Fangs of Anarchy - Forbidden Alpha (Part 3) Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance Page 2

  But Irish shook his dark head. “No. Just trust me when I tell you, you’re a good person, Claire Montgomery, and guilt is the last thing you should be feeling. But I wouldn’t like you so much if you didn’t. Now, on the back of the bike before you freeze to death. I promise to be careful we’re not seen, okay?”

  This time, she didn’t argue. Claire slid onto the back of the bike as the biting wind slashed at her freezing skin, her socks hanging from her toes, her thick sweater dripping wet.

  As she wrapped her arms around Irish’s lean waist, she promised herself this would be the last time she’d let him rescue her.

  The last time she’d bury her head in his back and relish every moment.

  Chapter Twelve

  Claire had managed to talk Irish into dropping her a block from her house, cutting his engine so as not to alert anyone in the neighborhood.

  She didn’t need anyone else nosing around in the mess this had become.

  Frozen to the core, she’d taken a long, hot shower, lit a fire, and brewed a pot of coffee while she fired up her laptop. She needed a lead, a name, something, and she was damn well going to find it.

  Mr. Darcy hopped up on the couch, taking his usual place on the pillow beside her, purring his content at her arrival home. She gave him a scratch behind the ears before she typed in “The Zone.”

  There were all manner of pictures of the Zone, seedy and dank, full of exactly what you’d expect from those who chose to give the government the middle finger. It was a dangerous place for paranormals who rode the line between prison camps and signing the government agreement to uproot and move their families to a paranormal territory.

  The Zone was rife with illegal drugs, prostitution, homelessness and depravity.

  And she wanted to know what Gannon had to do with that.

  As she scanned article after article, she thought she might have hit on something when there was a light knock at her door, making her close the laptop in guilt.

  Then she froze, her arms still sore from her dip in the ocean. Then she was angry. If it was Courtland, shoving his way in here again, she was going to lose it completely.

  She needed time alone to parse this out, to find details, research. It was what she did best, and if Courtland and his gang of asshats didn’t quit interrupting her, she was never going to figure this out.

  Placing her ear to the door, she tightened her bathrobe around her, still chilled.

  “It’s me, Claire,” Irish whispered, low and delicious.

  Her pulse began that “Yay, Irish is here!” beat in her veins, until she realized she’d promised herself no more Irish.

  “I can hear you breathing, Claire. Vampire ears. In fact, I can hear your blood coursing through your veins. Open the door before I get caught.”

  Perfect. He could hear her excitement too. Was there nothing sacred? She cracked the door open, letting one eye peek out at him.

  Why couldn’t he be harder on that eye? “Irish!” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  He smiled with slow perfection. “But now that I am, you’re not going to just leave me out here in the cold, are you?”

  Claire melted, giggling. “You can’t feel the cold.”

  “I might not physically be able to feel it, but I feel it here,” he said, circling the place where his heart should beat.

  Her resolve was beginning to weaken. Stay strong, Montgomery! “You don’t have one of those either.”

  Irish drove a gloved finger into the crack in the door and shook it at her. “Just because I don’t have a living organ in me doesn’t mean I don’t have emotions you can’t crush, Librarian. Would a guy without any emotion take the heat for your murdering ways?”

  “Are you always going to use that to blackmail me?”

  “If it gets me in the door—you bet.”

  Claire fought a smile. “What kind of knight in shining armor resorts to blackmail, Irish McConnell?”

  “The kind who’s cunning and resourceful?”

  “I’m not even a little surprised you were an attorney in your former life.”

  He wiggled an eyebrow. “I was a good one, too. Let me in and I’ll show you how good.”

  “Where’s your bike? If someone sees it…”

  “I was careful. I left the bike back at my place and walked. Promise.”

  “What do you want?” She fought to keep the whine from her voice, knowing if she let him in, she wouldn’t want to let him back out.

  “You,” he said, his eyes growing fiery.

  Claire’s mouth went dry, her heart flexed its muscles in that odd way Irish had of putting it through a workout. But she didn’t keep her hand on the door. Instead, she let it fall away, allowing him entry by taking a few steps back.

  Irish didn’t say anything when he shut the door.

  He didn’t say anything when he sauntered toward her, his thick thighs bulging against his jeans, his eyes pinning hers.

  He didn’t blink an eye when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to her bedroom.

  Claire lost her ability to breathe as his stare consumed her, roved over her face, searched her eyes until she clung to him, helpless to stop something she knew they could be killed for.

  But in this moment, in this very second, Claire didn’t care if this was the way she died.

  Irish set her on the floor, gazing down at her. He pulled her robe from her shoulders, dragging it over her arms and letting it fall to the floor.

  Her breathing faltered again, hitching when he traced the outline of her breast under her flannel nightgown until her nipple puckering in response.

  “I can’t do it, Claire.”

  “Can’t…” She swallowed hard, her chest tight. “Do what?”

  “Stay away from you.”

  Those words, those four small words, made her crumble. Lifting her nightgown at the hem, she pulled it over her head, dropping it to the floor on top of her bathrobe and shaking out her hair.

