Cupids Enchantment Read online

  Ilar’s hands were on her back, holding her to his chest. She burned, eager to discover what it was he’d been doing to her body when she awoke with him between her legs. His mouth stole her air until she thought she might pass out. Tentatively, she tried to return his kiss, but his mouth was too much in control to let her take the lead.

  Just when she was sure her world would darken from lack of air, his lips let her go. His eyes filled with liquid gold, promising things she didn’t understand. His nostrils flared. Unfamiliar sensations swirled in her blood. She tasted her blood on her lips, salty and strange.

  Ilar growled, pressing her back until she hit the wall. He dug his hands at her gown, lifting it, baring her smooth legs to his touch. Drawn to feel her heat, he slipped his fingers between her thighs, rubbing insistent and strong over her mound of hair. She was wet and oh so ready for him. He smelled it, felt it, needed it. He moved to lift the bottom of his draping tunic, his arousal ready to push inside her warm body as his mouth had her lips.

  Rhiannon gasped at his forceful ways. He dipped to her neck and, as his lips parted, she saw fangs. Thinking he meant to bite her neck as he had her lips, she screamed. "Stop! Help!"

  Ilar pulled back. Her cry echoed in his head. He wasn’t the only one who’d heard her plea. The mind link jumped with a feverish rampage as the soldiers grunted and growled in an effort to answer her call. They became furious, screaming in his head, howling viciously, snarling and snapping, threatening him--their Commander--with insults and warnings.

  Ilar dropped his hands from her and took a shaky step back. It wasn’t enough. He could still smell her, sense her. His loins throbbed, aching, needing, seeking fulfillment, brimming painfully with a desire only her body could sate. This time stroking himself wouldn’t be enough. She was in his blood and there was no getting her out. It was beyond obsession. It was beyond reason. Never should a man be made to feel such longing, such burning insanity. He shook his head, nearly storming to the door to get away from her.

  His eyes shot golden fire as he turned around to look at her. He was tortured, confused. The howling wouldn’t stop. Even now, his body urged him to go and finish his claiming by any means necessary. He moved toward her, only to hold back in an effort of great restraint. Seeing the blood staining her trembling lips, he said hoarsely, "I’ll have food delivered."

  Ilar moved as if to leave, only to pause, taking great breaths of air. Rhiannon shivered. She wanted to reach for him but kept back. Her limbs felt cold. She didn’t understand what happened inside her body when he was near. All she knew was that she wanted the man-beast to continue what he’d been doing before she panicked.

  "Ilar?" She finally moved as if to touch his rigid shoulder, eager to draw him back into her arms, eager to feel him as he had her. He was breathing heavily, as if in pain. A shudder moved over his spine at her word. He refused to look at her. His body fascinated her, aroused her curiosity beyond measure. Curse her feminine outcries away!

  "No!" The gruff sound made her recoil in fear. The beast was in that voice. She backed away from him. Without further comment, he slammed out the door, locking her inside.

  Rhiannon felt her wet lips, stained with crimson, swollen from his kisses. She sank wearily to her knees. What was that all about? Was she being punished? If so, it was the best punishment she’d ever had. Shaking, she swallowed and licked at her lips, still panting as she tried to still her racing heart. In the future, she’d much rather he just beat her.

  * * * *

  Ilar’s body was stiff from denial. He resented every aching, torturous throb of it. If he thought it would help, he would’ve tried to ease himself from the pain. But, he knew there was no use. He could self-pleasure himself a million times and with one thought of Lady Rhiannon, he’d rise anew. He didn’t like his will being taken away from him like this. He didn’t like attacking women without thought. He wasn’t a monster! But he’d acted like one.

  Closing his eyes, he still felt her, smelled her, heard her. He tasted her blood on his lips, flavored with a tingle of hesitant longing. She wasn’t immune to him. She might be terrified, but she wasn’t immune. It didn’t please him to know that if he wanted, he could seduce her to his bed. It made the temptation to do so that much worse.

  "How is your prisoner?" Larus chuckled darkly, seeing his Commander’s flaring nostrils and blood tinged eyes. By the howling in his head, he knew nothing had happened--well, at least nothing had finished--between the human prisoner and her lycan keeper.

