Witchs Choice

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Witch’s Choice ISBN # 1-4199-0732-8 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Witch’s Choice Copyright© 2006 Delilah Devlin Edited by Briana St. James. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: September 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

WITCH’S CHOICE

Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin

Chapter One “What was that?” The sheriff lifted his head from her breast, his eyes and lips blurred and glistening with passion. “If you have to ask, then you must find me sadly lacking.” Gisele swatted his shoulder. “Idiot! Outside. I thought I heard something.” His lips twisted in an impatient frown. “A horse’s whinny. Likely Tiberion. He’s a greedy bastard and simply wants more oats.” She pressed her fingers to his lips and listened. Nothing. Perhaps her stretched nerves had made her overly aware. “Shouldn’t we keep watch?” she suggested, although her heart wasn’t really in it. Her body screamed for the release his cajoling and ready cock had promised. “The traps are set. There’s nothing more to do—but this!” he said, lowering his face once more and trapping her nipple between his lips. “Who’s greedy now?” she moaned as he suckled, tugging the tip of her breast until it grew engorged and painfully sensitive. His dark laughter made her shiver as he scooted down her narrow bed, pressing kisses to her naked belly, his fingers sliding between her legs to trace her slit. Wicked laughter, wicked fingers—wicked, wicked man! How had he managed to be here? In her bed? She’d lived alone, taken no lovers, preferring her solitude and independence. Lust had been tamped down inside her, submerged beneath her need to live as she chose. Letting a man this close always added complication. Desire clouded clear thinking. Hadn’t she learned that lesson long ago?

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His breath gusted against her sex, and she realized he could see everything. Pale moonlight, gleaming through her open window, shone directly at the end of her bed. She shoved her pillow under her head to watch as he parted her folds with his thick fingers and stared. What could possibly hold his interest? He’d whored his way through most of the castle staff—at least all the unattached women—or so she’d been told. Did he spend his time abed simply gazing at their sexes? “Am I so ill-formed that all you can do is stare?” she asked, feeling testy with his delay. His gaze lifted to hers, and though his eyes were shadowed, his teeth gleamed white in the darkness. “You’re lovely. And clean. I find I like that in a woman.” “Is there anything you don’t like in your many women?” she replied tartly. “I think I’m quickly becoming more discerning. Your sweet flower’s scent is the rarest perfume.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve already got me on my back. You don’t have to woo me with pretty words.” “Are you impatient?” he drawled. Surprised, she realized that indeed she was. She thought she’d relented after being driven nearly mad with his endless flirting—certain he’d slake his lust and curiosity and move onto the next “flower” of womanhood that caught his roving eye. “Will you just get on with it before I change my mind?” “Think I’ll allow that?” The hint of steel in his question flooded her sex with moisture. Lord, had he noticed how her interest spiked with his mastery? His fingers thrust into her channel. “Witch! Have I been wooing you when I should have been more forceful?” Yes! But she bit her lip to halt the admission, shocked to discover this truth about herself—and in such an embarrassing way. There would be no end to his teasing now.

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She ground her teeth and lifted her hips, trying to encourage him to take advantage of the lust he’d stirred inside her body. Her hands crept to her neglected breasts and she covered them, squeezing as he stroked inside her cunt again and again. “You’re very small,” he said, his voice tight. “Should I be flattered you’ve admitted me?” Her eyes narrowed. “You will be disappointed if I kick you to the floor before you’ve even untied your braies.” He must have taken her threat seriously. His fingers withdrew and his hands made quick work of his clothing, pulling it away and tossing it near the hearth. When at last he covered her, his lean thickly muscled frame pressing her deep into her bedding, she opened her legs wide and sighed, thankful for the touch of his skin to hers. It had been so long she’d forgotten how much comfort and the poignant emotions the contact of musky warm skin and a heavy body could bring. Perhaps she should rethink and make a place in her life for the occasional lover. Not this one, of course, however attractive he was. She’d want someone less sure of himself and who’d respect the boundaries she set upon their relationship. But she’d think about that later. For now, his cock rooted between her legs until it found her moist entrance and thrust hard inside her. Gisele’s back arched. The thickness pressing against her inner walls wasn’t exactly painful, but it burned and stretched. His guess hadn’t been far off. It had been years since she’d allowed a man this intimacy. As his hips withdrew, dragging his cock against her inner walls then stroking back inside, she planted her feet in the mattress, determined to match his strokes—give him as good as he gave. She might be a woman and her sex intended to accept a man’s invasive ravaging, but she didn’t want him thinking she didn’t wield her own power or possess her own strengths.

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To press her point, she smoothed her hands down his back, over his hips and cupped his flexing buttocks, pausing there to knead the muscle and revel in the manly power of his body. When she slipped her fingers between the twin halves, tracing the crease to the tiny puckered hole, he growled and his strokes grew harder, sharper, lifting her bottom from the mattress with each deep thrust. Her lips curved, and she knew he must have seen it, because his growl deepened in unspoken warning, but it was too late. She pushed a finger into his ass, all the way, then twirled her wrist to increase the sensations and the pressure. “Witch!” he shouted and his thrusts grew harsher, driving the breath from her body, creating a burning friction in her channel that melted all around him, easing his movements, filling the air with moist, slurping sounds that only increased Gisele’s excitement. The lewd, raw nature of their joining and the strength of the muscles clamping hard around her finger only stoked the flame higher. She wanted him deeper, harder, so she brought up her legs and tucked her knees beneath his armpits, allowing him the greatest penetration. Then it happened. The tension and heat he’d built with his thrusting cock burst in a fiery wave of heat that licked at her sex, tightened the nipples scraping his furry chest and forced a whimper from her clenched lips—a small kittenish sound that surprised her almost as much as the excitement rippling up and down her channel. “Yes, witch!” he shouted, bracing his hands on the mattress and powering his hips harder. When the next wave roared over her, her back arched, pulling her finger from his ass and casting her over the edge into darkness. His hips slowed and low groan broke from his throat as his seed spurted inside her, drenching her sex to overspill and slip between her buttocks to the bed. Her arms and legs clung to him as she quivered and her cunt pulsed around him.

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At last, he collapsed onto her and his mouth met hers. His kiss was sweet—and his first to her lips. He dragged them slowly over hers as they breathed noisily through their noses. She was loath to let him go. Covered, subdued by the strength of his body and his strong cock, she felt a contentment she hadn’t known in a long time. And if it lacked anything, she wasn’t willing to look any deeper. Another sound ripped through the night air. This time no soft nicker, but a shrill, frightened whinny. “There’s something outside,” she whispered. “Aye, I think you’re right. Stay here,” he commanded. She unwound her arms and legs, letting him withdraw from her bed. Quickly, he donned his braies and boots and grabbed his sword. As he let himself out the door of her hut, she scrambled from the bed to peer out the window. The crisp clang of metal came from beyond her sheep pen. A trap snapping shut? Then a dark shape arose from behind the fence, at first appearing to stand, then crouching to the ground and circling to confront the sheriff who held his sword at the ready. The sheriff charged, shouting loudly and waving his arms to scare away the beast toward the other traps he’d laid. The noisy attack should have forced the creature to turn tail and run because wolves rarely confronted men, but this one didn’t give ground. A deep shiver racked her body as she watched, transfixed by the apparition revealed in the moonlight. Pale slivers of light pierced the darkness, glistening on the wolf’s yellow eyes and brightening his long, bared fangs. Still the sheriff approached, his body taut, muscle rippling in his arms and shoulders as he bent low, readying for the wolf to spring. Moonlight glinted on his

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raised sword and the wolf’s gaze followed it. Seeming almost sentient, it looked at the sword and the large, angry man then backed away, not letting its gaze leave the man, until it reached the edge of the darkness beyond her clearing and was gone. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and drew a deep breath, shaken by the temerity of the beast. Then she glanced down her naked body and stiffened. No doubt the sheriff would expect a reward for his courage. But he hadn’t trapped the beast, had he?