  Irish’s arm snaked around her waist, dragging her closer until her back arched and the place between her thighs ached. She reached between them, tugging at his jeans, pulling his belt buckle open and unzipping the zipper as he took off his shirt and threw his jacket on the floor.

  He groaned when she thrust her hand into the top of his boxer briefs, capturing his cock in her hand and stroking its length. His fingers dug into her skin, but she welcomed the sting of pinched flesh, reveled in his hands on her just before she slid down his body and knelt before him.

  And then Irish was naked, naked and perfect, muscle and taut flesh, narrow planes and hard edges, all waiting for her hands to explore.

  His cock stood rigid and thick when she whispered her lips over it, making his hands reach for her hair, clutching it in tight handfuls on either side of her head.

  Claire smiled when she ran her tongue over his length, swirling it around the head of his cock before taking all of Irish in her mouth.

  The muscles of his thighs responded, clenching against her arms, the crisp hairs sprinkled over them rubbing against her flesh as she stroked him with her mouth, taking pass after pass.

  Irish hissed above her, his hips rolling in time with her mouth, his fingers reaching down to cup her chin, slipping between her lips to move with the stroke of her tongue.

  His moans spurred her on, the silky taste of his cock in her mouth leaving her achy and wet. Irish’s hands went to her shoulders and he drove into her mouth, leaning back into her strokes until he gripped the mane of her hair, pulling her away.

  He dragged her upward by her arms, his eyes blazing, body rigid.

  Claire curled into him, molding her body to his until every ounce of their flesh touched, twining her arms around his neck, sighing her pleasure.

  Her nipples scraped against his chest when he wrapped her hair around his wrist and yanked her head back, taking her lips in a hard kiss, driving his cool tongue into her mouth.

  Claire whimpered, inhaling sharply when he walke
d toward the bed and pulled her down. She landed on top of him with the sweet, scent of clean sheets and Irish’s cologne filling her nose.

  His hands roamed over her hot skin, cupping her breast, thumbing her nipple until it was tight with sharp need, pulling her upward so his lips could latch onto it.

  Irish swirled his tongue over the hot bud, tugging at it, pulling it as the heat rose between her legs and she ached to impale herself on his cock. But he held her firm, slipping his hand between her thighs and spreading her wide.

  His groan was primal, thick with his desire, sending waves of shivers along her spine. Claire bit her lip, the pleasure of his fingers circling her clit so intense, she came without warning, pressing her breast into his mouth and rocking against him until she cried out.

  The feel of his steely body beneath hers, the masterful stokes of his fingers had her clenching her eyes shut, grinding her teeth to keep from screaming. He lifted his head as her climax slowed, moving his mouth from her nipple and sliding down along her body, trailing kisses over her ribs, teasing her hipbone with his tongue before he rested between her thighs.

  Claire held her breath, gripping his hair, willing him to take the first stroke. When his tongue snaked out, she rocked backward, held up only by Irish’s hands on her ass, clutching her skin, kneading the flesh.

  Irish had no mercy tonight, every move he made was forceful, demanding, every lick to her aching flesh driving her to a place filled with sweetly sharp pleasure.

  His mouth moved over her, his fingers slipped inside her, stroking, teasing until her head fell back on her shoulders and tears stung her eyes.

  Nothing felt like this. Nothing compared. No other man. No other experience had ever taken her to this place, rich with texture, dark, light, soft, hard.

  And she didn’t ever want it to end.

  The moment Claire allowed that thought to enter her head was the moment she came again, crashing against Irish’s mouth, screaming out his name.

  Her thighs clenched his head, her hands gripped his hair, her heart crashed in her ears while wave after wave of pleasure assaulted her—every nerve-ending on fire, every slash of his tongue stoking her desire.

  Her breathing was ragged, her body melting butter when she pulled away, sliding down his chest to rest her cheek on his pec. Claire gasped for breath, feeling the press of his cock, needing him inside her.

  Irish wrapped his arms around her, stoking her back, soothing her until she recovered, until she was able to lift herself up, position him at her entrance and drive downward.

  Irish reared up, hissing when she lifted her hips and slid down him again, letting him fill her up, letting this sense of utter completion take her away.

  Her hair fell across his chest, his eyes on her, forcing her to watch him watch her.

  “You’re beautiful when you fuck, Claire. So goddamn beautiful,” he whispered, husky and low, thrusting upward, stretching her.

  His words, seductive, sultry, carnal, drove her mad, made her feel powerful, desired. It was in that moment she knew Irish should always be hers. It was in that moment she knew Irish would do anything for her.

  That she had that kind of power over someone as big and commanding as Irish was an aphrodisiac.

  A thrill like no other.

  He gripped her hips, securing her firmly to him, slowing his strokes, instinctively knowing how to move inside her.

  His muscles began to tense in increments while her hands smoothed over his chest, tweaking his nipples. Her palm rolling up his cool skin and she slipped her fingers inside his mouth.

  Claire reached between them, lifting her hips and circling the root of his cock with her hand, rising, falling, clenching him, hearing the crash of their flesh just as she sensed Irish’s release.

  She tightened her grip on his cock, adding a bit of pressure until he gripped her thighs and his head reared back.

