Primal Pleasure: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 3 Read online

  Of course, if he kept sliding his thumb along the side of her breast like that, he could do whatever he wanted with his hands as long as he didn’t stop.

  Wonderful. Not only was she a poor excuse for a sorceress, she was as discriminating as an enchantress. It was well known the Lady of the Lake’s daughters weren’t that particular when it came to choosing bedmates.

  Emma wasn’t so different it seemed. She’d exchanged a handful of words with the gargoyle at most and made no effort to stop him from touching her. The opposite actually—she arched beneath him, biting her lip when his hand slid across her belly and edged beneath her halter-top.

  “Your name,” he pleaded, his nose bumping hers. “Tell me.”

  “Emma.” She gripped his shoulders, felt his mouth slide closer. “My name is Emma.” She trembled all over, squeezing her legs to satisfy the delicious ache the gargoyle had unleashed inside her.

  He groaned against her cheek, and she felt his hand change course, sliding down between their bodies.

  She whimpered and rolled her hips, craving the feel of his—

  His head snapped up, tension turning his muscles into sculpted rock. More animal than man, a menacing growl ripped from his throat. He planted one hand on the ground next to her, his eyes glittering with lethal intent.

  “What it is?” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she heard the door to the roof bang open.

  “Fuck me,” someone said, probably one of the gargoyle’s brothers. “She freed him.” Retreating steps, then the voice yelled, “Cian’s free.”

  Reality crashed in on Emma just as the gargoyle leaped over her. She scrambled up, her jaw dropping open as he shifted seamlessly into his cat form.

  Instead of turning on her like she expected, he positioned himself between her and his brother Tristan. The one who was convinced he remembered Emma from the night her sister had cursed Cian.

  She knew more about the Callaghans than they could imagine, which only made it that much harder to hate them for snatching her.

  “Whoa!” Tristan held up his hands. “Easy, bro.”

  The cat didn’t back off, his threatening snarl deepening when Tristan took a step toward him.

  “Cian. Come on, man. Cool it.” Tristan shot her a furious look when his brother didn’t back off. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.” He focused on the cat. “Come on, Cian. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Seeming uncertain, the cat glanced back at her.

  “Whatever you’ve done, fix it,” Tristan snapped.

  “I didn’t do anything.” Anything except screw up royally. She could have been gone. Even if it had meant dropping over the edge of the roof, she should have run when she had the chance. Any injuries, even the ones that hurt like hell, would have healed. A perk any immortal could appreciate.

  And where Tristan was, the huntress who’d tracked and caught her couldn’t be far behind. The sword the huntress wielded could most certainly do the kind of damage that could end an immortal’s life, and Emma happened to like her head attached to her body, thank you very much.

  When she had first realized the huntress was tracking her, she’d worried her sister had somehow exposed Avalon or the existence of immortals in the human realm. That was the only reason she could imagine the goddess Rhiannon would have dispatched a huntress.

  Finding out that her sister had cursed the gargoyle—with one of Constantine’s daggers no less—had made every one of Elena’s past escapades pale in comparison. King Arthur’s heir, Constantine, had crafted six mystical daggers that were rumored to reveal Excalibur’s resting place, and countless immortals would kill to possess not only the daggers but also Arthur’s sword.

  The sword was prophesied to awaken Arthur so he could finish the war begun centuries ago, after he’d refused to satisfy his half-sister’s thirst for power and make his nephew his heir. The war that had suffered a significant setback when he’d died fighting Morgana and his nephew Mordred at the battle of Camlann.

  And Emma had been within reach of one of the daggers. The huntress had even removed the magic-nulling cuff from Emma’s wrist, insisting she use the weapon to undo the curse. If she hadn’t been so determined to convince them she couldn’t help, she might have recognized the dagger instantly. Instead, she’d ignored it entirely.

  Now she couldn’t help but wonder how things would have turned out if she’d taken it. One touch and she might have been able to determine the location of another dagger, maybe all of them. That kind of knowledge would have been more than enough to bargain for her release, and yet she’d passed it up.

  Passed it up like her recent opportunity for escape.

  “Damn it,” Tristan snapped, taking a threatening step in her direction, as though she had any control over the situation.

  The cat instantly retaliated, driving him back.

  “Why are you ready to tear my throat out? She’s the one who locked you in stone for over a century.”

  Cold resignation sifted through her even as she felt the cat’s attention move back to her.

  Well, shit.

  He was going to be sick, of that both cat and man were in perfect agreement. His vision swam and his stomach cramped, sabotaging the instinct to defend the female.

  His female.

  They wanted to hurt her. Didn’t they?

  He prowled the same path, every step making him more anxious and confused. Only when he edged closer to the female did the fuzzy veil clinging to his thoughts start to lift.

  “Cian, look at me. We’re brothers. You know me.” The familiar voice didn’t match the blur of shadows in front of him.

  Why couldn’t he see right?

  “She did this to you, bro. Cursed you. You’ve been locked in stone since the night we went to that pub to celebrate.” Tristan motioned toward the female, Emma. “She was there and I pissed her off…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair.

  Tristan. His brother.

