“What do you want on it?” she asked as Kipa.
I tucked Dek’s book away in a fire safe in my office, then headed into my bedroom to change.
“Extra cheese, pepperoni, sausage, ham, pineapple, mushrooms, and make it a thin crust. Order two, because Raj will likely want a piece.”
I shut the door behind us and began stripping. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’m chilled through.”
“You want company?” Kipa asked, arching his eyebrows.
I swatted at him. “Shoo, fly. It sounds delightful, but I need food more.”
“I can fill you up,” he said, slipping over to press himself against my naked body. The feel of his skin on mine made me melt, and he was hard against my thigh. I groaned and turned to him, half lifting my leg so he could slip inside me. He lifted me up, carrying me to the bed, where he laid me down and I wrapped my legs around his waist. As he reached down with one hand to finger me, I pressed my breasts against his chest and let out a soft moan as he stoked the raging fire that built between us.
The chemistry had been there from the beginning, and had grown over the months we had been together. We worked magic with our bodies and our passion.
My breath quickened as Kipa slipped his arms around me and stood, my legs still wrapped around him. He was still deep within me and he carried me into the shower. I reached out to turn on the water as I pressed my lips to his. While the water warmed, he sat me on the sink and stepped away, his eyes glistening as they turned ever so slightly topaz. He was as wolf as he could get without shifting.
“I wish you could feel what it’s like to make love as a wolf, my love,” he whispered.
“I wish I could too,” I said, gasping as he trailed a finger down my chest, tracing the swirls that covered my torso.
And then the water was warm and he took my hand, leading me into the shower. There, I pressed my breasts against the shower wall as the warm water streamed over us, and he began lathering my back with the shower gel. The scent of freshly washed fir and cedar streamed over us, along with hints of rose and peach and vanilla. Kipa lathered me up, every inch, rinsing his fingers before he slid them inside me. Then he turned me around and washed my breasts and stomach before kneeling in front of me.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered.
I obeyed, and he pressed his lips and tongue to me, flicking lightly as he unleashed the wild child in me. I began to rub my breasts, circling my nipples as he concentrated his focus. The water streamed down on us like some jungle love scene from a movie, and before I realized it, I came in a sudden, sharp jolt. I gasped, plastering my arms against the slick walls of the shower. Kipa let out a growl, his eyes shining, and I lowered myself to the floor, the water beating down on my back, as he knelt behind me and entered me, thrusting like the wild god he was, filling me so full I could barely breathe. We stayed locked together, his hunger driving into me, until we both came in a blur of passion.
I quickly dried my hair, my towel wrapped around me as Kipa slicked his hair back into a wet ponytail and fastened it with a hair tie. He dressed in jeans and a V-neck sweater.
“What do you want to wear?” he said, poking around in my closet.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. “You know, pull out my pajama shorts and a tank top, would you, and my robe. I’m tired and I don’t want to get dressed.”
“All right.” He did as I asked, finding a pair of the soft knit boy shorts I used for when we had company and I couldn’t walk around commando. He held up an oversized camisole, also in a soft knit. “This work?”
I glanced at the violet cami. “Yeah, that’s good. And my fuzzy robe, not the silk one.” I finished drying my hair, took off my makeup, and dressed, then slid my feet in a pair of cushioned slippers. With Kipa’s arm draped around my shoulders, we headed out to the living room.
My mother was paying the delivery boy, and she carried three pizzas to the kitchen table, where I saw she had brought out paper plates and napkins.
“Oh thank you, I didn’t feel like eating formally tonight.” During the time my mother had lived with my father and me, she had insisted on place mats and china every night, and on rare occasions she had allowed me to eat in the living room. Of course, back then the world had been more formal, in many ways, and there was no TV to gather around.
I filled my plate with three slices of pizza and headed for the living room, stopping to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Kipa followed me, his plate stacked high. The gods didn’t technically need to eat—not much—but they enjoyed it, and when they did eat, they had good appetites.
“So,” I said, settling in on the sofa, placing my plate on a tray on the coffee table. “Did you talk to Da and Dougal?” I both wanted to hear and yet didn’t want to hear what went down. I was afraid that my relationship with my father might be permanently terminated. If he really had disowned me, then I’d have to get used to it, and though I knew I could adapt, the hurt was still a bitter pill lodged in my throat.
Phasmoria sat down in the rocking chair with her plate. She placed a glass of wine on a coaster, then cleared her throat. “Yes, I talked to your father, Raven. And to that curmudgeon of a grandfather you have. I found out what happened and I let them have an earful, trust me.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
My mother pursed her lips. “I never trusted the old man—when I first met him, I knew he was going to cause problems. That was before you were born. As you know, Curikan and I were just having fun, and then boom, I was pregnant. I wasn’t sure what to do, but my instincts told me I needed to have you. We went over to Scotland so I could meet Curikan’s family, and they treated him like dirt, but the old man fawned on me. He was sure I was going to have a boy and that the child would take after him. He wanted Curikan to stick to the Black Dogs for a love match and he wasn’t thrilled with me, but if there was a chance he could get his hands on a boy…”
“Just how strong is Dougal?” Kipa asked.
“Stronger than you might think, but he’s getting older. While his other sons would probably do a fine job leading the clan, Dougal wants Curikan to take over because Curikan is the smartest. But he wants Curikan to toughen up, and that’s not Curikan’s style. Curikan made the mistake of talking about the mess with Blackthorn to his father—he was horrified that Ember was almost killed by the King of Thorns. Dougal saw a chance to exert some control over the family. He was the one who went to the Banra-Sheagh and told her that she was losing control of her subjects.”
“I didn’t even know she existed. How can she lose control over people who have never heard of her? I don’t even know how the Ante-Fae have a queen. We’re all a bunch of anarchists, when you think about it.” I bit into my pizza and suddenly, as good as Dek’s lunch had been, the memory of it faded into a mouthful of hot cheese, yeasty crust, tomato sauce, and all those yummy toppings. I suddenly didn’t mind as much that we weren’t making our own bread.
“That’s one of the issues at stake. The Banra-Sheagh is beginning to realize that she’s outlived her time. The Ante-Fae have never been a cohesive people. You’re right in that we all pretty much lead our own lives and don’t give a flying fuck about the government. Anyway, I think Dougal saw a way to try and make Curikan behave with the promise of bringing you over to live with the family—and to ensure that you had to—he mistakenly thought that a word from the Queen would take care of your connections here. Dougal’s intent on building a dynasty, and that would be fine except that he’s banking on the wrong people.”