***** Gisele had heard the new Lord Grimoult was a mountain of a man, strong and courageous in battle and wise as Solomon in his judgments. Which was exactly why she’d come—for protection and justice. What she hadn’t heard was that he could leave a woman trembling and damp with one searing glance. The moment his gaze lifted from the scroll spread over the table in front of him, she forgot how to breathe. When the room began to teeter, she drew a deep breath to steady herself and stepped over the threshold into his chamber, all the while scolding herself sternly for the lapse. What was one devilishly handsome man? He was flanked at the oak table by another sinfully attractive specimen—one she’d easily resisted a second time after their late-night tryst. She’d sent the sheriff on his way after the wolf had already done its damage. Almost as dark, but just as well made, the sheriff had never sent her belly into quivers or caused her nipples to sprout against her gown just from a look. Perhaps it was the power Lord “Grim” embodied—his will ruled everyone within this demesne, including her. Certainly, her arousal had nothing to do with the thick, black hair that fell in heavy coils to his muscled shoulders. Her interest couldn’t be piqued by the moustache and beard framing a lush mouth any woman would envy. 9

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The dark brows casting deep shadows over eyes black as a moonless sky at midnight weren’t the cause of her fluttering heartbeat or the sinking feeling that quickly swamped her with unwanted reminders she’d remained celibate for far too long. She was nervous—that was all. And perhaps primed for arousal by her wicked romp the previous night. Hopefully, it was just the lure of the unknown. When she learned his true nature he would be as easily dismissed from her thoughts as every man she’d ever encountered, including the sheriff. But she must find his faults and quickly. If she could happen upon the one that would render his appeal null, she’d fare better in the long run. The sheriff had drawn her eye when he’d first taken up his duty—he was handsome and dark like she preferred. Yet she’d catalogued his physical and character flaws to firm her resistance against his beauty. His hair wasn’t a deep, dark chestnut—it was closer to the color of the mud beneath her sheep trough. His eyes weren’t as green as spring grass—they were more like the sludgy moss that grew at the bottom of her well bucket. And she’d cleaned it thoroughly to remove the ugly sludge—just as she had her attraction to the sheriff—after she’d satisfied her carnal curiosity. Ballocks! The sheriff had caught her staring, and no doubt scowling. His sly smile deepened and he sat back in his chair as though waiting for the entertainment to begin. Gisele stepped deeper into the lord’s chamber just as his steward bent to whisper in his ear. Again, his glance sliced through her and the room began to spin, or were her knees wobbling? Whichever was true, she drew another deep breath and cursed the fact this was the man she’d come to beg a boon. He was too large, too imposing—and far too handsome for her not to stare and stutter in his presence. Even seated, with only his upper body visible, she knew his height and breadth would dwarf her slender frame. And she preferred large men.

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“The witch, sire,” the steward said, his lip curling in distaste. “She insisted on speaking with you. Egbert was afraid to deny her entrance lest she curse him with pox. I tried to dissuade her, but she was quite insistent.” She chafed at the idiot’s derision. Like so many in the demesne, she was welcomed only when her cures were needed. At all other times, she was reviled—even feared. Yet the new lord’s expression held only curiosity as his gaze slipped from her face to her breasts and lower. Gisele unclenched her hands, which were buried in the folds of her gown, and forced them to rest relaxed at her sides. She did her best to ignore the heat that singed every place his gaze touched and tried to remember the chill autumn wind that had cut through her gown on the trek here. Growing more nervous by the moment, she wanted to say her piece and be gone. His lordship would grant her request or not. The sooner she quit this place the better. She’d never felt so unlike herself as she did standing here, waiting on this man’s indulgence. “Come forward, mistress,” Lord Grim said, with an impatient wave. His voice was a smooth, deep rumble that seduced the hairs on her arms and neck to lift, as easily as he must seduce the servant girls to raise their skirts. She approached him, pride keeping her steps purposeful and her back straight as a post. Thank goodness the state of her stomach wasn’t as visible. The closer she drew to his dark, intense stare, the deeper the shivers that crept down her spine. She tightened her thighs to stem the moisture gathering between her legs. She curled her hands tighter to prevent reaching to smooth back her wild hair. So he’d see what a mess it always was—it was but one flaw among many. The preeminent one being her station in this small keep. She was already deemed a hag due to her talent with herbs and the gift that flowed from her hands.

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His gaze rose to her face, unwavering, discomposing. Her steps faltered as she drew to a halt, but luckily her long skirts hid the misstep. At the last moment, she curtsied, bowing her head in deference. “You’ve come with a petition?” “I have, milord,” she said, cursing the breathless quality of her voice, but she really couldn’t help it. He must be accustomed to women swooning so her slight betrayal of composure should be unnoticeable. Except the corners of his perfect mouth crimped upward. “Would you like to take a seat?” Her eyes widened. Sit in his presence? At his table? Even the steward looked askance at his overlord. Did he think her clumsy due to infirmity? She drew a deep breath drawing her affront around her like a cloak. Damnation, but he wasn’t going to make a fool of her. “Thank you, no, sire. I prefer to stand.” “Your petition,” he reminded her. Caught for a moment staring into his black eyes, she blurted, “Yes. Um, I’ve come on a grave matter, milord.” Then she frantically searched her mind for her purpose. Good Lord, he’d addled her brain. He sighed. “Take your time.” “Wolves,” she sputtered, blushing. “A wolf damaged my sheep pen and frightened them into injuring themselves in their enclosure. One is dead. No doubt the sheriff has already told you about the attack.” The sheriff and his lordship shared a glance then turned back to her, no hint of their thoughts in their shuttered expressions. “You said wolves?” Lord Grim asked, his voice so calm it piqued her interest. “I saw only one wolf, sire.” Never would she admit she’d misspoken due to her unease.

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His head canted as thought the answer to her question held his entire focus. “And you’re certain there’s only one?” “I saw only one. I don’t know whether there are others.” “A lone rogue,” the sheriff murmured. Lord Grim shrugged, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “Perhaps.” Gisele grew impatient with the questioning. They didn’t appear ready to act quickly. “I demand you do something about it,” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “And recompense me for the loss.” “Demand?” Her chin came up, and despite the fact she knew she must seem anything but deferent to his rank, she stared him straight in the eye. “As you serve your overlord and expect his protection and support in return, so do I serve you and expect the same. And your man was on the job last night when the sheep was killed.” “Yes, Tibor was on the job, wasn’t he?” the lord said, his fingers drumming the table. “She refuses to move inside the bailey until we’ve taken care of the problem, milord,” the steward said, sniffing. “I say, she takes her own chances.” “I’d like to get back to this matter of service,” came the sheriff’s sly comment.

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Chapter Two Gisele narrowed her glance at the man who wasn’t unhandsome himself. But she already knew his black heart which had rendered his charms useless whenever he’d come seeking a salve or a poultice. Because his “injuries” were often ones that required he remove his braies, she had yet to treat him directly, adding garlic to the potions and bundling them into porous sacks so the odor surrounded him like a noxious cloud. Their little impasse had become a matter of pride to Gisele, knowing the man’s reputation for bedding anything with breasts. Last night had simply been a moment’s insanity—not weakness on her part. That she’d never admit. At least not in the light of day. Still, her cheeks grew warm at the memory. “Mistress,” the dark lord said, drawing her attention again with his silky voice. “Will you not come into the enclosure tonight and allow me time to take care of this business?” When the sheriff had insisted, she’d dug in her heels at the thought of lying on a pallet in the great hall among all the other retainers. But that had led him to suggest staying at her hut for the night, which had contributed to her momentary lapse in judgment. However, when Lord Grim with his dark gaze asked her, she realized she couldn’t deny him…well, at least not deny him the opportunity to fulfill her bequest. But she didn’t want to capitulate too easily. “My sheep, sire?” “I will send help to herd them inside the walls. They will be safe.” She rallied her defenses, straightening her shoulders and looking beyond his to break his sensual spell. “Sire, I have no bedding. Perhaps I should accompany the sheriff to bring it back.”

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“Do you have a particular desire to accompany him?” he asked, his meaning clear in his steady, probing gaze. Her cheeks heated in outrage. The rutting bastard had told him! “Of course not! I simply meant I do not wish to share strange bedding. I have an aversion to lice,” she said between clenched teeth. “Since you will be sharing my bedding, I can assure you it is clean and free of vermin.” Gisele was sure she’d misheard the lord. “I-I’m what?” But he’d already turned to the sheriff whose shoulders were shaking with mirth. “But—” she sputtered, interrupting his quiet instruction. “I can’t share your bedding. You’ll no doubt be sleeping in it!” He glanced up at her again, a hint of amusement in his soulless eyes. “I doubt there will be rest for either of us.” She realized she stood with her mouth agape like a fish and closed it. The devil take him! She’d not “sleep” with him. Sensual upheaval disturbed the body’s humors and addled one’s mind to mush. Last night was an excellent case in point! And she’d seen too much of this nonsense in her time—girls seeking love potions to ensnare a man’s heart—men seeking aphrodisiacs to convince a maid to spread her legs. And for what purpose? A short glimpse of heaven that only served to whet the appetite for more? Love was fleeting. The aftermath devastating to one’s soul. Wakening alone this morning with damp bedding and a sweet ache between her legs only sealed the point. She’d not be led into that circuitous trap. But the one man who might tempt her sat at this table, his cool gaze not betraying any hint of emotion. Her heart meant less to him than…than…

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Beelzebub! She didn’t know what was important to him. Even more reason not to share intimacies. He was a complete enigma, a black-faced stranger. She whirled on her heels and stomped toward the door. The throat clearing drew her up short and she glanced over her shoulder at the three men conferring at the table. “His lordship did not give you leave to quit this room,” the steward said, his mouth set in a prim, disapproving line. Gisele lifted her chin high. “I’ve changed my mind. I withdraw my petition. I do not wish to be beholden.” “Mistress,” the sheriff drawled, “do you live on Grimoult lands?” Her stomach dropped. Was he aiding his lordship to bed her? “I do, but I already provide a valuable service for that privilege.” The sheriff’s smile widened. “You now shall have the greater privilege of serving his lordship directly.” Lord Grim sat still, his hooded gaze never blinking. His mouth set in a straight line. She bit back her instant protest, wishing she could discern his thinking. One hint might give her the inspiration to extricate herself from this coil. She didn’t have any power here—no say in her own fate. She should never have come. “I beg permission to find the garderobe.” “Personally, I’d deny her,” the steward said. “She’ll only sneak away from the keep as soon as she leaves this room.” “What do you suggest?” Lord Grim asked, his gaze slipping down her body again as though mapping his conquest. She didn’t want to hear any suggestion offered by the toadying steward, knowing it would only involve more humiliation. “My need is not as urgent as I first thought,” she said quickly. “I will wait.” If she had to cross her legs until the morning, she would not ask again!