  "We should lock the men in the prisons," Ilar stated gruffly. It was a bold suggestion. His eyes swam with gold and he didn’t bother to control it. He didn’t have the energy left in him.

  Larus lifted a brow. He uncrossed his legs and moved to stand. The main hall was quiet. He’d banished all men from that half of the castle to separate them from the siren. It hadn’t helped. Their cries grew each passing hour. "Do you think you overreact?"

  "She’s too potent. The cries get worse," Ilar said, tortured. He pressed his hands into his temples, trying to drown out the sounds. The only time he had any peace from the screaming was when he touched Rhiannon, and that only brought a worse torture to him. "You have not smelled her so you cannot understand. The curse grows, strengthens. We need to imprison the guards who have been affected by her, if only to protect them from themselves. Their minds grow obsessed with her at each passing moment."

  "And you?" Larus asked, eyeing Ilar’s rigid body and pumping fists, as they clenched and unclenched in growing agitation. The Commander jerked as he moved. He fought hard for his control. "Do you need to be imprisoned?"

  Ilar swallowed. His eyes rolled in his head as he thought about her. "I’ll be fine. I just need a moment to recuperate. She took me off guard. I won’t let it happen again. Besides, someone has to keep watch over her."

  "You don’t look well," Larus put forth. Indeed, his friend was looking a little gray. "Are you sure I shouldn’t send another to tend her?"

  Ilar scowled, not liking the idea of another being in her presence, another tempted to kiss her, another tempted to touch her soft body. Growling a bit too harshly, he stated, "No. I’ll tend to her. She’s my responsibility."

  Larus was taken aback by the swift possessiveness that came with the statement. Slowly, he nodded his head. "All right, it will be as you wish. But, if methinks she’s affecting your judgment, I’ll lock you away with the others."

  Ilar nodded, not answering. He couldn’t. His mind was beginning to drift to the key he kept in his tunic. It’d be so easy to go back up there and claim her. The temptation was great. Surely it would end this madness if he just....

  "I’ve sent the unmated women away to Fenris. They aggravated the men with their bloodlust. I sent word to Malak that he was to receive them and watch them." Larus sighed. Ilar didn’t seem to be listening. His head was turned to the ceiling in the direction of the mortal.

  To the King’s surprise, Ilar answered, "Very wise. Malak will undoubtedly be happy to have his court overrun with women. For a man who doesn’t wish for a lifemate, he sure takes pleasure in having women about him."

  "We could send him this woman," Larus mused, teasing. He was rewarded with a dark, overprotective snarl. The King’s brows furrowed. He’d seen some of the other men. They didn’t have that same gleam to their eyes. With the others, it was pure, hot, animalistic lust that boiled them. With Ilar, it appeared to be something more. Larus frowned. Maybe being in close proximity to the human was having a harder effect on the Commander.

  "I wouldn’t risk taking her back out in the open," Ilar answered instead, never realizing Larus was joking. He again stared at the ceiling. Hearing a new wave of anguish invading his pounding head, he added, "You’d better put them into separate cells, lest they take it to mind to battle."

  Larus nodded in silent agreement.

  Sighing heavily as a wave of yearning washed over him anew, Ilar grumbled to the King, "I’m going to the practice field. I need to burn off this
energy."

  Larus watched his friend storm away, twitching angrily as he moved. Swallowing, he tried to use the mind link to call to the mated guards to start rounding up the affected ones. The mind link was full and he cursed. Striding across the main hall of the castle, Larus went to find them for himself.

  * * * *

  Rhiannon eyed the empty tray with satisfaction. She’d finished off every last bite of food and her stomach thanked her repeatedly with contented purrs and gurgles of pleasure. She’d been famished. Taking up a wooden goblet, she finished the last of the sweet berry wine as well.

