Loki's Game Page 4

  Rowan rocked back and knelt over her, his gaze smoky. She felt very self-conscious splayed out before him. A growl started low in his chest, rumbling out through him as he loosed the buttons of his shirt. She took a deep breath and watched, rapt, as his chest came slowly into view. On his knees above her, he was a god in flesh, his arms, chest, and throat snaked with tribal tattoos interspersed with scars. This man looked as if he’d seen battle.

  “Wow…” she breathed, and sat up, reaching for him. Fingers hesitating, she swallowed and made contact with his skin. Beneath the soft exterior and the raised scars, his body was hard and flawless, his skin tanned and perfect, velvet beneath her fingertips. She leaned forward, brushing her lips along the deepest of the scars. The smell of him—woodsy musk mixed with hints of expensive cologne—filled her senses. He clutched at the back of her head, pulling the sticks from her hair and loosening it from its neat knot to let it thread through his fingers. Lily sighed, and with a tentative kiss, drew her tongue over his scarred skin. Rowan moaned. The sound empowered her, giving her the courage to slide her fingers along his sides, tracing the tattoos as she moved over his chest and up his shoulders, coming to points just behind his ears. As she explored his body, his own hands moved over her, curling around to weigh her heavy breasts and tug at her nipples.

  Pushing against her hands, Rowan leaned in and kissed her again. He traced his tongue along her lips before fully possessing her mouth again, driving her back against the mattress.

  His skin burned against hers. Every place he touched ignited a fire that pooled low in her belly, every place his lips grazed shot tingles to her center. All coherent thought stopped as his lips descended on her inner thigh. Hot fingers clasped her hips tightly, stilling her while his lips moved slowly toward her center. Lily gasped, fingers bunching in the sheets beneath her. His breath tickled over her, making her squirm in his grasp. A warm tongue traced the line of her opening, deftly slipping between her lips to her core. She squealed, and he groaned against her as if he were a starving man at a feast.

  Rowan ground his lips against her, drove his tongue into her, slipped his teeth over the sensitive nub of flesh he found buried there. Lily writhed and moaned as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge, only to pull her back and start over. Several times he drove her to the breaking point, only to tease her back down. Her gaze locked with his as he slipped one finger inside her, drawing it back before pushing in again. Her hips rose and fell in time with his movements, the delicious friction of his tongue pressing against her turning her bones to mush. Drawing her into his mouth, he suckled hard and curled his fingers up, stroking a hidden, sensitive spot inside her. Lily gasped, the breath rushing from her lungs as her body coiled around itself with each deft stroke of his fingers deep inside her. And when she came, it was as if she’d flown apart at the seams.

  “You taste wonderful,” he breathed as he crawled up her body. “You must feel even better.” He kissed her again as he flexed his hips, pressing his clothed length against her. Lily moaned into his lips, the taste of herself on his tongue and the feeling of his weight crushing her down pushing her back to that edge and giving her the strength to push him over. He gave in, stretching languidly beneath her gaze as she drew her fingertips down his body, chasing them with her lips.

  With shaking hands, she pulled free the button of his pants and snaked her hand inside. To her surprise he wore nothing underneath, and her fingers met with his hard, feverish length. Breath hissed between his teeth when her hand smoothed over the soft head of his cock. She wrapped her fingers around his width and stroked. She swore his eyes crossed as she toyed with him, his hips pumping up against her fist in time with her movements. With her free hand, Lily eased the zipper of his pants down, freeing both her hand and his erection to the cool air.

  Lily released him to hook her fingers in the waistband of his pants and draw them down his hips and off. Rowan raised his head and watched her as she tickled her fingers over his bare thighs. She slicked her palms over his hips, her long, slender fingers grasping at him once again. Lily bent, flicking her tongue against the sensitive head of his cock, tasting the salty fluid gathered there. He growled, tangling his hands in her hair, and tugged her up his body to capture his mouth. The rough growth of his facial hair scratched at her cheeks—had it been that long before?—as he crushed her against him and rolled her onto her back.

