His teeth bit into her neck with a sharp burst of painful pleasure. Then, with a final thrust, she felt his release as it began overtaking him as well.
The first hard spurt of semen as his cock throbbed and seemed to swell further. Then more. More.
Her eyes opened as strangled cries of another release escaped her throat. That swelling, in the most sensitive part of her pussy, stretching the convulsively tight muscles and throbbing against nerve endings that otherwise would have never known stimulation.
The stretching seemed never-ending until he was locked inside her, so tight she knew neither of them could escape.
The blast of his semen jerked his body.
His tongue lashed at the wound at her neck.
And Isabelle knew, deep, deep inside, she knew, life would never even have the chance to be the same again.
Chapter Six
I would have lost hope, I would have lost faith.
Isabelle lay against Malachi’s chest, her hand rubbing over the broad planes, feeling the presence of the pelt-like hairs that grew there.
Breeds seemed to have no body hair, and in a sense, it was true. What they had instead was a superfine hair, almost invisible to the naked eye.
It didn’t even feel like hair, but more like a finer, softer fur than his animal cousins possessed.
It was warm to the touch, heated by his body and his tough, muscular flesh. His chest was powerful, incredibly broad, and beneath her palm she could feel his heart beating in a slow, steady rhythm that comforted her, even when nothing should have been able to comfort her.
His arm was wrapped around her back as he held her to his chest, keeping her warm despite the chill that wanted to overtake her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his lips moving against the top of her head as his fingers stroked her shoulder.
“You didn’t hurt me.” And he hadn’t.
The pleasure had been so incredible that she was still reeling from it, still trying to find her bearings as her mind fought to make sense of it.
Once the thick, heavy swelling in his cock had receded, allowing him to pull free of her, Malachi had risen from the bed, collected a warm damp cloth from the bathroom and a dry towel and proceeded to clean her gently.
She had blushed furiously. Hell, she was blushing now just thinking about how he had cleaned her thoroughly, even separating the folds of her sex and running the cloth gently through the narrow slit.
“I was created to kill,” he suddenly said. “We all were. We were Breeds. Not animal, not human. When the rescuers liberated us, when Alpha Lyons declared our presence to the world, we learned that though God hadn’t created us, He had still gifted us.”
Isabelle sat up and stared down at him somberly, watching the heavy sadness in his dark blue eyes as he stared up at her.
Lifting his hand, he brushed the backs of his fingers against the side of her cheek before lowering them to her hip and curling them over it. As though he needed some small connection to her, no matter how slight.
“How did He gift you?” she asked quietly.
“He gave us our mates.” It was an answer she didn’t expect. “As far as we’ve learned in the past thirteen years, there’s only one mate for us. Created just for us. Emotionally, biologically, physically. We have a mate waiting for us somewhere in the world, we have only to find her.”
A frown pulled at her brows. “That seems awful iffy,” she said. “What if you don’t find your mate?”
He shrugged at that. “Then I would imagine we exist within that same vacuum we were created in. Alone. Knowing we can’t have children no matter how strong the desire most of us have for them. Only mates, it seems, can conceive. Only mates can ease the soul, help heal the wounds and battle the nightmares most of us endured to just survive in the labs. Now, we watch, we search, and though many of us deny it, we long for that mate, Isabelle. For that one thing in the world that was meant to be ours, that proves that though we were not born, we were at least adopted by a force greater than man.”
Isabelle dropped her gaze to her hands as they lay in her lap, studying her linked fingers as she felt her chest tighten.
His voice resonated with such dark memories.
“Coyotes were created to kill their cousins,” he continued. “The Felines and the Wolves, we were to be their jailors. Our genetics were carefully chosen to allow us to lie, to cheat, to torture and to know no remorse or guilt.”
She lifted her gaze once again. His expression was hewn from marble, savage with its planes and angles, the high cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jaw. He could have been a warrior from ages past rather than a creation of technology and of evil.