The Wolven

Page 24

“Did your sisters decorate your apartment, as well?” Danyon asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Shauna said, closing the apartment door.
His smile broadened. “You see? I was right. You do have style.”
Shauna felt herself blush. “Yeah, well…” She glanced away before he could see her turn red and waved a hand toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long,” she said, then turned to head for the bathroom.
“Shauna?”
Something in his voice brought her to a halt in mid-step. The tone of it had changed, and she suddenly felt like a million butterflies were fluttering in her chest. She held the towel in a death grip and turned slowly around, only to find him standing inches away from her.
The smile had faded from his lips, but his eyes were soft and warm. He reached out and gently cupped her face in his large hands.
“The real reason I came early was because I wanted to try and talk you out of coming tonight.”
“We’ve had this discussion already. I’m—”
Danyon placed a thumb over her lips, silencing her. “I already know what you’re going to say. Look, hear me out, please.”
She saw worry in his eyes and nodded hesitantly.
“Everyone knows your loyalty and commitment to weres is exemplary,” he said softly. “You really don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
She tried to speak, to let him know that her desire to be involved had nothing to do with proving herself to anyone, but he kept his thumb firmly in place.
“It’s bad enough that it’s Nuit du Dommage,” he continued. “You know how it brings out all the crazies. But we’re looking for a murderer here, Shauna—a sick psychopath. Remember what he did to Simon and Nicole? If he can do that to two young weres who would’ve never harmed a soul—I don’t even want to imagine what he might do to you.”
She tried once again to speak, and he placed his other thumb over her lips, obviously determined to finish saying what was on his mind.
“I understand that as a Keeper you have to look out for the safety and welfare of the weres in this city. But who takes on that responsibility if something happens to you? Think about it.” He held her face a little tighter and looked deeply into her eyes. “I meant what I said when we were leaving the meeting this morning, Shauna. I really don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
She wanted to reassure him, but his lips replaced his thumbs, and she lost the words.
His kiss was tender, and his tongue soon parted her lips, seeking the warmth of her mouth. She felt his hands in her hair—he pulled her closer.
And she melted into him.
Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he lowered his lips to her neck and lightly brushed them against her skin. The heat emanating from him set her body ablaze. She moaned, desire flooding her and bringing with it a need so great it made her tremble. Her moans soon became small gasps, as his lips moved lower. He kept his touch light and traced the edge of the towel that covered her breasts with his tongue.
She didn’t realize she had let go of the towel until she felt it fall away from her body. His free hand moved surely over the swell of her left breast and gently stroked her nipple. It was already hard and aching for his lips—his tongue. She held her breath as his mouth moved toward it, then gasped when he suddenly scooped her up in his arms. She’d been so consumed and blinded by need, she hadn’t seen that coming.
He carried her over to the couch, laid her on it, then leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers once again. Her mouth opened to him, and his kiss quickly matched the hunger of her own. She held on to him as his hands caressed her body, one sliding down between her legs and gently urging them open. His long, thick fingers were sure but tender as they pressed against her swollen, wet mound. She arched her back, urging his fingers inside her. But he would not be rushed…
His lips traveled slowly down the length of her neck while the tip of one finger teased her hungry lips below, pushing past them, but barely, only enough to drive her mad. Her moans became a constant, her breathing nearly non-existent. She dug her fingernails into his back, lifted her hips. His finger slipped inside her just a little, as he slowly licked his way to her breasts, down her stomach…
By the time his mouth and tongue replaced the fingers between her legs, it took but a second for her body to unleash a massive orgasm that felt as if it had been building since the beginning of time. She screamed from the force of it, bucked her hips against him, and his tongue deftly lapped all she had to offer.
Everything became a blur except him—he stood, and in less than a moment he was naked, and the thick hardness between his legs visibly throbbed, revealing his own need. She reached for him, ravenous, took him into her mouth, her tongue tingling with delight at the taste of him. He groaned loudly and she could tell by the swell of him that he was trying to contain the explosion desperate to leave his body.
It wasn’t long before he pulled her away, leaned over and kissed her hard. Then his body was stretched over the length of hers, his hands on either side of her head, keeping the full weight of him off of her. She felt the bulk and length of him, hard and hot, rub against her, and she wrapped her legs around him possessively.