  Breath left her in a rush when the full weight of his body bore down on her. His hands and mouth seemed everywhere at once. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, urging him on, begging him for more. Something resembling a snarl tore from his lips as he hooked one knee under her thigh and drove deep into her. Lily screamed, the feel of him so suddenly filling and stretching her a shock. Her inner muscles clamped down on him greedily, pulling him deeper.

  Rowan pulled back and pushed forward again, the muscles in his arms bunching on either side of her as he lifted himself to look down at her. Every cell in her body shivered with delight at each thrust of his cock deep into her womb, every muffled groan and growl from his throat. Her body curled and tightened around him in a dance of the most exquisite torture, dragging him deeper, begging him for more. She shook with need, her legs winding around his waist as her fingernails clawed into his arms. Lights flashed behind her eyes and the edges of her consciousness darkened as the first spasm hit, then closing in with each pleasure-filled shudder of her body. Rowan growled, hands clutching hard at her body and he jerked once, then crushed himself against her in release, pouring into her with a triumphant howl. The last thing Lily knew was the feeling of his fingers relaxing their bruising hold and a rush of cold wind before she slipped into darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Consciousness came back to her slowly. Images from the night before and Rowan’s determined lovemaking filtered through the haze in her head. She’d met consciousness twice before, only to be dragged back into oblivion by five of the most powerful orgasms she’d ever experienced.

  Lily tested her limbs, unsure their dead weight could move, and found a pleasant ache crawling over her body. The satisfied pain was dotted with a more acute hurt, centered on each of her hips. Bruises, no doubt, from Rowan’s eager climax.

  Pushing back the sheet, Lily gasped. A mix of shock and horror washed over her as she looked down at her battered, bruised body and the raw gashes caked with dried blood on her hips. Moving away from her place in the bed were deep gashes, claw marks shredding the down mattress. Strips were gouged out of the hardwood floors, and a light dusting of feathers had settled over everything in the room. Bits of white fluff clung to the ends of her hair and stuck to the bloody patches on her skin. Up and down her arms and torso, small, purple blossoms grew.

  “What…the hell?” she breathed, slipping out of the bed on the opposite side of the ruined spot. Her clothes lay in pieces, scattered about the room. The shirt Rowan wore lay draped over the chair, and she slipped it over her shoulders, trying to ignore the spicy, woodsy scent that still clung to it. Despite the carnage, her sex tingled at the thought of him.

  The shirt swallowed her. He was every bit a big man, and the way the fabric hung from her body made her feel small and feminine. All she could think was how nice it would be to crawl back into the bed and into his arms, but her sensible side quickly latched onto the mess of her surroundings and reminded her that she needed answers.

  On the far wall was a large window, covered by heavy drapes. There was no clock. No television. No electronics of any sort; nothing to tell her the time. Her purse was lost somewhere in the house, along with her host. Carefully picking her way across the room to avoid the damage, she pulled back the drapes to overlook the back side of the building and the park across the street.

  On the horizon, the soft glow of morning crawled over the city, and one by one the streetlights below winked out. How long had she been sleeping? Her appointment was at 4:00 and then he had taken her to dinner…the previous evening, she thought.

  On
the inside of the stone wall surrounding the city block was a private garden, hidden from the rest of the world. A figure lay beneath a small dogwood tree, unmoving. She couldn’t be certain from this height, but it looked like Rowan. Whoever he was, he looked to be in pain. If it was Rowan, Lily wanted to help him…but still she hesitated. If it had been Rowan that caused the damage…

  No, aching hips or not, he couldn’t have shredded the bed and the floor that way. Only an animal could have caused that damage, and she was far too practical to even consider the possibility of Rowan being a…

  Werewolf.

