stirling are losing themselves to their own individual releases, fucking me in alternation, and it's too much, so beautifully too much and I can't take it and I love it and I can't breathe can't scream can't move can only pull at Fin's blood and whimper between swallows.

Fin draws his knees up and levers into me harder than ever, driving and thrusting with mad abandon, grunting my name in a soft, ragged chant. Stirling drapes over me, gripping my hair and one shoulder for leverage as he slaps into me, his mouth stuttering at my spine, pressing slow desperate kisses as he reaches his release.

Mine is the trigger for theirs. I feel it. I lose myself to it, throw myself willingly over the edge, driving my ass backward to get more of them, to take them harder, deeper. Screaming, I come. I feel it explode in my core, billowing waves of heat that tingle through my fingers and toes and scalp, stars bursting behind my eyes. I feel myself clamp hard around them, and they grunt and groan at the taut pulsing tightness of me around their surging cocks.

Fin comes with a shout, throwing his head back and arching up off the bed, thrusting into me with rough desperation. Stirling is next, pushing me apart and leaning backward to push as deep as he can go, releasing while buried deep, growling as he comes, pushing deeper and deeper as he explodes inside me.

Through it all, my orgasm continues, each of their releases triggering me to come harder, or come again, until I'm fraught with a climax so intense I weep from it, sobbing as they slow their thrusts.

When we've all recovered, Stirling very slowly eases out of me, and then Fin. Stirling scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bathing chamber. There, they wash me, soaping my curves, massaging my muscles, and cleaning away the spill of their seed.

Once we're clean, Fin wraps me in an oversized bath sheet and carries me back to bed. I lay on my back and pull them both close, cradling them to my breast, one on each side, and together we drowse in the midday warmth.

I must have dozed off because I wake to cold marble wrapping around me, Alistair's familiar pipe tobacco and coppery blood scent washing over me.

I blink awake, finding myself cradled in his arms, the bath sheet discarded. His fingers trace from jaw to temple and over my ear, nudging my hair away from my face. His eyes, laced with delicate swallowing black, fix on mine.

"Hello, love." His voice is quiet. "Okay?"

I nuzzle closer, slipping my thigh between his. "More than okay. I'm wonderful, especially now that you're here."

"It was good? With Fin and Stirling?"

I grin up at him. "It was incredible." I sift my fingers through his hair. "How long was I asleep?"

"An hour or so." He runs a finger over the lines of white-and-gold ink inscribed on my skin, following them as they arc over my shoulders and down my arms, back up to my chest, in concentric spirals around my breasts. "I've made flight arrangements."

"Mmmmm." I close my eyes and focus on the icy burn of his unblooded touch. "When and where?"

"A friend has a private jet that will fit you all. You leave at midnight from an airfield outside Manchester." He cups a breast, nuzzles it with his nose and lips. "You'll fly into Atlanta—that's the closest I could get you. Every other airport is closed, and I have a feeling Atlanta will close soon."

"Atlanta? Guess we'll have to find a car and road trip north."

"Mmmm. Sorry. I know it's not ideal, but international travel, by commercial air at least, is going to be difficult, if not impossible in the weeks and months to come."

"Thank you for arranging it, Alistair."

"Mmmm," he hums again, his mouth now otherwise occupied by kissing circles around my nipple. "Anything for you."

"Anything?" I whisper.

"Anything."

I roll to my back and bring him over me. "Then make love to me, Alistair."

He gazes down at me with void-black eyes exuding his love. "I really wish you didn't have to leave," he murmurs.

"Me too." I caress his lips and then prick my thumb on his fang and slide it into his mouth. "How will you feed while I'm gone?"

We have a stock of pouches laid up , he answers mentally. London isn't far, also. The chaos will make hunting easy.

He captures my wrist and licks the pad of my thumb. His hand scoops under my head and his tongue slides over my pulse—the bubbling heat of his venom makes my pulse race and my sex gush with wet heat.

He's cold and unblooded, a frigid block of ice burning against my hot, flushed skin—a delicious contrast. I sift my fingers through his hair again and press him to my throat—with exquisite delicacy, he punctures my flesh and slides his fangs into my vein, and his fingers find my sex. I feel the first flush of warmth stain his stone-slick skin with the initial taste of my blood.

"Drink your fill of me, my love," I breathe, cradling him to me.

He growls in pleasure between swallows, an animal sound that sends ripples of arousal through me. Marble slowly softens to flesh, and I reach between us and find his manhood, the last part of him to receive the flush of blood. It warms under my hand, and I caress him, feeling him hardening. Within seconds, he's fully erect.