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“Come sit beside me. I’m almost done here and you may accompany me into the hall for dinner.” She bit her lip to remind herself to be civil. “Can I not await your convenience in the hall, milord?” “You have a great many friends there to keep you company?” he asked softly. She hadn’t even one. And damnation, by the sparkle in his eyes, he knew it. How was she to put space between them long enough to flee? “I could tend injuries—” He held up his hand to halt any further arguments. “Sit.” She bristled at the way he commanded her—like a dog. Not even a well-favored dog. However, she’d show him. She would never come to heel. Then she gazed once again at his broad shoulders and shiny black hair and amended her vow. She’d never come to heel—without giving him a bit of bother first.

Amusement filled Geoffrey as the woman’s reluctance to come near him had her dragging her feet like a recalcitrant child. She drew back a chair from the table and flopped onto it, crossing her arms over her chest to make sure he understood she wasn’t at all pleased by his attentions. If he hadn’t seen signs of her interest in her sideways glances, he might have taken offense to her obvious disgruntlement. The woman protested too much. Wooing her might prove the most interesting occupation he’d undertaken since taking the reins of this small keep. Tibor’s grinning amusement only goaded him further. His newly appointed sheriff and foster brother had come ahead of Geoffrey’s entourage to assess the keep and its promise. Besides the odd wolf sighting, there had been nothing in Tibor’s missives to alarm or particularly interest him. Geoffrey sighed. Years of warfare and the tournament circuit had seemingly spoiled him for the bucolic life. Perhaps he should leave Tibor in

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charge here and return where he belonged—Grimoult could certainly use the funds from more tournament purses. Grimoult. Geoffrey of Grimoult. Lord “Grim”. He’d laughed the first time he’d heard the shortened version of his title. Now, he thought it a useful weapon. His name appeared to strike fear. Even in the slim, fey creature seated beside him, who was doing her best not to be caught staring. But he could feel her glance and her interest stirred his loins. He hadn’t felt any particular need to seek a bed companion for the night, but the witch’s appearance intrigued him—her manner challenged him. Had she come with her request and stated it calmly, he likely wouldn’t have paid her any mind at all. She was hardly the comeliest woman within his demesne. One of the servant girls might lay claim to that boast with her lush, womanly curves and ink-dark hair and eyes. The witch with her wild auburn hair and green eyes was reed-thin. Her carriage, when she wasn’t tripping over her feet, put him to mind of a supple willow. Her hands were small, her fingers slender. When he’d spied them clutching the folds of her gown, he’d imagined them closing around his cock while her wide, mobile mouth took him to heaven. Yes, her seduction would be immensely satisfying. “Milord,” Tibor said, his inflection anything but respectful. Dark amusement glinted in his eyes as his gaze went from the girl back to him. “Tonight is another full moon. Our quarry will be stalking fresh game.” As would he. The woman’s shapeless dress was little more than a plain sack without shape, but her fidgeting pulled the fabric close to her small breasts. Without a lady’s stays they remained high and firm. He shifted in his seat and wondered if Tibor would smirk if he reached down to adjust himself. Rather than risk any more of his mirth at his expense, Geoffrey decided to embrace the bite of his chausses around his quickening cock. “Our quarry? Yes, a full moon should aid you in finding him. Perhaps you should set a trap—with better bait this time.” 18

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“A fresh lamb for slaughter?” Geoffrey gave him a quelling glance, attuned to his double meanings. Everything that spouted from Tibor’s mouth was laced with sensual connotation. Likely he hoped for a generous sampling to be shared between them. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d taken bites of the same sweet meat. Or had the bastard already tasted? “Find the beast first,” he drawled. He wasn’t at all sure the girl could be brought around to the idea of sharing her favors among friends. He stood a far better chance of seducing her alone. Casting a glance over his shoulder at the steward, he said, “Have a tray prepared and delivered to my room.” The steward’s bow was stiff, his mouth pressed into a thin line. When he quit the room, he let the door close with a sharp crack behind him. Tibor grinned. “He’s certain you’re lying with a demon.” Geoffrey turned to the woman whose mutinous mien and flashing eyes would cause lesser men to quail. He smiled and lifted her clenched hand from her lap. “Come, mistress. I find myself quite fatigued. Let’s retire to my quarters.” Her eyes widened and she tried to pull back her hand, but he stroked his thumb across her palm and noted the swift intake of her breath. “So early, sire? The sun’s barely set.” “Your name?” “Wh-what?” “I would have something to call you other than mistress for the rest of the evening.” She cleared her throat, while her pulse throbbed fast and heavy beneath his fingers. This would be an easy taming. A stabbing disappointment had him gripping her wrist tighter. He wanted the fire to flash in her eyes again—not this timorous, wide-eyed dismay. “Gisele,” she whispered, still trying to wrest away her hand. “But I must protest, milord.”

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“You wish to refuse me?” “Of course not, sire. But I’m only thinking of you. I have no great experience at…at…” “Bedsport?” “Yes! I’ll bore you.” Tibor snorted beside him and the woman’s eyes flashed with fury. “I’m sure there are others who would serve better.” “If you see any as we pass them in the hall,” he drawled, “be sure to point them out. I will invite them to join us.” Her mouth gaped then closed with a snap. Fire blazed in her jade eyes. Encouraged by her renewed anger, he couldn’t resist taunting her. “You wished to say something?” “Never! Jackanapes!” she muttered under her breath. Tibor’s brows rose at the insult, but Geoffrey’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. She could protest all she liked. Her arousal studded the front of her shapeless dress and scented the air. She was no unwilling maid—rather a fractious filly to be tamed.

***** Gisele fumed as Lord Grim pulled her through the hall where everyone gathered for the evening meal. Surprised horror registered on more than one face. As if she was some sort of succubus come to drain the master of his virility! Whispers of “witch” and “hag” followed them through the room and she tried to keep her head held high. She even resisted struggling against his hold, just because she didn’t want the rest of them to know she’d been well and truly trapped by their wily overlord. Pride reared its head and kept her gaze on his broad shoulders as she followed him, managing not to trip once on the long trek through the hall. Too soon, they climbed the

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steps to the private rooms above the hall. Once they were beyond the curious gazes of the castle folk, she tugged her hand free. A single questioning glance over his shoulder seemed to assure him she wouldn’t turn tail and run. The humiliation would have been too much to bear. Instead, she’d suffer his attentions this night and escape in the early hours. Only she knew she wouldn’t suffer any pain other than the sensual thrill of the bite of his large cock. She’d spied the evidence of his arousal when he’d risen from the table, outlined against the dark chausses that hugged his manhood close as a lover’s palm might. The man was hung like a horse! The thought should have caused her alarm. Instead, warmth flooded her body, readying her to accept his generous size. Her eagerness to gaze on Lord Grim’s cock would cause her many nights of dismay, she was sure, but right this very moment she could scarcely wait. Once she’d resigned herself to the fact he would not let her slip his noose, her body and her mind had leapt ahead to his bedchamber. She only hoped the slow drawl of his voice and the lazy rub of his thumb over her wrist and palm were indications of a truly sensual nature. Last night’s taste of passion had only whetted her appetite. For so many years, she’d wanted to learn what the women who sought her potions were talking about. The thrilling ecstasy they moaned over was a total mystery. Her previous encounters had left her feeling…disappointed. Somehow, she knew this time, just as last night, it would be very different. Not that she was going to surrender easily. Nothing gained without a bit of hard work was ever truly treasured. She was no loose scullery maid eager to lift her skirts to any man. The daughter of a knight and a lesser noblewoman, she’d arrived at her station through no fault of her own. War and the revision of fiefdoms had stripped her of any rank in society. Not one to bemoan her losses, she’d used the skills her mother had bequeathed her and made a place for herself. 21