  Her stomach filled, she yawned, stretching her hands over her head. From the looks of the dark purple sky outside, it had to be getting later in the day. She studied the large bed, debating only a little, before crawling onto its thick inviting folds. The fresh bedding was warm from the fireplace and she nestled contentedly beneath the coverlet and linens, burrowing into the downy mattress. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

  * * * *

  Cupid’s wrinkled troll face lit with pleasure to see the havoc he wrought on all of Lycaon. Ah, revenge had never been sweeter. His body pumped, eager for the day he could reveal to Lord Ilar that it was he who entranced the entire Lycan Guard, bringing them to their knees with burning lust.

  Seeing the howling men being dragged off to the prisons, he did a little jig of glee, dancing unnoticed over the tower wall. The lycan fought viciously amongst themselves and even Ilar had to break up his fair share of the fights. He detected the Commander’s dark look from across the bailey yard.

  Lord Ilar wasn’t immune to the human. The potion worked so much better than planned. Rubbing his hands together, Cupid chuckled. It wouldn’t be long until Ilar mated himself to the disgusting mortal. Then the spell would be broken and Ilar would see what he had done!

  Cupid laughed louder, a delighted sound. His squat legs pumped faster beneath his dirt covered breeches. All of a sudden, he stubbed his toe on a jutted rock and tripped off the wall. Landing on his stomach, the troll banged his overlarge nose.

  Chapter Four

  The affected lycans were put into the prisons. Ilar didn’t have a choice. He’d broken up their fights all evening. Some had even been so bold as to challenge him for his position. It wasn’t a challenge he could refuse, but he could put it off until a later date. Hopefully, the foolish men would retract their words and Ilar wouldn’t be forced to rip their throats.

  Those who hadn’t smelled the human were unaltered, but the disturbance in the mind link made the remaining men boorish and short of temper. They didn’t relish imprisoning their comrades to accommodate a mere human. There were several who even went so far as to suggest they kill the mortal intruder and be done with it. Ilar only stayed their intent by saying that the curse was so strong the others might want her even in death. The idea was so distasteful that the call to arms was immediately withdrawn.

  As he made his way resignedly to his bedchamber, Ilar knew he was a glutton for punishment. He knew he should just spend the night alone in one of the guest rooms, but he didn’t want to chance there being an attack on the mortal while he slept. The only way to ensure Rhiannon’s safety throughout the night was to be by her side. It was going to be pure hell.

  To his surprise, she was already asleep on his bed when he came into the room. Her lips were parted in rest. He instantly remembered their soft texture. She looked like an angel, her long golden curls twisting around her oval face, spilling softly over her shoulders and breasts, off the side of the bed. She still wore the green tunic gown and it hugged to her curves, tangling with the bedcovers she’d thrown from her body. Her bare feet hung off the side of the bed.

  All of a sudden, he frowned. Stalking noiselessly around the bed, he looked at her feet. The soles were bruised almost purple and several angry scratches puckered along the bottoms. How had he not noticed it before? Seeing an angry gash on her arch, curling around the side, he knew she must have gotten the injury as he dragged her to Lycaon from the stream. She hadn’t complained once. Eyeing her with grudging respect, he realized she was much tougher than he’d been willing to give her credit for.

  Going to his trunk, he searched the contents for a salve. He rarely used the healing cream and had a hard time finding it. Finally, discovering a fisyk at the bottom corner, he pulled it out. Grabbing a chair, he moved it to the side of the bed and sat by her feet.

  With a light finger, he stroked the cream over her wounds. Her foot twitched slightly at the touch, but she didn’t awaken. Ilar concentrated on his task, being extra sensitive of the deeper gashes. When he finished his painstaking care, he glanced at her. Her blue eyes were open, staring at him in sleepy puzzlement.

  He frowned at being caught. Lifting the small jar, he stated, "It will help."

  Rhiannon glanced at her feet and slowly drew them back on the bed, away from him. She hadn’t forgotten their last meeting. The proof of it was still scarred on her bottom lip. Swallowing, frightened more by his tenderness than his gruff ways, she said weakly, "Thank you."

  Ilar didn’t like her softening tone and quickly stood. Throwing the jar unceremoniously on top of his clothing, he shut the lid. "Don’t read too much into it. You’re my prisoner and I’m duty bound to make sure you stay relatively healthy."