She cried out when he finally entered her, thrusting against him. Their bodies quickly fell into a fast, hard rhythm, neither able to control the fire raging inside of them any longer. His lips found hers, and his tongue moved in tandem with his long, deep thrusts, muffling her cries of pleasure. Her release sent her bucking wildly against him, contracting around him. He lifted his head, let out a loud groan, and she felt his hot release filling her.
Then he shifted his body carefully, slowly, until he was lying beside her in the narrow space. He held her close, both of them sweating, panting, trembling.
She closed her eyes, relishing the utter satisfaction washing over her.
Then, without thinking, she pressed a hand to his chest over his heart. Its soft, steady rhythm pulsed beneath her palm, and she marveled at how familiar it felt. As though she had known the beat of him for many lifetimes and would treasure it for many more.
Chapter 14
Danyon had made some stupid decisions in his life, but deciding to walk down Bourbon Street the night of Nuit du Dommage with Shauna in tow, weighed in at the top of the list. There were so many people walking the streets, he could barely turn in any direction. Had Shauna been any shorter than five foot eight inches, he would have had to tether her to make certain she wasn’t swept away by all the pushing, shoving, and stumbling.
Even worse was the noise level. There was music, voices, shouting, car horns, police whistles, even the clop-clop-clop of horse hooves as the rental carriages went by. All of the sounds rose and fell in pitch and volume, and it pained his ears.
Danyon knew Shauna was having the same problem with the noise from the way she flinched from time to time and lowered an ear to her shoulders as though to block the sounds. He was surprised to find her so vulnerable. But lately, he often found himself surprised by her. He found his thoughts drifting back to her apartment, where they were only a couple hours ago, to the feel of her body, her lips… Before long, he had to literally shake his head to get his mind back on track.
He forced himself to think about Banjo Marks, and all Shauna had told him about the drugged out vamp. How his senses appeared to be heightened when he’d gone into A Little Bit of Magic, demanding cookies and claiming that he had smelled them from across the street. Danyon also remembered what Shauna had told him about a woman named Mattress Mattie, and how she had fought with Banjo in front of the shop, then punched a heavy metal lamp post instead of the vamp, and dented it.
If August was right about anyone being able to ingest a were’s claws and fangs simply by pulverizing them, and through that ingestion, they would gain certain were attributes, like speed, heightened senses—strength, then was it possible that Banjo—and Mattie—had stumbled on to a supply? If they had, that meant a supply source—a supplier—the murderer? He had to question Banjo to find out more.
But how were they supposed to search him out in this chaos of people?
Being a natural tracker, Danyon’s first instinct was to use his sense of smell to find Banjo. He didn’t have a direct link to his scent, like a jacket or shirt, but he wasn’t too concerned about it. A vampire gave off an acrid odor that he could usually smell a mile away. The same held true with a drug addict. Even if they had just stepped out of a shower, their bodies emitted a chemical scent, similar to gasoline. Since Banjo was both vamp and addict that narrowed his scent range considerably. But it still didn’t make it easy.
Everyone walking the streets carried their own scent. Mix that with spilled alcohol, a little blood, piss and vomit, and the combined odors overwhelmed his sense of smell. It had made his nostrils flare, then constrict—flare, then constrict, as if they were confused and trying to sort and decipher the smells, so they could be placed in appropriate categories. It hadn’t taken long for them to give up and roll all of the odors into one huge ball and label it “sour.” Now, no matter which way he turned, hoping that a different wind direction might disintegrate that ball, it was all he smelled.
Shauna suddenly tugged on his left arm to get his attention, then pointed to a lamp post on the opposite side of the street.
“I know her,” she yelled over the music blaring behind them. “She might know where we can find Banjo.”
Still holding on to his arm, she took off for the other side of the street.
Danyon didn’t know which woman Shauna was talking about. There were hundreds strolling Bourbon Street and at least a dozen clustered around that lamp post. Shauna seemed confident in her direction, though, so he just kept his mouth shut and followed.
He was a little surprised when she finally walked up to a large creole woman. The woman was dressed in leopard print tights and a bright orange dress or blouse— Danyon couldn’t tell the difference. But he didn’t have to be a clothes designer to know that if the woman raised her arms, she’d flash the entire state. Topping off her ensemble was a wide, gold lamé belt that she had cinched around her very thick waist. She had an arm wrapped around a tall, well-dressed, black man, who was looking down at her with unabashed pride.