Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) Page 6

  I feel my heart mirror his face. I was right. All of this is a lie. A trick to get me to submit. I knew that all along. So why does hearing it make me want to cry?

  I clench my jaw and say, “Well, good. I could never fall in love with your kind. You’re all dominating bastards.”

  “I see.” His hands fall away from my body and he takes a step back.

  I count it as a mark of pride that when he does, I don’t fall.

  Silence suffocates the space between us.

  He just stands there, regarding me with an infinite, inscrutable patience. In the distance, even though the rain has stopped, I hear a crack of thunder. His arctic-pale skin glows.

  I open my mouth and close it again. Then, carefully, I walk past him, forcing myself not to turn around. I can’t believe that he does nothing to stop me.

  Once I get to my bike, I hurry in picking it up off the ground and dusting the grit off my jeans from where I fell. Not that it matters. I’m soaked in mud, water, and sweat. Just as I’m about to swing my leg over the seat, he finally speaks.

  “Stop.” His voice is deep, and rings with all the force of his command. It has the same kind of power mine had when I sang.

  Shit.

  So this is a werecall.

  I have no choice. My whole body freezes, patiently awaiting his next order and my core clenches both at the wash of pleasure and at the knowledge that he is making me do this. That I am his.

  He growls, “Kneel.”

  I drop. My knees sting from hitting the pavement, but the rest of my body turns hypersensitive to the tiny pleasures. The play of hot and cold at the juncture of my thighs, the pulsing warmth there, mingling with the cool water.

  He prowls toward me, his eyes burning with something that might be hunger or anger. All of his playfulness is gone; he is transformed as thoroughly as if he had changed into a wolf.

  “Eyes down.”

  My gaze falls. I want to scream, but another part of me savors the chance to forget. I can only stare at his feet as they stride toward me. My neck is locked in place, totally vulnerable and exposed to him.

  “Good girl.”

  My thighs part a millimeter at his praise.

  He’s so close now that my lowered gaze catches his jean-clad thighs and the huge bulge just a little higher. His cock. My heart thumps in my chest. Oh, God, is he going to tell me to give him a blowjob?

  A sick part of me thrills at the idea, of him unzipping, pushing the back of my head into his crotch, the tip of his velvety dick playing against my lips as he looks down at me, completely satisfied with his control.

  But no, he keeps going until he’s behind me. His hand rests over my neck as he brings my back into his thigh forcefully, as if to imprint this position on me. Teach me.

  And some sick part of me is learning. Being on my knees in front of him feels unbelievably natural.

  He grabs a handful of my curls and pushes my head forward and down, until my chin digs into my chest. Then he brushes my hair away from my neck so that it falls into my face. It itches my lip and my nose, but I don’t move. I can’t.

  “This is what I would do if I was the horrible dominating bastard you think I am, isn’t it?” His fingernails trail up and down the column of my neck ever so lightly. “Is this what you want? For me to take away your choice? Your responsibility? To be the villain so that you can be the poor ravished heroine?”

  “No.”

  Yes. Make me forget.

  “No, Alpha Orion,” he corrects.

  “No, Alpha Orion,” I murmur.

  “I’m not sure I believe you. You ran away from me before you even knew me. Even if I had rung your doorbell at noon and asked if you might consider going out to coffee or some other inane human tradition, you would still have seen me as a ‘dominating’”—he hooks his foot around my calf and plies my legs farther apart—“bastard.” He shoves me forward, putting me onto my hands and knees.

  I fall willingly, complacent. I can’t think of anything but him. I’m drowning in his power, but instead of trying to fight toward the surface, I’m breathing in all the water I can.

  “Take off your pants.”

  I hesitate.

  “Now.”

  My fingers fly to my jeans and I wiggle out of them. All that’s left are my boy shorts. A cool summer breeze washes over my body, flirting with the hem of my panties. It makes me ache for his firm touch.

  “Lift your ass.”