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Lord Grim would soon learn she was no easy conquest. If she could manage to control the lush heat melting her woman’s parts long enough to prove her strength of will. They stopped in front of a thick plank door, and he pushed it open. A fire had been lit in a brazier in the far corner of the chamber, taking away any chill and moisture from the thick stone walls. A single torch on the wall and the candles burning in sturdy sconces added to the golden light that flooded his large room. A thick fur of indeterminate origin graced the floor at the end of the bed and she stared at it for a long moment before raising her gaze to the bed itself. It was a very large bed with a mattress that looked as though it was stuffed with down rather than straw. The wide, fluffy expanse of brightly colored bedding seemed a decadent luxury when a bed was simply a place to sleep—at least to her. At least before last night. But if a man wished to practice seduction, one glimpse of that soft mattress was indeed a powerful lure. The scent of fresh potted pies drew her to a small table beside the bed. A hassock and chair flanked the table. Two flagons filled with ale sat beside the pies. “Shall we eat first?” Gisele looked up to find that damnable smirk curving his lips and tossed back her hair. “I’m starving,” she said baldly, knowing her tone held a rebellious edge. “The room is rather warm,” he murmured and drew his tunic over his head. Gisele stole another glance at his heavy loins as his garment passed his head. The temperature in the room rose as did the heat in her cheeks. The linen shirt he wore next to his skin was rumpled and the dark cloud of hair that covered his chest was visible through the thin fabric. He tugged down the hem. Cutting off her view once more. “If you are overwarm…” His expression held more than a hint of challenge, but she held on to her wits and shook her head.

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Soon enough. Perhaps it would be best to see him well into his cups before she stripped to the skin. Beer had a way of enhancing one’s ill looks, or so she’d often heard. She would have preferred ink-black darkness to accomplish the task. When he indicated they should take seats, she stepped next to the hassock and waited for him to sit. “We’ll not stand on ceremony when we’re alone, Gisele.” She shivered at the sound of her name coming in his rich baritone and settled onto the hassock as he took his chair. She immediately grabbed her spoon and stabbed a potted pie—anything to turn her attention from his massive body and the musky scent of his warm skin. The ale beside her pie was almost too much temptation. She feared she’d down the goblet quickly to ease her nerves, he’d have his way with her, and she’d never remember whether she’d enjoyed the experience or not. Worse, she might act like a fool and launch herself at his body. The rich beef pastry sat like a stone at the pit of her stomach before she chanced the ale. “You look as though you’re partaking of your last meal.” She swallowed another bite that tasted like sawdust to her tongue. “I have a hearty appetite,” she muttered around the mouthful. “One can hope you have an appetite for more than one sort of meal.” She rolled her eyes and set down her spoon. “You needn’t circle me with innuendo, sire. I find honest talk less work.” “You would prefer I speak openly about what I desire from you?” She nodded and took a gulp of ale. “What of the game? The hunt?” “You would prefer that I not spoil the illusion you are going to seduce me? When we both know I’m here by your command, not by my choice?” “Am I so unattractive to you?” he asked, his voice a silky slide.

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“You’re still playing with me. You must know you’re beyond handsome.” His brows rose high. “You flatter me. I’m an old warhorse, full of scars and imperfections.” “Old warhorse? You would have me believe you aren’t aware of your great appeal to women?” “Most women fear me. Some wish to be conquered by the warrior. They relish my scars only because they fantasize their own—” “Rape? I can assure you,” she said her tone low and scathing, “I do not grow hot from the thought of you taking me like a captive.” “You’ve never wanted to be overwhelmed?” “You only have to breathe to do that. You don’t have to physically restrain me to show me your strength.” At the rise of his eyebrows, she snapped her jaw shut. Had she really admitted her desire so clearly? “I only have to breathe?” he said softly. “Your chest is quite broad.” Her breath grew choppy. “It’s a pity you stopped at the tunic. I would not have minded you dispensing with the undershirt as well.” Lord, what truth elixir had he laced into the ale? “I do not wish to disappoint.” He reached for the hem of the shirt and quickly pulled it over his head. His broad chest was everything she’d imagined. The curves of his shoulders were round and pronounced. His muscled chest and abdomen looked as though they were chiseled from stone. An enticing smattering of hair stretched across his chest and trailed down his belly to disappear into the top of his chausses. “Would you like me to remove the rest of my clothing?” he murmured, his deep breaths raising and lowering his massively appealing chest. Oh, yes! At the hard glitter in his eyes, she realized she must have blurted her wish out loud.

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He rose and toed off his soft boots and untied the knot at his waist to loosen his garment. Then without any perceivable embarrassment, he pushed them down his thick thighs and calves and stepped out of them. She tried very hard not to stare at the part of his anatomy that rose like a blunted pole. The skin stretched tightly around his shaft gleamed in the firelight, shadows darkened the upper sides of the veins that traversed his cock. She licked her lips and wondered whether the skin was as soft as it appeared and the shaft as hard as it must be to rise so high against his body. “I am yours tonight, Gisele,” he said, reaching to tip her chin and raise her gaze to his. His jaw tightened and his eyes glittered with dark, sensual intent. “There need be no rules for what passes between us. You may lead me wherever you prefer. You may touch me however you wish.”

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Chapter Three She’d thought this night would be all about his wishes, his desires. Wasn’t that how most men saw sexual congress with women? Even the sheriff had thought first of his own pleasure. “And what if I prefer you do the taking? At least the first time?” His eyes blinked and his lips curved. “You have great faith in my prowess.” She drew a deep, steadying breath, reaching for courage to answer the challenge in his gaze. “There are many things I wish to learn this night, milord, but I find that my body pleads for immediate satisfaction.” Her cheeks grew hot. “I’m quite wet.” His hand curved around her jaw and his thumb stroked her lips. “I think I like this plain speaking.” She closed her eyes and kissed his thumb, moaning when it slipped inside her mouth. Her tongue licked it once then she drew back and opened her eyes. “Are you always so slow to act upon a woman’s request? ‘Tis no surprise you must force women to your bed.” But she gave him a small, teasing smile when she delivered the cut, wondering where the courage came for her to join his game. “I mustn’t let you destroy my reputation for ruthless ravishment,” he growled and reached down to tug her to her feet. Then he gathered her gown and undertunic in his hands and slid them up her body, his hands cupping, kneading as he swept over her. When her garments cleared her head, she stood in only her thick stockings and shoes. Her breath was jagged, so nervous was she standing nearly nude beneath his interested gaze. She should have waited until the ale was gone. “I hadn’t planned on sharing milord’s bed when I dressed this morning. I would have worn more clothing.” A gasp escaped her lips when he knelt to slide her stockings down her legs and removed her shoes. 26

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He stood quickly and placed his hands on his hips, his expression taut and wickedly foreboding. “Climb onto the bed,” he rasped. She’d told him she wished to be taken—and she’d meant it. Her chin rose and she issued him a challenge he could not misinterpret. His eyelids dipped and his gaze raked over her. Suddenly, he bent and shoved his shoulder into her belly, causing her to fold over him. Before she could catch her breath, she was on her back in the middle of his great bed with his body anchoring every limb to the mattress. The feel of his hulking body pressing her deep into the down was overpowering to her senses. He surrounded her. His hands pressed hers high above her head. His chest mashed her breasts. His ankles hooked hers so that his legs rode her outer thighs. His cock nestled between, the blunt head already burrowing between her folds. “Shall I slow my assault, mistress?” She tilted her head. “Can you?” He issued a masculine snort. “No.” “Since you’ve been frank, I’ll be the same. Take me. Do it now!” She closed her eyes tight, expecting him to drive his manhood deep inside her, but she blinked when he let go of her hands and backed off her body. The moan that broke from her betrayed her disappointment. Her arms reached out to pull him close again. He thrust a knee between her legs and pressed them open. Then he knelt between her splayed thighs and hooked his arms beneath her knees, lifting them from the bed, raising her higher until her bottom also left the mattress. Gisele wasn’t at all sure she liked this position. She was open, vulnerable—her movements controlled by him. But her body reacted fiercely, her nipples drawing painfully tight, her cunt clasping—the ache deep inside her tightening. Rocking his hips forward, he found her entrance and pushed the crown of his cock between her cunt lips. His eyes gleamed with triumph.

