Blood Claim by Laura Mykles (free e books to read .txt) 📕

spicy. No, copper. No, wine. There wasn't a way to explain. But it filled him with heat, made him aware of his arms, now clutching smooth satin skin. Of his legs, held up and apart while a delicious, hard warmth tunneled into his welcoming body. Of Wolfe over him, body straining as he thrust, blood pouring down Matt's throat.

"Enough."

Matt screamed in protest, mouth wide as Wolfe's hand ripped him from his hold on Wolfe's throat. Whimpering, he fought the hold, scrambling to bring the wound back where he could drink, but Wolfe held him, pinned him, fucked him, distracted him until he was whimpering for an entirely different reason than dark hunger.

Wolfe's punishing kiss muffled his cries. His tongue plundered Matt's mouth, scraping on one of Matt's new fangs. Some of that sweet ambrosia spilled into Matt's mouth, and he suckled Wolfe's tongue, mewling from two types of ecstasy, two towering plumes of pleasure that finally touched off and ignited the explosion deep within him. He detonated, flying to pieces, and as always, Wolfe's strong embrace was all that held him together.

Sanity returned very slowly. Just as slowly, Matt took stock. His body felt pleasantly used, but that was nothing new after having sex with Wolfe. His neck kind of hurt, but again that was nothing new. His skin tingled, kind of like the marching-ant sensation of a limb reawakening after having been asleep. The fact that when he tried to hum his pleasure he couldn't because there was no air in his lungs was a tad alarming. Idly, he wondered and decided his last breath had been a contented sigh after Wolfe came and sank down on top of him.

Consciously drawing in a breath, he nearly expelled it again in shock at the riot of scents that flooded his head. Sex, sweat, and blood, yes, all far more intense than usual, but he could also detect what he finally decided was the laundry detergent on the sheets and the faint floral odor of the shampoo he and Wolfe had been using. He pulled in a second breath as a sample, wiggling a little underneath Wolfe, which provided another distraction. The softness of the silk beneath him, the sink of the mattress, the indescribably velvety goodness of the man draped across him. Fascinated, he ran his hands over Wolfe's back and neck. Finding hair, he moaned at the sheer sinful sleekness of it.

Chuckling softly, that sound a whispered caress in Matt's overloaded brain, Wolfe braced on his elbows above Matt. “Are you all right?” Fingers lightly caressed Matt's jaw.

Matt opened his eyes, jerking in delighted surprise at the dazzling display of colors in what had before seemed to be a simple monochrome black silk canopy. The sight distracted him from the oddly familiar and oddly foreign sensation of breathing. If he'd thought Wolfe was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to what he now saw. “Oh, man.” The sheer spectacle nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Wolfe smiled, gently smoothing the tears away with his thumb. “Take your time. It takes getting used to."

"This is what it's like to be you?"

Wolfe's smile was breathtaking. “Yes."

Matt brought his hands around, reaching to cup Wolfe's face. He panicked a little to feel strength ebbing from his limbs.

No doubt reading his expression, Wolfe caught one of his hands and brought it to his lips. “You'll need to sleep now. Your body needs to finish changing, and it's better done when you're not awake."

Matt shuddered when a shiver of pain seeped into his bones. “I'll wake up?"

Wolfe's gaze was nothing but reassuring, his lips ghosting over Matt's knuckles. “Yes. I promise."

Matt blinked heavily, but he jerked his eyes back open, not wanting to relinquish the sight of his lover. “But..."

Smiling, Wolfe leaned in to kiss each of Matt's eyelids. The shutters over his eyes closed and refused to obey Matt's drifting mind's command to open again.

"Sleep, love,” Wolfe murmured, decadent voice tucking Matt into delicious warmth. “When you wake, we'll be together.” Lips brushed his forehead. “Always."

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Gift of the Raven

Angela Fiddler

The river was shallow here, which only made the currents cutting through the rocks by the shore all the stronger. A flood had carved out the edges of the banks, and the city had yet to rebuild the safe pathways, mini cement roads with dividing lines. The crumbling remains of the old path went in fits and starts down the new banks, and the fading remains of human interference left Luke feeling better than if there were no signs of humans at all.

It was quiet. Humans could take dark and cold, but combine them and even the roughest beat it to the safest, brightest lit path. The only creatures down here with him had four legs and the bright, piercing eyes of predators. The thermometer had taken a dive during the day. Luke felt it even deep in the basement of the house he'd taken as his. It wasn't just the smell of burning dust from the central heating kicking in; when the first delicate lines of ice had formed on the edge of the smallest puddle left over from the three days of rain, he'd felt it in his bones.

He exhaled, and his breath fogged around him. He wasn't as warm as he could have been; it had been at least a day since he'd fed, but it was a wholly human response to the change of season. It had been years—almost a century, now that he thought about it—since the last time he saw a flock of geese flying south, but the desire to trade his long, dark evenings for heat was so strong he felt his body sing with the need.

A bird screeched above him, the sound echoing against the trees and rocks around him. It wasn't Corbin, but one of his minions, Luke had no doubt. He would have felt Corbin, even in winged form. And sure enough, the silence had time to settle down around