  I arch my back on all fours, lifting my round ass invitingly. I’m not even sure he’s using his werecall anymore. I don’t care. I am lost and it feels so good.

  “Underwear.”

  I contort to slip them off. I’ve never been really flexible, but I still manage with surprising quickness. Maybe I’ve just never been motivated enough. I don’t care that I’m kneeling in a suburban alley where anyone might see me.

  He gives a ragged exhale. I feel him shift behind me, and then hear the unzipping of his pants. I want so badly to have him inside me, but I know I must wait. I must be good. The force of his werecall has imprinted this fact upon me.

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” The tip of his cock presses at my opening, not going anywhere, just branding me, holding me in place and obedient as sure as handcuffs. “You’re right.”

  I clench, waiting for him to thrust inside me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs my ass and begins to knead it.

  “I am a selfish, dominating bastard. There is a part of me that wants nothing more than for you to be like this always. On your knees. Obedient. Wanting. Waiting for my hard cock to slide into your tight, willing pussy to name you as mine.”

  He presses in a half-inch farther, and I gasp. He’s so large that even the tip of his cock feels too big.

  “Forever.”

  I whimper.

  He stops.

  “But I’m not just a bastard. And you’re not just an obedient girl waiting to be claimed by her mate.” His dick pulls away from me, the warmth going with it. His voice is higher, normal, and a shock to my senses.

  Oh my God! What am I doing? I was about to have sex with a man I just met, on a public street. Mate or not… Mark or not!

  Oh God. Oh God.

  I scramble for my underwear and hastily put them back on. Anger and embarrassment turn my cheeks into an inferno. I am not that girl. I am not the girl who fawns and falls. I can’t believe I was about to become her.

  How could I have been so stupid? I yank my pants back on, trying to take deep breaths as I fumble with the buttons. I can feel his eyes, cataloguing my every emotion, every movement.

  When I finally have my armor on again, I stand and turn around. Then I swallow and, as politely as I can, say, “You were right.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyes widen, and I decide that it’s okay that I recognize that he’s a little cute when he’s surprised. Better to recognize my feelings than be ambushed by them. If I want to win this fight, I have to acknowledge the levels of the playing field.

  “You were right. I was lying. I am physically attracted to you.”

  “I know,” he says, but his eyes narrow with suspicion.

  “But I don’t want this.” I gesture between us. “I’m sorry that you’ve come all this way for me. But I can’t be with you.” I take a deep breath and remember the calm control that washed over me when I was singing, and the resolution when I talked to Cooper. That deep sense of resonance. “I’m going to leave now. And you won’t stop me.”

  “You have to mean it.” His face stays strangely impassive.

  “What?”

  He gives me a tight smile. “Your werecall. It won’t work if you don’t mean it.”

  So Cooper wasn’t just blabbering nonsense! I can actually affect some measure of control over my life using my voice to convince others to do my bidding, just like Orion did to me. Except it doesn’t seem to be working. “I do mean it. I want you to leave.”

  “Not completely.” He shakes his head.

  I gla
re down at the mark on my wrist, which is now quietly thrumming. “The mark is making me weak.”

  “The matemark is a part of you. It takes your own needs and desires and amplifies them. It can’t force you to do anything. Neither can I. I can only command and hope you obey. Because wanting me is who you are. Because it is your nature.”

  “Like you said.” I shake my head, bringing my arms to my chest. Hoping to keep some kind of barrier between us. “I’m not a slave to my instincts.” I stare down at the pavement, at the water there.

  “Little Mate, look at me.” His voice is low with command, but this time it doesn’t compel me. I can fight it…but not for long. All too soon I look up.

  “Thousands of girls walk through wereterritory, but only a scarce few become weremates. You want this, or you would not have it. Why deny what you want?”

  His gaze is unflinching, taking in all of me. My wild, wet blonde curls storming around my face. The way my soft thighs part. My breasts, swollen and tender on my chest, stiff nipples jutting forward, daring him to touch them. And my face. The fear on my face. The need.