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The pressure brought her down to earth with a thud. Gisele’s breath caught. She was exactly where he’d wanted her all along. He’d played with her, letting her think she was the one directing this game—until she’d given over the reins. He liked being in command of everything. As he pushed inward, stretching her, she found she didn’t care whether he’d won or not. She wanted him. Wanted to be filled, to find the ecstasy—even if it lasted only a moment. She bit her lip to hold back her cry as he thrust forward, burrowing deeper inside her body. Dear God, his cock was endless! It tunneled deep inside her, leaving no room for breath or thoughts beyond the need to wriggle and help him settle deeper still. “Don’t move,” he said, his eyes squeezing tight, perspiration gathering above his lips and on his broad forehead. “Why?” she asked, surprised she had enough wits about her to ask. “Because I’m going to hurt you. I have to move, woman.” “Please,” she said, her voice rising as he withdrew and thrust back inside, this time dragging against her inner walls. “It isn’t as though I haven’t done this before—” Not like I didn’t do this last night! Liquid melted from inside her, surrounding him in heat, lubricating his motions as he rocked forward and back, jerking slightly each time he delved toward her womb. “You’re too small,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Nonsense,” she said, reaching out to grasp the bedding in her fists, feeling as though she needed to hold on to something lest she be swept away by the gathering storm. “I’m just not accustomed to this. Pray continue.” A gust of laughter was followed by another harsh forward thrust, then another, deeper, harder, until she lost track of his movements. She only knew the heat within her channel was increasing, the ache intensifying.

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Gradually, her hips joined his rhythm, her breath gusting in time with his. They danced against each other, thrusting, melting, thighs tensing. Gisele’s belly quivered and tension built deep inside her core. When he began a circular movement that screwed his cock in and out of her, her back arched off the bed and she cried out. He slammed forward and back, faster, harder—deeper than she thought possible for her body to accept, yet still she wanted more. “Please,” she begged. “Oh please, more!” A deep growling roar tore from him as he hammered faster. Sweat gleamed on his chest and abdomen. The sight of him, straining and fierce, ignited a womanly pride she hadn’t known she possessed. She’d inspired this ferocity! The bed rocked beneath her back and his harsh strokes drove the breath from her, and then suddenly that elusive dark wave of ecstasy swept over her, tightening her feminine muscles around his thick cock and thrusting her over the edge. He shouted as liquid spurted, bathing her womb and channel with his essence. Gisele fell back to earth to find the dark lord’s head nestled in the corner of her shoulder, his arms still hooked beneath her thighs and his breath rasping loudly. Filled to the brim once again with the moist evidence of a man’s attraction and his still-throbbing cock, she wondered why she’d denied herself this joy for so long and whether she could coax him into repeating the act soon.

***** The woman’s snores woke him. They were soft and her mouth opened with each breath. He almost laughed, but was sure she wouldn’t appreciate his amusement at her expense. She was a prickly little thing. Her “prickles” were what had drawn his interest in the first place. Accustomed to women fawning over him, her resistance incited a powerful desire. Memory of her lusty

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sensuality had him prodding her sex with his engorged cock. Would she even waken before he thrust into her from behind? Her cunt moistened his crown and he snuggled his thighs flush with the backs of her slender ones and flexed his hips to enter her. “Milord!” she exclaimed, coming fully awake, her hand reaching behind to grasp his thigh. But she didn’t push him away, instead her bottom nestled closer and her thighs parted to aid his entry. Suddenly, he wanted more—deeper penetration, more ease of movement—and to unsettle her once again. He withdrew and rolled her to her stomach, grabbing pillows to shove beneath her belly. Gisele gasped and tried to rise on her hands and knees and crawl forward to escape him, but he hooked an arm around her belly and added a second pillow. When he was done, he arranged her squirming body until it was draped over the mound of pillows and her buttocks lifted high. Perfect for what he had in mind. “This isn’t comfortable,” she muttered. “Of course, it is. I’m saving you the strain of supporting me when I fuck you hard.” “I don’t like it this way,” she said, her voice muffled against the bedding. “I’m not a dog.” “Yes, you do. Your lovely cunt already weeps with pleasure,” he said, tracing her quivering nether lips and drawing moisture on his fingertip. “You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s crude,” she said, her tone tart, but her knees widened on the mattress. Glad he’d lit fresh candles, he watched her sex gleam with fresh excitement and her thighs tremble. “But it’s to the point, is it not? I thought you preferred plain speaking.”

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“I prefer seeing what’s coming my way,” she said, her voice softer, more tentative this time. “Don’t you like surprises?” he drawled and caressed her buttocks, kneading them deeply, parting them for an even better view of her sweet openings. “Are you going to keep teasing me or get on with it?” “Such impatience. Were you so demanding with Tibor, I wonder?” “Tibor?” “The sheriff. My friend.” She jerked away from his hands, trying to close her legs, but his knees kept her open. “He told you? Leave it to a man to brag of his conquests.” Geoffrey came over her back, trapping her beneath him. “He didn’t have to say anything,” he whispered into the wildly curling hair beside her ear. “With the scathing looks you gave him, I knew he’d given you pleasure.” She turned her face away, her breath becoming choppy. “I gave you the same look, but I hadn’t intimate knowledge of you yet. You’re squeezing the breath from me!” “Liar!” But he eased a bit of his weight from her and glided his cock between her thighs, rubbing her wet sex. “When you looked at me, you trembled. When you looked at him, your gaze held no fear, only the look of a woman who knows him well.” Her breath caught and she gave a tiny moan that she no doubt tried to hold back. “I’m not surprised he elicits scorn from all women.” “Of course he does not. Many find his brash manner attractive. But from you, there could only be scorn because he did not fully claim you.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her shoulder, then opened his jaws to clasp her with his teeth. A shudder racked her body. “I…don’t understand.” He released her and nuzzled her shoulder and neck. “Your prickly mien protects a wild heart. You need taming, a bit of breaking to harness.”

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Her hands fisted in the bedding and she reared up against him. “I’m not a horse! And I assure you the last thing I want is ‘breaking’—to harness or to a man’s will!” “But you do, my dear,” he said, easily restraining her. “The thought of my mastery is enough to make your sex swell and your juices to flow like nectar. Shall I prove it to you?” Her lack of reply only hardened his resolve. He’d make her admit she wanted a master. He rose behind her going to his knees, prepared when she lunged forward to attempt an escape. He grabbed her bottom, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise and keep her in place. “That hurts! Let me go!” “You wished to be taken.” “Last night, when I thought I still might like you. I know now that I do not!” “Then I’ll have to strive harder.” Holding her firm, he bent over her sex and lapped her from the bottom to the top of her quivering cunt. “Sweet Jesus!” she moaned, but bucked once more—likely to remind him to continue the “taking”. He firmed his jaw and leaned closer, suckling hard on her swollen lips, causing her to wriggle and squirm. Fresh cream seeped from inside her and he licked that up too. She reached behind her, pushing at the top of his head, but when he pointed his tongue and sank into her cunt, her fingers twisted in his hair to hold him closer. “Like that, sweetheart? Now, if you’d promise not to bolt, I’d give you more.” “What choice have I?” she said, her voice small. He grinned and let go of her ass, not the least surprised when she lay acquiescent, even widening her knees and raising her bottom higher. With his hands free to ravage, he traced her slit then rimmed her opening before thrusting two fingers inside her. Her inner muscles clamped hard around him and her hips undulated. He wanted to explore her—fully—but knew she’d bolt if he didn’t

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arouse her beyond embarrassment first. So he played inside her cunt, thrusting, swirling, adding another finger and fucking her slowly, so that her hips dipped and rose at his command, faster and faster. When he judged her ready he bent close and bit her bottom, causing her to jerk and her channel to flood again. With his fingers swimming in her cream, he licked between her buttocks, finding the small exquisitely sensitive opening and licked her with the tip of his tongue. She mewled like a kitten, then gasped when he lingered. “What are you doing to me?” “Whatever I please,” he murmured and pressed fingers on either side of the opening to spread it wider to dip deeper inside. “That pleases you?” she asked, her voice strained and high-pitched, her only resistance—her hips reared back, begging for more. One day, he’d take this tiny hole. Drill deep and feel the pinch of the strong muscle that guarded her entrance. For now, he’d tease her with a hint of what he would do. He’d unsettle her so deeply she’d be ashamed for days of her own body’s response, but cream at just a knowing glance from him. Quickly, his own body grew so inflamed he couldn’t wait any longer to feel her heat around his cock. Looking down at her, her back jerking with her jagged breaths, her hair a wild tangle from her thrashing head, he felt a deep satisfaction—a dark, primitive thrill at having “taken” her so thoroughly. He grasped his cock and stroked it hard within his palm, then placed it against her plump, dripping cunt and squeezed her bottom hard as he plunged forward. His cock raked her channel, rammed tight into clenching, tender tissues. Wet heat surrounded him as he tunneled deep, slamming his hips so hard her slender bottom jiggled with each thrust. “Please, please, oh please!” she begged sweetly, pushing back to take him deep. Her body shuddered, her cunt clenched then she cried out, flinging back her head.

