When she gave his stubble another stroke, he grasped her free hand and traced the scars on her fingers. “You never considered quitting?” Those marks were part of what made her Kereny. Which meant he was enamored with them.
“Quitting isn’t in my nature. I needed to be the best more than I needed to be free of pain.”
Bold, fierce female. He ran his knuckles over one of her cheeks, marveling at her soft skin. Bold she might be, but she was also beyond delicate to one like him. He caressed the line of her jaw as he would gossamer.
Her lids fluttered. Yet then she tensed and said, “You can’t touch me.”
“Why is that?” Because she wants to get back to her groom unscathed. Munro’s fangs sharpened again, jealousy sending his thoughts into chaos. He wanted to hurt her as she hurt him. Or cherish her. No, possess her. Hold her dainty hand or fuck her till she screamed his name.
“What if things get out of control? What if your beast rises?”
He struggled for a level tone. “I’ve more control over mine than the average Lykae, have found cooler heads prevail.” But that was before he’d fed it rage.
She dropped her hand, and he felt the lack keenly. Nooo, waited so long for this!
“Vow to the Lore that you won’t touch me.”
“Why would I do that?” If he made her that unbreakable vow, only she could cancel it.
“You are convinced that I’m yours, but I’m still deciding about you. Munro, will you not let me explore what you have to offer?”
The sound of his name on her tongue rendered him to putty. He fought her pull. “Those vows are no’ trifling.”
She raised her brows. “Neither is my touch. You either want it or you don’t.”
Oh, I want it. “I might need to hie you away from here in a hurry. So I vow to the Lore that I will no’ put my hands on you in a sexual way, while in this cave tonight—until you ask me to.” He leaned down. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way . . .”
“And don’t kiss me.”
A growl escaped his lips. “Fine. I vow to the Lore that I will no’ kiss you in this cave tonight. Again, until you ask me to. Now, explore away.”
She raised both hands and tentatively caressed his cheeks. Such a simple touch, but her fingertips left bliss in their wake. “When you change into your werewolf form, does it hurt? You’ll grow even bigger, right?”
“Aye. We call it a’leigeil a’mhadaidh fa sgaoil: letting the beast out of its cage. It does no’ hurt. ’Tis as easy as breathing. That’s the problem.”
Tilting her head, she traced his jawline. “What do you mean?”
“A Lykae can get stuck in beast form, never to return. Even a natural-born wolf.”
“What causes that?” She cradled his face with impossibly soft hands.
“Usually grief.” Sometimes rage. He’d risked everything to defeat that vassal spell. And this is my reward.
When she grazed a thumb over his bottom lip, he hissed in a breath.
“Wolf?”
“It’s good.” So fucking good. He pretended that she didn’t love another, that he wasn’t stealing her groom’s wedding night delights.
As her thumbs descended on either side of his Adam’s apple, he swallowed thickly.
“I’ve never seen a female newling,” she said in a low tone. “How would she differ from a male?” The unspoken question: What are you planning to turn me into?
“Same blue eyes, but her lips would grow blood-red.” An attractant to males. “She’d have smaller fangs and black claws. The image of her beast would overlay her body, obscuring her features with its wolven ones.”
Kereny brushed her palms over his shoulders. “Would she have big muscles like yours?”
He had the urge to point out something and flex for her. “Nay, a female would have exaggerated curves.” Picturing his mate in that state made his cock stiffen painfully.
“Would she remember anything?” Where was Kereny going with this? Intelligence for monster hunting? Or lulling him with conversation?
“When the beast is risen, you’re still there, still thinking. You just canna govern your actions. Kind of like being on a runaway train, holding on for dear life.” He would never have added that last part if the blood in his brain hadn’t been diverted to his groin.
“Have you pictured me like that?” she asked, her pupils dilated with interest.
He could only groan.
“If you turned me into a Lykae, wouldn’t my beast be born from yours? Wouldn’t that be incestuous?”
He struggled to concentrate. This was important, but gods, she’d begun to knead his neck.
“Some in my clan believe there are two types of humans—those with a latent beast and those without. A bite would only deliver a lit match. You would either have your own Lykae kindling inside you or not. But the fire would be all yours.”