  “I want you too, Artemis. Know that,” he says. He takes a step closer to me, his normally stern brow furrowed, his eyes soft. “More than that. I need you.”

  It makes a part of me ache with longing and wonder entirely beyond the yearning for his body. It’s terrifying. For the first time, he looks almost human.

  “You are so strong and brave to try and fight this at all. No human girl has bothered in centuries. And no girl has ever won.” His brows kiss his hairline as he holds out his hand, asking me to take it, to touch him. “Think of how much stronger we would be together.” I notice his mark there, just like mine.

  But it’s still not enough.

  “I can’t,” I say. “I have to fight this.”

  The smile in his eyes dies. “You won’t win.”

  “I have to try.”

  “Why?”

  My hands tremble, afraid that if I lie he’ll call me on it, afraid that if I tell the truth he’ll try to fix it, unravel all the knots life has tied me into, and turn me into someone else. Someone my parents wouldn’t even recognize, who would disgust them. “Because that’s just who I am.”

  To my surprise, he gives me a fierce smile in return. “I’m not sure you have any idea who you are, Artemis.”

  “You can’t know what I want and don’t want,” I whisper to the ground, glad I don’t have to face him as I make my confession.

  He turns away from me, severing some invisible connection between us.

  A whimper lodges in my throat, but I bite it down. For a second I’m afraid he’s going to walk away, but after only a few step he stops, clenches his fist and turns back to me, approaching me one slow step at a time.

  I have plenty of time to run, but this time I don’t.

  And when he actually gets close enough to touch me or kiss me, he doesn’t. He simply stands in front of me, his cool breath whispering across my cheek.

  “Then show me,” he says. “Show me what you want. Who you are.”

  All I’d have to do is move forward another inch and I could be tasting him. My core pleads for me to do just that. I want to show him. I want him to know me.

  But I can’t. I know that if I were to kiss him it wouldn’t stop there. And despite his nice speech, I know the truth. Even if he did know me it couldn’t fix me. And if he could, would I still be me or would I be someone else?

  “Please, just leave me alone,” I say. I don’t know why I say it, instead of just going. There is nothing holding me here now but myself. I know that now. “Let me go.”

  He says nothing.

  I walk to my bike, conscious of every step that takes me farther away from him. Any second, I’m sure he’ll call out my name or pounce on me again, but he remains silent as I straddle my bike. The seat is wet and warm between my thighs, reminding me of other things I could have between them if I turned around. But I don’t.

  Just as I’m about to push off and start pedaling, he speaks. “I won’t follow you, Artemis. Not like this.”

  I jump a little at his voice, rubber bruising my palms as I my grip tightens around the handlebars.

  “I don’t have to.” His voice echoes through the alleyway. Around me, behind me, in front of me. Inescapable. “Because whether it’s in a moment or a day or a decade, eventually you’ll follow me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  My head doesn’t stop spinning, even after I’m three blocks away from him. I can’t believe it. He really let me go. I zip through a puddle and send a sheet of water showering out on either side of me. I’m free. So why does it feel like there’s a hole inside my chest?

  Well, at least Lawrence will be proud.

  I pull up to the house. Even though my aunt gutted the inside, the outside still looks pretty much the same. A nondescript yard where I can still remember catching fireflies borders a two-story wooden house painted pink—Mom’s least favorite color. She always meant to repaint it.

  The click-click-click of my bicycle spokes slows as I dismount while the bike is still moving and get out my lock. Usually I put the bike in the garage out back, but now I hook the lock around the white wrought-iron fence and leave it there.

  I wonder if Lawrence is home or out partying. He usually likes to spend his weekends at the club, finding some poor new boy-toy to pump and dump.

  A boy-toy like Cooper.

  Fuck. Cooper. Cooper’s boss. He’s still out there.

  I stop fiddling with my lock and look up at the second floor of my house and Lawrence’s bedroom. The windows are all dark.