  Lily stumbled over the word even in her thoughts. Talk about a ridiculous idea—things like that didn’t exist. Besides, the full moon wasn’t for another week at least. That damage must have already been there and she was too distracted to notice. Still, that didn’t explain how she ended up covered in mattress feathers. Besides, he was wealthy. He would have had that damage repaired before he let anyone in.

  Maybe he had a dog she didn’t know about. He did say he had a pet. It could have come in and done the damage while she was sleeping. But even that wouldn’t work. Lily was a light sleeper, and any sound like that would have awoken her, particularly in a strange place. Still, the memory of the noises he made at the point of climax haunted the edges of her thoughts. He’d sounded so much like an animal the night before…

  Lily shoved the thoughts from her mind and went to find the elevator, at the same time hoping and fearing she was alone with him. The house was a maze of hallways and rooms, each connected to all of the others. Lily stumbled upon the gallery by accident, and quickly found that the elevator that took her back downstairs did not exit into the rear courtyard. In a frustrated last attempt, she wound her way back through to the sitting room with the Monet, and went out the door Rowan had first entered.

  This door took her down a long hallway full of closed doors that finally, mercifully, exited into the courtyard. The sun had not risen, but the sky was streaked with the gentle pastels of morning, casting a pale glow over the whole of the garden. The air was cool and fresh, and the trees dripped tiny jewels of water—early Spring rain.

  The figure under the tree was indeed Rowan, lying on his side, naked, in a fetal position. She padded across the dewy grass, moving toward him. He appeared to be sleeping, but as she neared she noticed his chest hitching with occasional uneven breaths. Was he crying?

  “Rowan?” she asked softly. “What is it?”

  “Go back inside!” he snarled, and seemed to curl in tighter on himself.

  “What’s wrong?” she pushed, ignoring his demand and inched closer. “What can I do to help?”

  A low, keening wail escaped his throat. “You cannot,” he rasped. His voice grew hard and cold. “Go inside and go back to bed.” As the sky lightened she noticed the tattoos running down his back and legs to match those on his chest, and how most of them were obscured by cakes of dried mud.

  “I can’t just leave you like this,” she said, and crouched over him. Lily took him by the shoulder, recoiling from the heat of his skin. “You’re burning up! We need to get you to a hospital!”

  “No,” he gasped, pulling away from her.

  “Rowan, this isn’t right.” She closed her hands on his shoulder and pulled him back to face her. Her breath caught in her throat as his body came into view. What she thought was dirt, she realized, was dried blood on his skin. A fine misting of dark hair covered his chest and arms—she’d been close enough that she was certain it had not been there before. Lily’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream as she took in his fingers; distended, gnarled and bloody. Sharp, heavy claws peeled back the skin at his fingertips. As she watched, they shrank back into his hands, the skin sealing itself over and stopping the pour of blood. Within moments, those hands were the same that had held her so gently the night before. “Rowan,” she gasped, slipping backwards on the wet grass.

  “I told you to go back inside,” he breathed. His body convulsed in pain and a sharp cry tore from his throat. The sound sent Lily running, escaping back into the house and away from the monster that lay outside. She started for the front door, then remembered her things upstairs. There was likely no way he could get up and catch her before she got to her purse and out the door again.

  * * * * *

  Rowan heaved his bulk into a seated position. His head ached and his body felt tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good and so awful at the same time. It had been decades, at least. Maybe longer. He’d bedded women time and again, but he could never remember a climax bringing on the change, and he could never remember quite so violent a change. And now the woman responsible for his mindlessness was lost somewhere in the maze of his home, looking for any means of escape.

  A shock of pain coursed up his spine into the base of his head and he cradled his face with his hands, drawing a sharp breath to offset the sting. Adrenaline still rushed; the after-effects of his shift. He’d hoped to be clear of the change and back inside to clean up before she woke, but this time the comedown had taken longer than ever…too long, as it turned out. He was just thankful she didn’t wake before. He’d have had no way at all of explaining away the wolf in his private courtyard. Or where he was while the wolf was there. Or where the wolf went when he reappeared.