I guide him to me, nestle him between my lips—he sinks into me without hesitation, and we both groan in unison. I cup his ass in my hands and pull at him, then wrap my thighs around his hips and hook my heels behind his back.

"Love me, Alistair," I whisper. "Give me something to dream of while we're apart."

Now drawing slow, careful sips of my blood, he thrusts into me. I gasp as he fills me, pulling at my blood in time with his thrusts.

Maeve, my love. You are my world. You know that, don't you?

I feel blood tears prickle at his words. "I do, my beloved. I know. And you're mine."

He loves me, then, with slow, delicate passion, taking my blood as he takes my body, groaning raggedly as if each sip and each thrust is a gift.

I bury my face in his throat and press my lips to his pulse, arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him with each thrust, my hips rising to meet his.

My climax rises slowly, building by degrees. Time loses meaning. Alistair withdraws his fangs and closes the wound, and then his mouth finds mine, hot and ripe with copper; he kisses me deeply, and I feel him reaching his release. My own rises to meet his—he drives with increasing speed into me as he closes in on his climax, and I gasp in his ear and my fingers claw into his back as mine surges and pulses to a breathtaking crescendo.

"Maeve!" Alistair says, his voice shaking and breathless.

"God, Alistair!" I cry in answer.

When we come, it's in soul-shattering unison, his breathless moans matching my whimpering wails.

The stars shudder, and my soul winds around his, and I feel his mind tangle with mine, showing me the depths of his love for me with such direct, open vulnerability that I can only weep and show him my own, opening my mind to his.

I feel a connection to him that nearly eclipses the day we bloodmated—even without tasting his blood, his memories swirl through me—a childhood on these very grounds, chasing hounds and riding horses, a stern, cold, hard father and a distant, aloof mother, mortal servant men and women filling the halls with life and busyness—servants who doubled as playthings for his parents; Paris in a bygone age of carriages and powdered wigs, London by night, narrow streets lit by torches and fearful mortals scurrying through shadows, and Boston echoing with the tromp of redcoat boots; a beautiful blonde mortal woman with admiring blue eyes; that same blond woman curled in bed, listless with trauma; later, begging him for a child, consequences be damned; Libby swollen with child, skin pale and drawn tight to sharp cheekbones; a screaming, bloody birth; desperate months as she clung to life, fading into death as the baby grows; a mound of brown soil, a wooden cross, and wailing child on the hip of a vampire nursemaid; a towheaded young boy scampering through the forest, growing into a slender, thoughtful young man; a note from a friend held in trembling fingers, dropped to the floor as grief overwhelms; a much younger Stirling, and then Phineas, and then a vast, dim, wild forest and Caspian, naked, dirty, and feral…

Memory after memory flows through me, and I realize he's actively sharing them with me, giving me himself, leaving no secret untold.

Slowly, the flashflood of memory subsides, and once more it's just Alistair and me cocooned in silence, breathing in ragged gasps.

He gives me his weight, and I hold him.

"Thank you for that, Alistair," I whisper, toying with the slightly too-long hair at the back of his neck. "I love you so much."

"You deserve all of me," he answers. "Hearing me tell it is one thing, but seeing it for yourself…"

"It's a gift, Alistair. Your memories are a precious gift."

He rolls to his side next to me. "You're the gift. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I shall not argue with the Fates."

"Nor shall I." A soft, contented silence follows. I break it with a question. "The Fates…are they real? Or are they like the old Greek gods, something people believe in and swear by?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Depends on who you ask. I've always believed them to be…myths based on some distant reality, like King Arthur. Are there real Fates out there? Maybe. I've never met them, and I've never heard of anyone who has, nor read any source even suggesting they're real figures. Are the Fates myth or legend? As far as I know, no one knows."

"This time with you means more than I can say, Alistair. I'll miss you."

"We'll be in touch via the bloodlink, of course," he murmurs, nuzzling the underside of my jaw. "But it won't be the same, will it?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Damned responsibilities, eh?"

"Damned responsibilities indeed."

We lapse into silence for a long time. Eventually, we make love again, this time even more slowly—there's no blood drinking or memory sharing. It's just love, shared and made, a union of heart, mind, and body.

When we're done, he sighs. "Best begin preparing for your journey, Maeve."

I growl in irritation. "I don't want to." I nuzzle closer. "I want to stay here, just like this, with you."

He laughs. "I know. Me too. But duty calls."

"Duty can go fuck itself."

Another laugh. "Maeve."

I groan. "Fine. But I don't have to like it."