  And she watched, watched as he came, watched the strong cords of muscle in his neck ripple, watched as his sharply angled jaw clenched tight in his release.

  Then Claire came again, too, moving her hand from between them, falling forward onto him as her clit scraped against his groin and his crisp pubic hair rubbed delicious friction against it.

  Her lungs fought for air, her body crumbling against him as his arms enveloped her and he buried his face in her neck, murmuring her name.

  Her return to earth was slow, but winding down in Irish’s strong embrace was heaven, and she didn’t know if she could ever give that up.

  His lips found hers, soft, tender, all Irish. She snuggled against him, needing this, needing him near more than she needed to breathe.

  “We have some figuring out to do, Claire.”

  She entwined her fingers with his. “What do we need to figure out?”

  “How we can be together. I’m not letting you go, Claire. So don’t bother to tell me otherwise. I know we have things to deal with. Hadley, the council, your pack, my clan, but the hell I’m letting you go.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Likely, that was impossible, but for right now, in this moment, she wanted to believe they could find a way. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

  “This is where you tell me you feel the same way, Claire. Why are you always so insensitive to my needs, werewolf?” he teased, brushing her hair from her cheek.

  Claire stuck a knuckle in her eye to keep him from seeing her tears and chuckled. “I feel the same way, Irish. Still, I ask, how do you propose we do it?”

  He paused for a moment, making her wonder if he was only being impulsive. “I don’t know. But I wasn’t a high-powered corporate attorney for nothing. I’ll find a loophole. It’s what I do.”

  Damn him for filling her heart with hope. She wanted that hope. She needed that hope. “And until then?”

  “We sneak around like any good, warring paranormals from different races do.”

  “I feel like I should apologize. I didn’t want to like you, but I couldn’t help it.”

  “Really? I wanted to like you. Wow, you’re like the meanest woman ever.”

  She tweaked his arm and laughed. “You did not. You were pretty cranky at the town fair. Remember that?”

  He nodded, kissing her lips again. “I do. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you in any pack trouble.”

  “Fuck the pack,” she replied, cradling his face in her hands.

  He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “So we have some things we need to take care of first—before we rile everyone up.”

  Right. Gannon. She had some things to take care of, too. Things she wouldn’t be able to share with Irish. Things over which he’d probably be really angry with her. But it had to be done. “Like Gannon things?”

  “Yep. We need to talk about Gannon’s body, Claire. I’m uncomfortable with where I left it. So later tomorrow, I’m going to dispose of it permanently.”

  “Why didn’t you in the first place?”

  “I didn’t have a lot of time. While I was in the middle of burying him, I got a text from Liam about Hadley. She was sulking about something and he said he needed me to help him.”

  Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Adolescent angst?”

  Irish chuckled, low and deep. “Times a million.”

  She let her intake of air out slowly. “So where did you bury Gannon?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell. Like you said, if neither of us knows the truth about the details, neither of us can be forced to say anything. Just trust me when I tell you, I’m going to make sure he’s never found.”

  His words meant he trusted her choice that night. If he didn’t believe her before when she’d told him Gannon had to die, she knew he did now. “Thank you. I know you don’t understand everything right now, Irish. I know you want to know what happened between Gannon and me, and I’ll tell you when I can, but promise me one thing?”

  He narrowed his dark eyes. “Call me skittish as a new colt, but I hesitate when you ask for a promise. You know, murder witho
ut explanation is a bit of a habit for you.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “It is not a habit. A habit constitutes more than once—habits are addictive. I’ve only killed one person, and it was not addictive—believe me. Now promise me.”

  “Tell me, fair maiden, this promise you seek.”

  “Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll remember I did what I did for the good of all of us. Not just the pack. For vampires, and witches, and demons and whatever else is out there. Gannon’s dead because he deserves to be.”

  “I wish you’d just—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Make me another promise.”

  “Two? You really are the pushiest broad I’ve ever known. Shoulda been a lawyer, Montgomery.”

  “Irish, please.”

  “Okay—go.”

  “Promise you won’t ask me anything else, but trust that I’ll tell you everything the second I can.”

  “I don’t like it, but I promise not to ask you anything else.”

  “And?”

  “Oh, right. And I suppose I trust you.”

  Claire chuckled, burrowing against his chest. “Fair enough. Now, are we going to talk all night and waste our time together with Gannon in the middle of it, or are you going to live up to the reputation vampires have for being voracious lovers?”

  Irish chuckled, rolling her to her back. “Was that not enough voraciousness for you? Are you challenging my prowess, Librarian?”

  She giggled, running her tongue over his lips. “I think I just did.”

  Irish’s laughter filled her ears just before his mouth took hers and he kissed the challenge right out of her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire woke the next morning to the sound of her phone beeping. Reaching for it, she stretched, her body deliciously sore from their lovemaking.

  Irish lay beside her, his body so still, his skin so pale anyone else would be frightened.

  Vampire sleep had him in its throes, and she knew enough not to disturb him. Likely, she wouldn’t be able to wake him anyway. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his lean cheek, rubbing her nose against it, savoring waking up beside this man she wanted in her life beyond reason.