  Furious, Tristan stared at Emma. “Fix him.”

  “I can’t.” The distress in her voice made him backtrack, and he rubbed against her.

  She ran a hand through his fur though her gaze never left Tristan’s. More people stepped on to the roof and he growled, nudging Emma back.

  “He’s protecting her.” The disgust in Tristan’s voice only agitated him more.

  He recognized his sister’s scent before she said anything. “Cian?” Briana stopped beside Tristan.

  “Don’t.” The female’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck before he could lunge at them. “They’re your family.”

  She crouched down and he closed his eyes at the feel of her fingers sinking into his fur. He’d been waiting for her. Needed her.

  “I don’t deserve your protection.”

  Beneath the defeat in her voice, he felt her longing and ached to make it go away.

  “It’s been a hundred years, Cian.” Briana stepped closer. “We haven’t seen you in over a century thanks to the sorceress you’re protecting.”

  Still so cold, his thoughts foggy, he struggled to understand.

  Emma’s hand fell away from him as she stood and took a step back. “They’re telling the truth.”

  Chapter Two

  “You haven’t eaten enough.”

  Cian shrugged, not taking his eyes off the flat screen mounted on the wall in the kitchen. He’d eat later, use the glass and metal box on the counter to warm something up like Tristan had shown him, though he couldn’t remember what it was called.

  Food hadn’t changed nearly as much as the rest of the world—except maybe fast food. The Big Mac was definitely a creation he’d enjoyed the hell out of a couple hours ago after seeing a human eating one on the screen.

  A television, he mused again, still stunned by the countless changes he’d missed in the last hundred years. Anger surged inside him at the reminder, though he’d gotten better at forcing it back in the last two d
ays.

  “Hey.” Briana touched his shoulder.

  “I’m okay.”

  They both knew he was lying, but she didn’t address it further. Time, she’d said. He just needed time to adjust to the changes in the human world. The hardest part wasn’t that he’d lost a hundred years in the blink of an eye, but that he’d been so overwhelmed by it all he hadn’t taken a step off the property yet.

  He might have been tempted to follow Tristan’s suggestion to return to Avalon if not for the sorceress cooling her heels in his suite of rooms.

  Before his thoughts could drift to the black-haired temptress, he focused on the television. He wouldn’t be able to put off seeking her out for much longer. The cat was riding him too damn hard, not caring what she’d done.

  He hadn’t cared either at first, his judgment clouded after spending so long trapped in stone. But his family had finally succeeded in getting through to him after he’d shifted back to his human form—barely. His animal half had fought the shift, determined to protect Emma.

  Even now the cat prowled restlessly in the back of his mind, needing to be close to her, but not nearly as much as the man needed it. Thankfully, he literally had hundreds of distractions to keep him occupied. Every room in the mansion held objects he’d never seen before, capable of things he could barely imagine.

  So why then did his thoughts always circle back to Emma?

  He’d understand if he had vengeance on his mind. But whenever he started out thinking of a way to inflict a suitable punishment for the years she’d cost him, his thoughts always turned from punishment to pleasure.

  Chaining her up in Avalon’s catacombs and leaving her to rot for a hundred years ended up as chaining her to his bed. Handing her over to a Korrigan, knowing the lethal fairy would enthrall her into eternal servitude, ended with him imagining her catering to his every carnal whim.

  Hell, even his brief notion of putting himself out of his misery and feeding her to one of the Forgotten—gargoyles that had permanently embraced their animal halves—had turned to devouring her himself, starting at her toes and licking his way up her body…

  Sweet Avalon, someone needed to knock some sense into him.

  “The sun is going to be up soon.” Briana put away the food he’d ignored. It didn’t appeal to him as much as another Big Mac. “You sure you’re going to be fine on your own? I can call Tristan.”

  Somehow he managed not to roll his eyes. “I don’t need anyone to mind me.”

  One slim brow arched upward, and he knew she was thinking about the havoc he’d wreaked in her rooms earlier.

  Cian held up his hands. “I won’t go near your wing of the house. I swear it.”

  Not even the lure of a Big Mac would make him venture anywhere near his sister’s suite of rooms for a long time to come. He wasn’t afraid to admit her computers and countless other gadgets scared the hell out of him.

  The only time he’d gotten curious and poked around, he’d set off a dozen alarms. By the time Briana had darted out of the bathroom, her hair still wrapped in a towel from her shower, the cat inside him had broken free at the unfamiliar threat.

  Apparently his sister was rather fond of the metal boxes he’d batted across the floor. She probably would have done more than kick him out of her room if he hadn’t been gone for a century.

  Remembering the look on her face when she surveyed the damage brought a smile to his face. Tristan and their oldest brother, Cale, had been inseparable when they were younger, leaving Briana at Cian’s mercy when they were cubs.

  He couldn’t even begin to count the times and ways he’d tormented her in hopes of getting her riled up. Though with three older brothers, it hadn’t taken her long to adapt and turn the tables on them.

  After the incident with the sorceress, his family had vowed to stick together until he was freed. Now that they’d accomplished their goal, he wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be living under one roof. Especially with both of his brothers mated now.

