He was rock hard. And though he had no intention of acting on it, not yet, he also had no choice but to remain in her presence.
He wouldn’t be able to overcome the Jaguar’s protective need to guard its mate after hearing her screams of terror. If he attempted to leave, the Jaguar would fight him—and win.
His father ushered the others out, closing the door behind them and leaving the cabin in darkness broken only by a hint of moonlight.
Aryck’s reality shrank to the woman standing only inches away from him. Heat and scent swallowed him up, urging him to take the small step that would bring his body into contact with hers.
She moved away, saving him from himself. “You don’t have to stay,” she said, turning her back to him. Adding on a whisper, “It would be better if you didn’t.”
He didn’t need to ask her why. She couldn’t hide her physical reaction from him any more than he could hide his from her.
It would be better if he didn’t stay. He knew it, believed it still on some level. But, perversely, having her fight the attraction only made it all the harder to let her escape.
Male instinct, Jaguar and human both, told him to close the distance, press his suit. Rebekka’s turning her back to him and wrapping the fur around her like a shield only intensified the need.
The silence stretched between them, growing taut with the call of their bodies to each other. He took a step before he could stop himself, inhaled deeply. His arms lifted to pull her against him. His lips parted on a soft pant, his tongue ready to tease over the skin at the nape of her neck, to taste and stroke before the bite that would mark her as belonging to him.
The Jaguar quivered in eagerness, anticipating victory. Or maybe the man did. He was no longer certain they held separate desires.
Heat pulsed through him, a hard, steady throb, like the beat of the drums summoning the ancestors. Some small sliver of sanity whispered this was a mistake, told him he was on the path to becoming outcast. But against the roar of desire it didn’t stand a chance.
It was safe. There was no risk of impregnating her.
She tensed when his arms encircled her, but didn’t pull away. The intimate contact made him light-headed, hinted at how thoroughly he’d lose himself when flesh pressed to flesh.
A soft whimper escaped when his lips found her neck. His tongue darted out in a wet caress.
She melted against him. But her resistance lingered, offering both challenge and warning.
Drawing sounds of pleasure from her became his mission. Having her soften and willingly drop the fur to the floor to reveal her body became his resolve.
His hands pushed their way under her arms, settled over her breasts, cupping, kneading their fullness, turning the fur separating his palms from her nipples into sensual torment instead of modest protection.
He trailed kisses along her shoulder, sucking the petal-soft skin as her pulse beat wildly in her throat. Her scent intensified, a lush, intoxicating fragrance that made him want to bury first his fingers in her wet slit, and then his tongue.
His hands drifted downward, and she tensed as if struck by an icy arrow. Her resistance returned with a jerk that freed her from his arms. “I can’t,” she mumbled, moving away from him.
She didn’t turn to face him until she reached the door, as if she’d risk the night to escape him. It held him at bay, clearing the lust long enough for a silent, rational voice inside him to question the wisdom of giving in to desire, to remind him of what his father had said. One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.
“I can’t,” she repeated, tongue darting out, wetting her lips and sending a hot spike of need through his cock.
He knew it wasn’t revulsion or shame that had driven her out of his arms. Her scent didn’t lie, and even now she trembled, fighting to keep herself distanced from him.
It was enough to help him maintain control, to satisfy the Jaguar and the man so they remained smoothly integrated. He retreated to the open window, perching in it and gaining a measure of relief when the night air cooled his skin and filled his nostrils with the smell of pine and dirt and leaves.
Leaving wasn’t an option. Not yet.
Rebekka let out a soft sigh. She calmed, at least outwardly. Inside, turmoil reigned.
Aryck’s touch made her feel things she’d never experienced before, even when she’d imagined herself attracted to Levi. A part of her wanted to give in, to live in this moment only, without thought of the future. Temptation whispered through her, telling her that denying herself what pleasure she could find in this life was foolish.
Looking at Aryck, desire curled in her belly and slid down into her woman’s folds. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to lose herself in the wonder of sexual exploration his kisses promised. But those desires warred with the knowledge of what doing it might ultimately cost her.
She thought of the tattoo inked into her skin. She’d be gone soon, a forgotten interlude in his life. The mark might not mean anything to him, but her virginity was the only thing she had that might offer proof she was no prostitute.
Rebekka crossed to the mound of blankets and furs and lay down. She didn’t know why Aryck stayed, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave.
A flutter went through her belly as she looked at him outlined by moonlight in the open window. Everything about him spoke of strength and contained power, of sensuous promise and carnal acts.
Her clit stiffened and she had to fight to keep from touching it, from sliding her fingers between slick folds and imagining it was him. From changing her mind about denying him.
Fantasies slipped into her mind, images made explicit by a lifetime of witnessing sexual encounters. She turned her face away in an attempt to rid herself of them, to once again silence the voice of temptation.
“Are the humans in Oakland so ignorant they don’t appreciate your gift?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Surely there is a demand for your services among them.”
Her thoughts went to The Iberá’s offer, to the luxury and protection that would come if she accepted it. “There is.”
Aryck slid off the windowsill and padded over, stopping at the very edge of the huge sleeping area and sprawling, a huge cat in a human form. “Then why do you work in the brothels? Why do you live among outcasts?”
Always before there was derision in his tone, harsh judgment when he spoke the word outcast. There was a hint of it in his question but it was overridden by curiosity.
“They need me.”
“You waste yourself on them. They serve a punishment meted out to them by the ancestors.”
Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated a moment, then answered, “Each of us possesses three intertwined souls. Human. Animal. And an eternal one residing with our ancestors in the shadowlands. Losing the ability to shift into beast form or being of mixed form in this world is a sign of judgment. It’s a way of marking an outcast so others know immediately that the eternal soul has been cast out of the shadowlands.”
“I don’t believe that can be true of all outcasts.”
“You don’t believe because you’re not one of us. What you know of our world and our kind you’ve learned from the worst of us.”
“Only because you turn your back on anyone caught between forms or who can’t shift into a purely animal one. Do your ancestors demand it? Or is it fear and prejudice?”
He stirred restlessly, angrily. “You question things you have no right to.”
It would have been easy to let it drop but she couldn’t. “I live among outcasts. I see their suffering every day. I witness the degradation and pain and horror that come with selling their bodies so they can survive. What do you know of life in the red zone? Of being powerless because you have no pack, no family, no place in Were society?