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Geoffrey needed wait no longer, he stroked deep, hard, slamming his hips against hers again and again, until his own release swept over him. When his balls had emptied, her took them both to the mattress, clutching her close to keep the connection. With his chest heaving, he held her tight—too tight because she wheezed a bit and pushed at his hands. “You’ve already taken away my breath,” she muttered. He found himself smiling as he drifted back to sleep.

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Chapter Four Geoffrey awoke to pounding on his door. Beneath him, Gisele stirred and murmured a protest. She’d slept as soundly as he had despite the fact his weight pressed her deep into the mattress. Groaning for the loss of the sweet warmth gloving his sex, he withdrew slowly, lowering her legs to the bed. How many times might he have taken her this night, if they hadn’t been interrupted? After the third time, he’d thought perhaps he’d have his fill, but his cock rose again. She roused, sleepily blinking her remarkable green eyes. “Someone’s at the door? Can you not send them away?” A smile curved his lips. She didn’t want to leave his bed any more than he did. “I must see what is the matter.” He rose from the bed, tossed the coverlet over her nude body and stomped toward the door, flinging it open. The steward stood outside, his expression far from apologetic for his interruption. He looked frightened. Instantly alert, Geoffrey straightened. “What is it? What has happened?” “Come to courtyard, milord,” his steward said, wringing his hands. “The sheriff needs you.” Geoffrey nodded and turned to quickly gather his clothing from the floor. “Lord Grim, what is it?” Gisele asked, sitting up while she held the coverlet securely over her breasts. “Stay abed. I’ll be back.”

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Once the straps of his boots were secure, he hurried from the room, following close on the heels of the steward. A crowd of people hovered in the hall, their hushed whispers filling him with dread. On the steps of the keep, his gaze swept over the men standing beside their horses and a cart draped with a blanket. His friend Tibor stood beside it, looking as though he guarded it from curious eyes. “Milord, send the rest of them inside.” Geoffrey didn’t question the quietly issued command. His friend’s expression warned him whatever was in the cart needed the utmost discretion. Glancing over his shoulder, he pinned the steward with a hard glare. “Get everyone inside. Now.” Within moments, only the men who’d accompanied Tibor on his patrol remained. A cloud passed before the full moon that had illuminated the courtyard, darkening Tibor’s expression and casting shadows over the cart. “So tell me. How did your hunting go?” “It was as we suspected, Geoff.” He flipped back the blanket to reveal the nude body of a man, an arrow piercing his side. “The wolf?” Tibor nodded. “We set the trap using a few of the witch’s sheep. We kept watch from her hut. When they began to bleat, we crept outside and lay in wait for him to appear. He was a fearsome creature, walking on two legs, but his head was that of a wolf and his body was covered in fur. “I crept closer with my bow and quiver full of silver-tipped arrows, just as you recommended. When he drew close to the pen, he scented the air. He spotted me and charged. I let loose an arrow just as he leapt for my throat.” Tibor’s gaze dropped to the body of the young man. “He didn’t die quickly, he thrashed about and transformed into the man you see here.” “Did he bite you, Tibor?”

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His friend’s gaze lifted slowly. “I wasn’t bitten, but his claws scratched me on my shoulder.” A blanket of cold, numbing dread settled over Geoffrey. “We must see to your wounds,” he said, unwilling to admit to himself the possibility his friend might already be doomed. “Let me help, milord,” a soft feminine voice whispered beside him. Geoffrey started, and swung his gaze to Gisele. Dressed only in her shift, she stood like a pale ghost beside him. “I told you to wait in my chamber,” he said in harsh whisper. “Let me treat him, milord. I may be able to help.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, hoping she hadn’t overhead the whole conversation. “I know that you fear he will become a werewolf like this poor creature. I have some knowledge. I might be able to stop the poison from entering his blood.” Impatient and quickly growing distraught, he lashed out. “Woman, what can you do? He is already condemned.” Her small hand lifted to press against his arm. “We must go to my hut,” she implored. “Let me care for him there. My herbs—” “If the wolf’s contagion has already taken root, he will transform within a day. We should lock him in the dungeon and await the change.” Tibor’s expression was grim, but resolute. He nodded his head, indicating he understood what must be done. Gisele’s eyes filled with tears. “But if I can save him, why would you not be willing to try?” Clenching his jaw against the urge to howl his pain, he gritted out, “This is a demon’s magic—not something your remedies can cure.”

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“But I’m not just a healer, milord,” she said softly. “Herbs aren’t the only skill I own.” “What are you saying?” “I must lay hands on him as well. I possess a…gift.” Her resoluteness in the face of his anger finally broke through the numbing horror. “You think your gift can save him?” he asked, afraid to believe. “I would like to try. If I have the rest of tonight and tomorrow, we will have time to get him back to the dungeon to await the full moon.” Geoffrey’s throat tightened. “Aren’t you afraid to touch him—in case he might spread the poison to you?” “He can’t infect us until he transforms.” “You sound as though you’ve seen this before.” Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, her smile was serene. “My mother was a healer. She passed her gift and knowledge to me. She had some experience with werecreatures.” “You say this so as though it was a daily occurrence.” “Well, I know it’s not. But let’s not consign your friend to death just yet. We have a day.” Geoffrey looked to Tibor whose expression was closed, as though he too was afraid to hope. “We will go to your hut. You will have a day to work your magic.” “You must keep everyone away.” “I don’t want either of you to risk yourselves,” Tibor bit out. “We risk nothing,” she said, at last giving voice to her impatience. “Listen to what I say. You cannot infect us until after you transform into the creature. Please, let me help you.” For a long moment, he stared at her. Then his lips curved into a smile. “Why, mistress, you sound as though you care.” 38

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Her gaze narrowed. “I would care for even the lowest of creatures, Sheriff.” “Tibor, mistress. Since it looks as though we will be spending time alone—again.” She rolled her eyes. “Must everything be about bedsport?” He shrugged. “I’m a man—you’re an attractive woman.” “You are cursed, sir, and still you find time to play games.” One eyebrow rose. “I’m cursed, not yet dead.” Relieved his friend had regained his wit and a measure of hope, Geoffrey interrupted their sparring. “We’ll take horses. I’ll let the men know we are leaving.” Gisele caught his arm as he turned. “You mustn’t tell them why. If they suspect, they might take matters into their own hands.” “What?” Tibor murmured. “You wouldn’t care to see me swinging by the neck? You do care.” “Hush, you fool,” she shot back without taking her gaze from Geoffrey. “Milord, tell them to burn the body, but they mustn’t touch it. They’ll have to burn the entire cart.” Geoffrey nodded and strode away, shouting to his men to assemble, glad to have something to do to push away thoughts of the coming day.

“Was he gentle with you?” The sheriff’s voice was soft. For once, it held no trace of mockery. Unable to meet his searching gaze, Gisele dropped hers to his wide chest. “That wasn’t the way I wanted him to take me,” she answered honestly. “I knew it!” he crowed. She scowled and raised her chin. “I don’t know why I assume you can behave like an adult.” “My immaturity is part of my charm. Admit it, the games you and I play amuse you. You spend countless hours thinking of ways to make me itch or reek.” 39

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Her lips twitched. “I knew it! You little witch!” At her renewed scowl, he raised his hands. “I say that with the greatest affection.” “Remember your fate is in my hands.” His eyebrows waggled. “I’ve waited forever to hear you say that.” Lord Grim returned with three horses. “I’ve told them we wish to be left alone for the day.” “Good Lord,” Gisele exclaimed, “they’ll think you both intend to—” “If this is to be my last day…” The sheriff’s lips stretched into a wicked grin. “I don’t care if you have only an hour left to live, you can just get those thoughts out of your mind.” “Of course.” But he shot a glance at the dark lord that was laden with mischief. “Have a care that she doesn’t turn you into a toad,” Lord Grim drawled. “Too late for that, milord,” she quipped. Both men laughed as she stood beside her horse. Lord Grim cupped his hands and swept her easily up into the saddle. His hand rested on her thigh for a moment and he gave her a squeeze. “Whatever you can do, please do it. He’s a brother to me.” Seeing his love for the sheriff softened her toward him. “You have my promise I will use everything in my arsenal of cures to help him. I have no wish to see him destroyed.” “Good Lord, haven’t you had your fill of her?” Tibor said. Geoffrey shook his head and gave her a quick smile, then vaulted into his saddle. Together, they rode through the gate, the full moon lighting their way.

