The future loomed dark and uncertain, but it did not take away the contentment of the moment. And later, when the coyote gave way to the man, it did not stop him from finding pleasure in his mate again.
Man and coyote both relished the softness of her skin. They basked in the sight of her fresh bite, ringed with deep green bruises that looked like a coiled string of emeralds. They relished the taste of her when they sipped at her lips, stroked her with their tongue. They both felt the claim on her sink into the very fiber of their souls when she clutched them close, welcoming them into the slick heat of her with a pleased sigh.
When he sat back on his knees and hitched her lithe thigh over his hip, Viktor picked up a slow, deep rhythm. Both sides of his nature basked in the pleasure that tightened her expression. They watched, transfixed, as her pretty lavender breasts moved, the way her stomach flexed with every thrust, the gorgeous sight of their cock disappearing into her perfect cunt again and again — gold disappearing into amethyst with the sweetest glide.
The fever was a low burning fire in their soul, a deep well of heat that made every touch, every glance, every bite a lick of flame.
They had never felt closer to another being than when they breathed the same air as their mate. They had never felt pleasure like they felt when they thrust harder, faster, and slid a hand between them to stroke her until she came with a hoarse cry.
And when she was languid under him, they gave into impulse and sat up, dragging her into their lap to admire her as he lifted her and brought her down again. Was there ever a sight so arresting as their mate throwing her head back as she rode out the last ripples of her orgasm on top of them? Was ever there a pleasure greater than the feeling of her clenching hard as he thrust upward once, twice, a third time, until they came with a ragged gasp?
No, they thought, an orgasm stealing their breath, their sight. There was nothing better than knowing his mate was his, as man and animal were hers.
Nothing, not even an uncertain future, could tear her out of their claws now.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Pack life took some getting used to.
Camille didn’t think about the way her life would change when she moved into the den. All that concerned her was being near her consort, being in his life in the way that every part of her craved. It was a joy to leave her lonely apartment behind, and she felt giddy with pleasure when she unpacked her things in the empty closet Viktor saved for her.
Together, they did their best to pretend like every phone call, every message, did not make them tense. They willfully ignored the sword hanging over all their necks. The brittle peace was grasped with the ferocity of two people desperate to pretend that their world did not stand on the brink of cataclysm.
She loved discovering that he slept on the right side of the bed. It delighted her to find his much-loved surfboard leaning up against the back of the house. She even found humor in the fact that he liked to leave dirty towels on the bathroom floor.
The intimacies of the mundane were a balm to her bruised soul. Living with him was effortless.
Living with the pack, however, did not prove quite so seamless.
For someone that had only a handful of close relationships, it was immediately overwhelming to suddenly be embraced by so many people. Each new packmate came with a new social expectation, a new path to blindly navigate as she attempted to make a good impression.
That was the problem, though. She knew what a good impression was for an elf, but for a shifter? She only had her experience with Viktor to go on.
Touch was important. That much she learned from her first introductions, and she thought that she was getting better at offering it to people who were packmates but strangers still. It was a struggle. Once they reached adolescence, elves became very choosy about who they let into their personal space. It went against the grain to open up her arms to every elder and every senior packmate she met.
Of course, not everyone expected it, and not every packmate was a shifter. There were a handful of arrants, a witch or two, and even a lovely vampire. Meeting them helped Camille feel less like an interloper. Certainly, if a vampire could find a place in the pack, she could too.
It was awkward for the first few days, but Camille firmed her chin and pushed through it. Had she not been trained by a lifetime of awkward smalltalk about her mother? She could deal with nosy shifters asking blunt questions about whether she ate people, and she could absolutely traverse the assessment she underwent every time a new packmate sized her up.
Truly, the main stumbling block came the day she woke up to the sound of someone letting themselves into their den.
Viktor was sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other limp next to her, his fingers half-curled like he had begun to reach for her in sleep but couldn’t quite make it. He didn’t stir when the front door whushed open, but Camille did.
She was jolted out of her light doze by a deep sense of unease. Intruders, her instincts roared. Threats!
Her ears twitched at the sound of feet moving over the bamboo floor of their entry way. Adrenaline rushing and still waking up, Camille felt the sickly terror of the night on the beach return with a vengeance.
Had Andreas sent someone to kill Viktor in his sleep? Another packmate? Or was it some fool after the bounty?
The driving need to protect her consort was a loud drumbeat in her mind, drowning out everything else. Gliding silently out from between their sheets, Camille snatched up the robe hooked on the bedpost and shoved her arms through. Cinching it tightly around her waist, she prowled toward their bedroom door on bare feet.
She picked up hushed voices from somewhere in the living room as she silently eased the door open and slid through the gap.
Movement caught her eye. Without waiting for someone to pull out a bolt gun or shift, Camille darted down the short hallway and burst into the living room, a vicious snarl tearing its way out of her throat.
For a taut moment, the two toddlers and one very surprised teenager that were making themselves at home on her couch only stared at her. Then, as if the fear took a second to properly register, both little ones gasped and immediately broke out into huge, wracking sobs. They scrambled away from her to cling to the teenager, who had gone starkly pale.
“I’m sorry, Camille!” He croaked, hauling the wailing children into his thin arms as he quickly backed away. “I didn’t mean to intrude! Vik usually watches Fiona and Thomas while Aunt Cherry checks on the elders. I was just dropping them off. I— I didn’t think—”
Camille was mortified. She recognized the teenager as one of Mia’s children, as well as the two toddlers, who were both about three years old, dressed in smart outfits and tiny sandals, and bawling uncontrollably. Now that she had some sense knocked into her, she realized how ridiculous it was to assume that they were intruders.
They had tight security on their home, with biometric scanning as well as warding. Only packmates would have the ability to enter, and even if someone did get past all that, they certainly wouldn’t do so at eight in the morning.
Holding up her hands, Camille tried to make herself look as non-threatening as possible. “No, no! I’m so sorry, Johnnie! I didn’t know it was you.” She took a quick step toward the children, but stopped when they took one look at her and cried harder. Camille paled. “Oh, babies, I’m— Oh no, please, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it.”