Page 79 of Moonlight and Mischief
His breath is hot on my neck, and my instincts vibrate with the desire to bite and be bitten. He licks down my neck to the juncture of my shoulder. I want to beg, but I stay silent, knowing the instinct must be riding him hard as well. Sharp teeth press against my skin and I can’t breathe. The cut into my skin is exquisite.
He moves back, his mouth slightly open and my blood on his lips. I push up, reaching for him, and he tips his head to offer himself to me. Reverently, I kiss and then bite into the muscle.
The tang of his blood barely registers as a swell of emotion washes over me. Warm affection, passion, the desire to protect, admiration. Everything he’s feeling echoes in me, and for a moment I can’t distinguish my emotions from his.
The bond between us settles and I return to myself. He is like a glowing presence and I suspect I will be able to sense when he walks into a room without needing sight nor scent.
“That’s kind of a lot,” I murmur. Jasper’s answer is pressing his lips to mine, traces of our blood mixing as he presses me back down into the pillow.
The stroke of his tongue is now paired with a wave of his enjoyment alongside my own. I know he feels the same.
Finally he breaks away. “You’ve ruined me,” he rasps.
“Good thing we can do that whenever we like,” I purr into his ear. His answering growl makes my toes curl, as he withdraws and reaches for one of our discarded towels.
A blush heats my cheeks as he cleans me up. And somehow that leads to him touching me again until I’m whimperinghis name into the pillow.
17. Hostages and Heists
JASPER
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I say, loving how her weight feels against me. Her head lays across my chest, an arm and leg thrown across me.
With a deep breath, she rolls off of me and rubs her eyes. “Where?” she starts to say before going quiet. I grip her waist and pull her against me, pressing a kiss to her temple. For a moment she stares at the ceiling.
“I think this is the happiest and saddest I’ve ever been at the same time,” she says.
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
Marigold sighs and turns her face toward me. She tips her chin up to kiss me briefly before answering. “I’ve lost my home but I found my mate.” She draws outthe last word, testing it out with a tentative smile. It wavers, like she’s unsure if it’s okay to be happy when our friends and family are preparing to do battle.
“Tonight, after we’ve reclaimed our territory, you can just be happy,” I murmur.
“Supremely happy.” Her palm skims my chest, her lips touching my skin. She works her way down to the ring of pink scars from last night. A permanent marker of our commitment.
“Mate,” I say, “As much as I would like to repeat last night right now, we have a lot of preparations to complete today. Are you feeling good?” Reaching up, I run my thumb over the matching circle of tiny pale scars that mark her as mine. Her happiness buzzes between us.
She nods. “Let’s do it,” I smirk and she rolls her eyes at me. “You know what I mean.”
We dress in borrowed clothing. Coming out of our bedroom, we see Hazel and Slate eating granola bars and fruit in the kitchen. Marigold pads toward them without any hesitation. A flush creeps up my neck as I follow her.
“So what’s the plan?” Marigold asks.
“We’ll have a debrief on everyone’s roles, and then it’s time to kick some ass,” Hazel says. Her eyes flick up to me for a moment.
“It’s a good plan,” I say, feeling uneasy with Hazel’s full attention on me. Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t like how much risk Slate and I are taking on ourselves.
“Alright, let’s go,” Slate says, pushing off from the counter. Marigold turns to follow him.
Glancing back at Hazel, I pause. One eyebrow is raised. Silently, she raises one hand to her own claim mark where it peeks out from her loose shirt. Unconsciously, I mirror her, adjusting the neckline of my shirt to make sure my mark is covered. The instant she sees my motion, her eyes widen.
Giving a slight shake of my head, I silently beg her to stay quiet. It’s Marigold’s news to share when she is ready, and this morning isn’t exactly ideal timing for a celebration. Hazel’s nod is subtle, and I let out my breath.
“Are you guys coming?” Marigold says, holding the front door open for us.
“Yeah, sorry,” Hazel says, sliding past me and jogging to the door. I follow with deliberate steps, letting my mind turn over the details of our strategy as we walk to the debrief.
The sun has begun to dip below the tree line by the time Slate and I are trudging across Bracken Creek territory. Slate walks stiffly, his nerves showing in the clench of his jaw.