  The pleasure faded from her features to be replaced by ire. She rolled her eyes heavenward at him. Turning on the bed, so her back faced him, she stated, "Well, if you’re done, get out. I want to sleep."

  "This is my chamber," he said carefully.

  It took a moment for his words to enter her troubled mind. When they did, she shot up on the bed. Looking him over, she clutched the covers to her chest as if he meant to attack that very instant.

  "You cannot sleep here," she denied. Then, lacking any better defense, she added, "It isn’t ... proper."

  "Again, mortal," he mused, delighting in the way her face darkened in anger at the word mortal. "You have no say here. And propriety doesn’t concern masters and their prisoners. I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter."

  "W ... well," she stammered weakly.

  To her horror, he unclasped the brooch on his shoulder and swung the draping tunic off his body. The material slid to the floor, leaving him completely naked. Her eyes instantly took in his firm butt.

  Ilar stretched his arms over his head. His tight, bronzed body flexed wickedly as his weight shifted, dimpling the cheek in the most roguish of ways. The muscles drew up along his spine as he moved. He grinned, instinctively knowing she would be watching as he gave her a little show.

  A creeping blush made Rhiannon turn away to hide beneath a veil of blonde curls. Belatedly, she finished, proving to Ilar that he’d been right--she definitely had been watching. "You ... you cannot mean to sleep in the bed with me."

  "This is my bed," he stated easily. He turned to her, completely comfortable in his nakedness. He flung the covers back and made a move to crawl slowly in. Again, he kept his movements purposeful, stalking, flexing ever so slightly in all the right ways to draw her eyes where he wanted them. Her round gaze dutifully traveled where he wished it to, making their heated way over his form.

  Rhiannon gasped in noisy protest when he drew nearer, a grin on his parted lips. A strange tingling began on her skin. She tried to edge off the side, away from him.

  Ilar watched her tremble in the most modest way he’d ever seen. He darted his hand out, keeping her from escaping the bed. He pulled her by her hips into his naked embrace.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, lowering his tone into a playful murmur. She instantly stiffened.

  "I’ll sleep on the floor," she announced, but her words lacked conviction. "If you’re not gentleman enough to ... then ... I...."

  His eyes dipped slowly over her and she knew he didn’t hear her words. The firm press of his muscles fitted along her side. The tunic gown offered little protection from his heat as he pulled her closer. He caressed his hands against her stomach in absent c
ircles, moving intimately over her hip.

  Ilar let her feel his body along hers. Her protests faded completely until she merely stared at him, insensible. Her mouth worked as if it still spoke, but nothing came from her throat but a soft pant of feminine wonder.

  Ah, he thought, much better.

  Ilar continued to touch her, discovering her soft form with confident, expert hands. He moved his fingers boldly over her neck, her breasts, her hips and thighs. He cupped her cheek, ran over her throat, down the front of her chest. He wanted to kiss her, but held back, liking the way her eyes drifted closed in pleasure. A dreamy sigh whispered past her lips. He grabbed a fistful of her skirt, working the material up. When her thighs were exposed, he fitted his heavy erection along her leg, watching her closely for a reaction.

  Rhiannon’s eyes widened and she gasped for air, doing her best not to scream for help. He rocked his hips into her. She watched him, studied him, tried to read his mind. All she could do was feel him.

  Ilar growled, dipping his head close to her as he let himself have the pleasure of sniffing her intoxicating smell. His engorged shaft rubbed lightly into her leg, desiring nothing more than to stroke into her slick depths. Instinctively, he knew she’d be ready for him.

  Leaning close to her ear, his breath sent waves of pleasure over her skin. He let his hand drift to a soft breast, rubbing it lightly through the cloth. His voice rumbled in a way that had melted many females before her. "I like touching you, Rhian, and I know you like it when I touch you."

  Rhiannon stopped breathing. Ilar licked ever so lightly at her earlobe. A weak sound escaped her. It felt too good to push him away, so she merely lay still, letting him have his way. His mouth lifted to hers. He edged his tongue, seductively firm and rough, into the part of her lips, his eyes looking directly into hers. Rhiannon whimpered. It felt like a stampede of wild horses ran over her chest, thundering and pounding where her heart should’ve been.