***** “I’ll take care of the horses,” Lord Grim said, as they drew to a halt in front of her small hut. 40

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The sheriff dismounted and reached her first. His hands closed gently around her waist as he helped her to the ground. Her heart fluttered and she kept her gaze averted, glad for the darkness that hid her blushes. She’d managed for so long to keep him emotionally at a distance. Now, she knew they’d share intimacies that would strain her ability to keep things light and her heart unaffected. She led him into her hut and went straight to the hearth, reaching for the poker to stir the embers. Thankfully, a few still smoldered, so she added kindling, one small branch at a time until the fire blazed. Only then did she turn back to him. “I need for you to remove your clothing.” A smile tugged his lips. “The scratch is on my shoulder.” She drew a deep breath. “I must be sure. Please.” His brows rose high. “Be sure to tell Geoffrey this is your idea.” “Do you fear him?” He pulled his tunic over his head, taking his undertunic along with it. “No, but I wouldn’t want him to think I poached where I wasn’t invited. Not after he’s laid claim.” “I’m not pledged to him,” she said softly, trying not to stare at what he revealed to her. Last night they’d come together in darkness. Tonight, she feasted on the sight of him. His torso was leaner than Lord Grim’s, but just as well-muscled. She struggled to keep her breaths even, and her body unaffected, concentrating instead on the three angry scratches that marred his shoulder. “Does that mean you’d not be averse to keeping me as a lover?” “What?” Good Lord! Had he seen her interest? Flustered, because the thought of having both of them as lovers didn’t seem such a bad idea, her protest was a little too ardent. “Of course not! I only meant he shouldn’t feel any possessiveness toward me. Besides, I’ve heard you two have often shared your conquests.”

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“You’ve heard that, have you? You aren’t shocked?” “Shouldn’t I be? The rumor has it you don’t simply pass them between you, you take them together!” “I suppose on the surface that appears a bit…decadent.” “Sinful is more like it,” she said, adding a tart bite to her tone. “The very idea!” “And yet, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are sparkling with fire. I think the idea excites you, mistress.” “Your trousers, sir.” His laugh was low and tinged with wicked delight. His fingers made quick work of the knot at his waist, and fast as she could blink, he’d divested himself of his clothing and his boots. His arousal took her breath away. Darker than the rest of his sun-browned skin, it was capped with a ruddy crown. It rose from a nest of dark crinkly hair and seemed to strain toward her. While she stared, his hand closed around his staff and rubbed up and down once. “Be careful. He does bite.” Her reply was a croak. She swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “Turn slowly, so that I can see every inch of your skin.” “Every inch is right here,” he taunted, stroking himself again. “You know damn well what I mean. Turn so that I can inspect you for more scratches.” His hand dropped from his cock and he gave an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t you know, the woman prefers to gaze upon backsides.” He was right. His was perfect—rounded and hard. She remembered grasping both globes in her hands and squeezing with all her might as he’d rutted against her. She cleared her throat. “I see nothing of interest. You may turn around.” “You sound as though you’ve swallowed a frog.”

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Ignoring his taunt, she ground out, “Lie down on the bed. I have a salve I’ll rub into your wounds.” “Shall I dress?” She halted and stared at him. The prudent thing would be to tell him to put on his trousers, but it had been an odd night all the way around, and she wasn’t her usual stern self at all. With ruthless honesty, she wanted to gaze upon his naked form, and perhaps touch him intimately. “Please don’t,” she said softly. All trace of arrogant humor bled from his expression. Quietly, he strode toward the bed and lay down on it, his cock pointing toward the ceiling. She gathered a crock of ointment and a bundle of herbs and crossed the room, settling beside him. “I’m going to make a poultice and rub it into your wounds. Then I’ll place my hands over the scratches and let them heat the medicine. Afterward, I’ll wrap it tight.” “Will this save me, mistress?” he said, his tone light, but his gaze almost pleading. “Gisele,” she said softly. “Will this save me…Gisele?” When he wasn’t being clever, his voice had a pleasant rasp. She hadn’t noticed that before. “It is only part of the cure.” “What else must you do?” “It is what you must do that is most important.” “What is that?” She lifted her fingers and brushed back of lock of hair from his forehead, not questioning the appropriateness of the tender gesture. “Believe that you’ll be cured.” “You didn’t see the beast,” he said, anguish slipping into his voice. “You ask me to have faith that will not happen to me, and I tell you I don’t think I can.” “Believe in me. Believe in Lord Grim. Believe in God. It’s up to you whether you let the demon take up residence in your soul.” 43

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His gaze fell away. “I’m not a coward.” She removed the lid to the crock that held a healing cream and set it aside. “I know that.” “But I’m afraid of dying like that—like a maddened beast.” “Fear will rob your soul of faith.” She poured herbs onto her palm and crumbled them between her hands, letting them fall into the crock. “This might be my last day on this Earth.” Gisele stirred the ointment with her fingers then slathered a dollop of it over the angry red scratches. He winced, but gave no protest as she smoothed it over the wounds. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “My hands will become very warm, but I promise you will not be burned.” His gaze snapped back to hers as she laid her palms over the stripes and leaned her weight into his shoulder. Already, she felt the heat flowing from her heart, through her arms to her palms. Air hissed between his teeth, but he didn’t draw away. His gaze remained fixed on her face. When her palms began to cool, she removed them and quickly wrapped his shoulder with linen bandages. “You are a wonder, mistress.” His gaze slid away and a faint smile curved his lips. “As I started to say, this might be my last day on this Earth.” She suppressed a grin, knowing he was already recovering his mischievous humor. “Since it might be your last, do you have any special requests?” His eyelids dipped and his gaze focused on her mouth. “Did he kiss you?” She started and thought back. “No, we were in rather a hurry.” “I wasn’t so neglectful. Let me correct his oversight.”

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Chapter Five His hand fisted in her hair and brought her head close. “Will you open for me?” Tibor asked, his eyes searching hers. This close she could see their color wasn’t at all the same as the sludge in the bottom of her bucket. It was a vibrant green, like the tender leaves on a young oak in springtime. Sighing as she surrendered to his appeal, Gisele parted her lips and sank against him, letting him guide her closer until their lips met. His mouth devoured hers hungrily, gliding over hers until she gasped and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. When she returned the lustful stroke, an approving murmur rumbled in his throat. He pulled her closer until her breasts grazed his chest. Her nipples ruched. He broke the kiss. “Come over me.” She shook her head, helpless against the passion rising inside her body. She must resist! “We shouldn’t do this,” she said, licking her lips while staring into his hungry gaze. “This might be my last day.” His hoarse plea shattered her defenses, and she climbed over his body, straddling his hips. His hands reached out and pulled up the hem of her shift. He glided his hands beneath her skirt, smoothing them over her naked thighs and higher until he was grasping her bottom, squeezing her gently, igniting a flame that drew moisture to her sex. His cock butted between her legs and she murmured a halfhearted protest. “No, no,” he moaned. “Give me this!” He thrust upward, spearing into her, and she was lost.

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“Ride me, Gisele!” he groaned. Unsure how to proceed in this position, she braced her hands against his shoulder and lowered herself to meet his upward strokes again and again, his cock not filling her quite as snugly as his master’s had, but stretching her deliciously just the same. She moved easily, shuddering at the delightful sensations that produced ripples all along her channel. The hot spike of his cock created a friction that melted her inner walls and aided her quickening movements. “Sheriff, we should stop,” she said, remembering Lord Grim could come upon them at any moment. While she felt no particular loyalty toward him since he hadn’t professed a loyalty or affection for her, still she feared his anger should she be caught so soon after sharing favors with him. “Tibor. Call me Tibor,” he said, his hands aiding her movements, raising her up and forcing her down hard as his gaze remained on the place their sexes met. “Doesn’t seem appropriate for you to call me sheriff while you’re riding my staff.” He made her smile. He had that gift—even when she fumed at his deplorable wit. She found it poignant, almost overwhelming that his gift of humor might be snuffed out in the coming hours. Overtaken by a demon’s curse. Her movements less tentative now, she slammed down to meet his upward thrusts and circled on him as Lord Grim had her, screwing him, trying to recreate the sensations that had taught her what the fullest ecstasy was—and then there it was, that bright, shining moment as she was thrust straight into the darkness. Unable to do anything but gasp and moan, she collapsed over him as his body thrashed beneath hers, his awkward, disjointed strokes quickening until he erupted, spewing cum into her body, shouting at the last moment. Which awoke her to the realization they couldn’t possibly hide what had occurred between them. She lay down on him, her thighs still spread around his hips and hid her face against his chest. His hands rubbed in soothing circles on her back. “Thank you, mistress.” 46