  After putting down the kickstand, I finish locking up and give one more glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Orion striding down the street. But he’s not there.

  Then, I fish the door key out of my purse and thrust it into the lock. I turn it, once, twice, but I don’t have to. The door’s already unlocked. Panic flares in my throat. Lawrence knows how I feel about locked doors.

  My hand rests on the knob, debating whether to turn it. “Lawrence,” I hiss.

  Should I call the police? But what would I tell them? That my door was unlocked? Hardly grounds for 911. Not to mention that if anything serious is actually going down, the cops will take one look at the mark on my wrist and call the Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation. Weremates and werebeasts involved in any crimes don’t go to trial when the FBSI shows up. They just disappear.

  I push open the door.

  At first everything looks normal. We don’t have a foyer, so the first room you see when you enter is the living room. There are the same white walls, new hardwood floors installed courtesy of Aunt Jennifer. Even the smell is the same, a cloying vanilla from the air fresheners that Lawrence buys by the bucketload from Target.

  But there is one difference.

  A man is lying in the living room. Face down and in a pool of blood.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I drop my purse. My keys clatter as they hit the floor and a tube of lipstick rolls out, but I don’t scream. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. I’m not proud of the thought that blares through my mind instead.

  It’s okay—it’s not Lawrence.

  While it’s immediately clear to me that it’s not Lawrence, it takes me a couple more seconds to identify the man on the floor. The blood-stained yellow polo shirt is a tip-off, but it’s not until I see the spiky hair that I realize.

  It’s the pufferfish. It’s Cooper.

  Holy fuck. He said his boss would do something drastic.

  I think he’s dead. I can’t look at him any longer. But I can’t stop, either. Just to prove that this is really happening, I sneak one quick glance at him. His neck is twisted way too far to the right, but the blood is coming from long cuts down the back of his head.

  I close my eyes, yesterday’s lunch heaving up my stomach to my throat. Oh, God. I know those claw-marks. I know those odd angles. I’ve seen them before. There�
�s no doubt in my mind. This is a werebeast attack.

  My whole body feels numb.

  How did he get here? Did he come to try and warn Lawrence? Oh, God, Lawrence. What if whoever did this to Cooper hurt Lawrence too?

  “Law—” I start to call out for Lawrence, but then snap my jaw shut so hard my teeth crash against each other.

  What if whoever did this is still here?

  On the landing above the staircase my bedroom door is open. I know the gun is in there. If I could just get it, I could… What? I don’t know. Kill the intruder? I’ve never even fired it before. I still have to load it, and I only know how from some YouTube videos. But if I leave now and call the police, I may never see Lawrence again. I may never even see the outside of a jail cell.

  I take another few steps, my head doing 360-degree checks. The likelihood that there’s a werebeast hiding in the kitchen cabinets is slim, but the windows above the counter aren’t closed. The same cool summer breeze that tickled my bare flesh in that alley blows through the curtains.

  I always shut the windows.

  Bang.

  I whip toward the sound. It came from Lawrence’s room upstairs. A gunshot, a hammer banging. I can’t tell. I don’t know anything anymore.

  Bang. Bang.

  I sprint up the stairs, taking them two at a time, before finally reaching my room and diving through the open door. Once inside I scramble to the duffle bag searching for the gun. The bag is still there, half-unzipped, just where I left it.

  I pick up the gun and flip off the safety. But shit. It’s not loaded. Fingers fumbling, I pick up the box of bullets. At first I try to find a chamber on the side, but it’s not there. Shit, how does this work? I can’t do this. From the other room I can hear a creaking sound. It might just be the wind. Or it might be someone coming. I freeze, paralyzed, then my eyes catch on one of my Post-it notes.

  “Don’t let it happen again.”

  I try again, this time the bottom of the gun, and the magazine slides out. I press the bullet in, then push the magazine back up.

  Then I stand, shaking, holding the gun in both hands, pointing it into the hall. It’s surprisingly heavy. I hope I’ll be able to aim straight.