  He hadn’t realized he’d shared that last thought aloud until Briana laughed.

  “Try not to sound so happy for them,” she teased.

  “I am happy for them.” Finding a mate was the only thing that gave a gargoyle control over the automatic shift to stone at sunrise.

  The goddess Rhiannon had punished all gargoyles—cats, wolves and dragons—for King Arthur’s death, blaming them for failing to protect him. Rhiannon hadn’t cared that her son was prophesied to awaken when Excalibur was returned to him, and condemned the gargoyle clans to spend their daylight hours trapped in their stone form.

  Rhiannon might eventually have gotten past her grief long enough to lift her punishment if Arthur’s enemy hadn’t claimed Camelot. Morgana continuing to rule the heart of Avalon was just one more reason for Cian to stay in the human world, as far as he was concerned.

  “So,” Briana began. “There’s more food in the fridge. If you want to stretch out, there’s the T.V. in the den. You remember how to work the remote?”

  He didn’t have a clue what the remote was, but nodded anyway. Otherwise she’d want to show him again, which would then lead to another explanation about something else and then another.

  Truthfully, he’d started looking forward to sunrise an hour ago. As much as he loved his sister and how much she was trying to help, she talked—a lot. Not only did he need a break from processing everything, the headache he hadn’t been able to shake since breaking free of the stone was starting to make him nauseous.

  Maybe another Big Mac would help.

  “The number for Pendragon’s is on the counter and programmed into the phone I gave you,” Briana continued. “Tristan will be there most of today and tonight since Cale is still in Avalon with Sorcha.”

  Cian wasn’t sure what surprised him most. That his family owned a bar that catered to both humans and immortals, or that Cale was mated to a huntress. He still shuddered over the latter even though Sorcha wasn’t as scary as he’d imagined. Her sword was, though.

  Briana leaned against the counter. “You do have your phone on you, right?”

  If she was referring to the compact device he’d been carrying around in his pocket until it started shaking like some kind of explosive he’d seen on television, then no. But if he admitted that she’d make him go get it, and he’d be damned if he got lost in concentration only to have that thing take him by surprise again.

  She gave him a quick squeeze. “You should try to get some sleep.”

  “Or not.” Even if he were tired, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. Part of him worried if he fell asleep for too long, he’d find another hundred years had passed him by.

  “Well, don’t go too far.”

  “I may be reckless upon occasion, but I’m not stupid, Briana.”

  “I just meant that we don’t know how long you’ll be immune to the sun after being imprisoned, so it’s best not to go exploring—”she glanced pointedly at the fast food bag on the table next to him, “—and turn to stone in the middle of an intersection somewhere.”

  They’d all been surprised when he hadn’t gone to stone during the first sunrise after the sorceress had freed him. A temporary perk, though Emma had refused to say how long it would last.

  He planted a quick kiss on Briana’s forehead. “I’ll be fine. Truly,” he added when she didn’t budge. “You’re going to end up blocking the doorway if you turn down here, you know.”

  She sighed, and after one last look he swore was meant to remind him not to treat her stuff like oversize balls of yarn, she left.

  Cian stayed in the kitchen another couple of hours, eventually digging out half the food that Briana had left behind. Stacks of newspapers and magazines Tristan had found him littered the tabletop and half the counter by the time he finished snacking and rifling through it all.

  Leaving the kitchen, he started for the den, only to backtrack when he passed the hall leading to his rooms. Being with Emma on
the roof, however briefly, had burned her scent into his brain. Nowhere in the mansion offered him enough distance to escape the lure of it.

  Now, knowing she was only a few doors away…

  Determined, he continued on. He made it another six steps, then stopped.

  Had Briana brought her any food tonight? As angry as he was for what Emma had done to him, the idea of her going hungry didn’t sit well.

  Before he could remind himself that Briana wasn’t as thoughtless as the sorceress, his animal half urged him down the hall. A quick check on her wouldn’t hurt, or so he thought until every step he took made his heart thump faster.

  It took another minute to realize it was anticipation and not anger that made his blood run hot through his veins. That should have been enough to stop him in his tracks. Instead he almost snapped the handle off as he shoved the door open.

  A lamp had been left on in the main room—the empty main room.

  Of course she couldn’t have just been curled up on the leather couch. Right then he knew he should have listened to Tristan, who had insisted on putting Emma in the cellar. Maybe then he wouldn’t be thinking about her snuggled under his covers.

  Too easily he imagined tugging the blanket down, slowly exposing her bitable neck and all the soft, creamy skin he’d been thinking about since the roof.

  Lust snaked down his backbone, settling heavy and hard behind his zipper.

  He cursed under his breath but didn’t try to curb the desire unleashed by the scent of her. He hadn’t had a woman in over a century, and admitting an intense attraction to Emma wasn’t the same as acting on it.

  There would have to be something wrong with him if he didn’t respond to her. Women, human or immortal, had been a favorite pastime, and as soon as he became accustomed to everything, he had every intention of seeking out a willing female to satisfy the need building inside him.

  The cat snarled at the edge of his mind, but Cian ignored it, crossing to his bedroom and frowning into the darkness.

  She wasn’t in his bed.