  Rowan rose from the ground, brushing away the caked, dried dirt and blood from his bare body, and stalked inside. His muscles still ached but the excitement faded. He’d been so close with her—if only he’d been able to keep the monster at bay, he might have had a real chance with Lily. His intentions truly were twofold—he needed someone to keep after him and keep up with him, but also to watch out for him during the times when he wasn’t human. However, with her…

  With her, he envisioned a life.

  The gentle scent of strawberries still hung in the air of the house, more and more concentrated as he exited the stairwell into the sitting room just outside his bedroom. She’d only been here moments before. The air was still warm and swirling, and bits of down danced across the floor where she’d no doubt picked them off of herself. He smiled, even as the thought stung his heart. She was no doubt already gone, and there would be little chance of catching her. Even less chance of making her stay, he knew.

  Rowan sighed and entered his closet, grabbing a towel and a fresh set of clothes then trudged off toward the bathroom. He’d have to clean the mess, but until her scent was a little less conspicuous, it would have to wait.

  * * * * *

  Lily’s hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel of her car. She still hadn’t moved from the parking garage down the street, hadn’t even moved to put the key in the ignition and turn it on. Despite the shock she’d just received, her mind was blank. She couldn’t even think, much less perform a complicated task like drive while a single thought bounced around her brain: Things like this were not supposed to happen. People were not supposed to be able to turn into animals. That was best left for scary stories and horror movies… She just couldn’t reconcile the fact that Rowan’s hands had shifted all on their own.

  With a small whimper, Lily shoved the key into the ignition and turned it. She stared forward at the empty, concrete wall of the parking deck, trying to convince herself she needed to just leave the city. Lily told herself to go home, take a long, hot bath, and relax. It was Friday, and she didn’t have anywhere to be. She needed to take a day or two and reset. Forget about Rowan Keir and his…illness.

  And about the night of incredible sex.

  She moaned and covered her face with her hands. Lily hated being so confused…so torn. On one hand, she wanted to run away and never look back. But she also wanted more of his attention. And she couldn’t forget the pained look on his face just before she turned tail and ran. She wanted to help him.

  While she battled with her emotions, her car made the decision for her. Its spluttering engine gave a sharp, loud cough, wheezed, and died.

  “No!” she cried, trying the key
again. It revved, then clicked and made no more noise. “No, no, no!” No matter how she turned the key, the engine refused to turn over. She whimpered, crossing her arms on the steering wheel and laying her head against their crux. “Why is this happening?”

  She couldn’t very well go into one of the businesses dressed the way she was—in only a too-large shirt that belonged to a man she hardly knew. She could call a tow truck, but her cell was dead and she had no outside communication with the world.

  That left only one option.

  Heaving a deep sigh, Lily threw open her car door, snatched up her purse, and trudged back toward her fate.

  * * * * *

  Rowan lay sprawled in an armchair, one wrist thrown across his eyes to shield the lamplight in the corner. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat, and over and over the image of Lily’s pretty face screwed up in terror floated through his mind’s eye.

  It appeared he would have to post another ad…or maybe he was doomed to be alone. After all, the best thing to ever come into his life was now gone. Just as well…he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to explain that while the older pieces of the collection were his father’s, he’d been the one to purchase the majority of them.

  When they were first crafted.

  If she’d been horrified by the sight of him in half-shift, she would no doubt be shocked beyond comprehension to discover that his birth took place just as the great Renaissance artists were discovering themselves. And if Loki were to find him again…he could not reasonably subject her to that sort of horror.

  After over six centuries of near solitude, Rowan thought himself an imbecile to believe she could be the one to give him the peace he so desperately sought.

  A knock on the lobby door interrupted his thoughts. It was odd that someone would wander into the building like that…likely someone looking for directions. People never visited this building, despite the front door always being unlocked. Rowan heaved himself from the chair and crossed the room to shoo the intruder.