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She murmured, her breath sounding like little sobs, because she knew she’d made a mistake. Lord Grim and Tibor had opened up a whole new world of sensuality, and she didn’t know how she would go back to her staid, celibate life after this night was over. They’d made her want more from her life. The door slammed open and she twisted to glance over her shoulder. Lord Grim stood in the doorway, his dark gaze narrowing on the two lying abed, still joined. Tibor remained silent beneath her, but his hand clasped her shoulder, holding her body to his. She pushed against his chest. “You have to let me up.” “Do you think he will hurt you?” “He doesn’t look especially happy.” Tibor smoothed back her hair where it stuck to the sweat on her cheek. “I think he is deciding whether to join us.” He lifted a brow and aimed his glance at Lord Grim, who heaved a sigh and began to shed his clothing. “Must I brand her, so that you know who owns her?” Lord Grim growled. “Would you truly mar this perfect skin?” Tibor said, caressing her backside. Gisele shivered at the enticing thought that the two of them might lie with her. She held her breath as Lord Grim’s expression grew impossibly darker. His clothes dropped to the floor. He was angry—he was also very aroused. “You’re overdressed,” Tibor murmured and tugged her gown over her head, leaving her as naked as they were. Gisele shivered as all was revealed to Lord Grim. His glance dropped to where her sex still swallowed Tibor’s cock and his jaw clenched. What would he do? “Let me up,” she begged. Tibor’s hands fell away and she rose, embarrassed by the succulent sounds her body made when she drew off his cock. Her belly jumping with nervous agitation, she made her way toward Lord Grim. 47

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When she was within arm’s reach, he grasped the back of her head to hold her securely while his mouth slammed down on hers. She tasted his anger, felt it in the hardness of his lips as he ate her mouth, branding her lips with his fire. His eyes remained open, accusing. She didn’t dare blink beneath his hard glare. He tore his lips away and cursed, then pushed her down his body, forcing her to kneel in front of his cock, which was rigid and pointed right at her mouth. Her eyes widened as she read his intent. She’d heard of the act, but hadn’t ever thought it might be a pleasant thing. But his hard glare brooked no arguments, so she bent closer and opened her mouth and ran her tongue down his length. His fingers tightened in her hair and she could tell she pleased him. The sound of a throat clearing beside her drew her gaze to Tibor, who moved to stand next to Lord Grim. He leaned down and grabbed her hand and brought it to his cock, wrapping his fingers around hers. She hadn’t any choice but squeeze him tight. Tibor lifted one sardonic brow to his master in challenge. Lord Grim narrowed his eyes, but his lack of protest was something she took as assent, so she let Tibor guide her hand up and down his shaft as she resumed her exploration of the lord’s cock. She glided tongue and lips along his length, suckling softly, until he cursed again and guided her mouth over the tip of his rod. He thrust into her mouth, gliding over her tongue until he butted against the back of her throat. She gagged slightly and he relented, withdrawing, only to glide back inside. With one cock filling her mouth and another growing harder in her tight grasp, Gisele’s own excitement rose swiftly, overtaking her again. She murmured a protest and drew back, shaking her head until Lord Grim released her hair. She stared up at him and leaned toward his friend and swallowed his cock all the way to the root. Tibor gasped and his hips jerked, thrusting deep into her mouth as she pumped her hand on Lord Grim’s cock now. She worked them both a while, alternating between

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them until the scent of their warming, aroused bodies was too much to bear. She sat back on her heels and dragged harsh, ragged breaths into her lungs. “Come,” Lord Grim said, holding out his hand to help her stand. Then he pulled her to the bed and lay down on it, tugging her down on top of him. “Take me inside you.” Behind her, the mattress dipped and groaned as Tibor came down behind her, his body sliding against her back and his hands encircling her to cup her breasts. He kneaded the mounds, rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until she thought she’d go mad. Lord Grim’s hands closed on her hips and lifted her onto his cock and she sank down on him, taking his great girth and length in easy lunges until her quim met the crisp hairs surrounding his sex. “Lean over him,” Tibor whispered in her ear. She did so, not questioning what he intended, knowing instinctively she would love whatever he intended. When he reached beyond her for the crock of ointment, she watched fascinated as he swirled his fingers in it. They disappeared behind her back, then a hand parted her buttocks and he smeared the ointment into the crease that divided her bottom. Her cunt tightened around Lord Grim’s cock, understanding now what Tibor intended. “Oh God,” she sobbed as fingers slipped inside her dark entrance. Unable to hold back, she pumped forward and back on her dark lord’s cock, while Tibor eased inside her. The ointment blunted the pain, but when his cock replaced his fingers, she stilled, not believing she would be able to take him there. Her whole body trembled and she sobbed, so close to ecstasy her body tightened and spasmed. When Tibor thrust deep, she screamed, suspended by Lord Grim’s hands bracing her shoulders and Tibor’s thick, strong cock reaming her ass. The men murmured their

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approval in low, rasping voices, praising her courage and her beauty, until her body exploded with delight. As Lord Grim eased her to his chest, she heard him say softly, as though from a great distance, “If this isn’t your last day on Earth, I’ll kill you, Tibor.”

***** “What will you do with the woman?” Tibor asked, stretching his legs in front of him as he rested with his back against the packed, earthen wall of the dungeon. From the opposite side of the bars, Geoffrey rubbed a tired hand over his face and shot him an aggravated glance. “What can I do? I cannot wed her.” The sheriff nestled his back against the wall as if seeking a more comfortable position. “I can,” he drawled. Geoffrey’s hands clenched as he imagined choking the life from his friend. The full moon had come and gone and his friend remained his mischievous self—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be in deeper trouble. “Think about it, Geoff. We could share her.” “Do you really think she would agree to such a notion?” he growled. “She is a woman with a mind of her own. She will have to be brought around to the idea.” Marriage with the lovely, sensual witch was out of the question, however he might desire it. Any alliance he made would be for expedience sake and the good of Grimoult. But the prospect of taking another woman to wife held little joy for him. However, he already knew he could never let Gisele go. “I’ve brought you water for a bath and fresh clothing,” a soft voice said from behind him. Geoffrey’s body hardened instantly. “How much did you hear?” “Enough to know your sheriff is incorrigible—but I already knew that.”

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Geoffrey remained seated and watched as she drew closer and passed a bundle through the bars of Tibor’s prison. “I’m grateful to you, Gisele.” “Do you care for me, milord?” Direct as always, she possessed an admirable courage. “I believe I will come to love you, mistress.” “And what are your feelings, Sheriff?” she said, sending a challenging gaze to Tibor. “My cock aches and I’m sure there isn’t another woman in all of Grimoult who can relieve it. I am in dire need of your curative powers.” Gisele took a seat beside him in the gloomy chamber, carefully tucking her skirts beneath his knees. With her gaze on her lap, she whispered, “I’ve lived alone for a very long time—outside the fold. I thought I was content.” Geoffrey cupped her small chin in his palm. “And now?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know I was lonely. Not until you both accepted me within the circle of your friendship. If you wish to share me, I’ll be honored to accept.” “Then you must marry, Tibor. I will not allow you to live in shame should you bear a child.” He reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulder and brought her close to his side. “Now that we’ve planned my wedding, do you think you could release me from this cell?” Tibor said, his lips stretching into a mischievous grin. Geoffrey rose and lifted Gisele into his arms. “And miss an opportunity to have her all to myself?” Gisele smiled up at him and gave Tibor a fluttering wave of her fingers. “We’ll send the steward down in a while with the keys.”

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“Ballocks! Don’t you think I’ll be so agreeable after we are wed, mistress. I know I owe my life to you.” She turned and her smile widened. “Tibor, I knew you wouldn’t die last night. The scratches never pierced your skin.” Tibor’s mouth gaped and Geoffrey laughed so hard he shook the woman clutching his shoulders. “And we thought we were leading you into temptation.” With a deep sigh, she settled into his embrace. “My mother always told me to begin as you wish to proceed. I knew what I wanted from the outset of this adventure.” “Two lovers?” Her smile slipped. “Love. Acceptance. I’m content with what we have.” His voice roughened. “Gisele, I will never let you harbor any regrets.” “Sire, I’ll hold you to that promise.” “What about me?” Tibor asked, a petulant note in his voice. Gisele’s gaze narrowed with determination. “You, sir, shall have a very short leash!”

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About the Author Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban, and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She’s lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children’s juvenile delinquency. Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety--it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her! In addition to writing erotica, she enjoys creating romantic comedies and suspense novels.

Delilah welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Delilah Devlin Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales from the Temple III anthology Fated Mates anthology Jacq’s Warlord with Myla Jackson Lion In the Shadows My Immortal Knight: All Hallows Heartbreaker My Immortal Knight: Love Bites My Immortal Knight: All Knight Long My Immortal Knight: Relentless My Immortal Knight: Silver Bullet My Immortal Knight: Uncovering Navarro Garden of Desire Nibbles ‘n’ Bits anthology Prisoner of Desire Ride a Cowboy Silent Knight Slave Of Desire The Pleasure Bot

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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