The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set Page 4

  His dark, fathomless eyes searched the chamber. Tormented, he looked blindly around the room. He knew of stories his people told, of how his eyes sucked the souls of those he’d killed into him, making his name all the more formidable. Óláfr the Black, his name was synonymous with terror and evoked fear in his enemies, which were legion. His thoughts had him scowling at the empty room. It was a pitiful joke. If his men could see him now, cowering like a yellow-bellied coward in his quarters, avoiding the object of his unmanly desires.

  His heart beat a furious tempo against his ribs, and his hands clenched at his side in anger when the image of Arngrim welding his battle-axe pushed at the tiny thread of control when he remembered why he’d fled. The urge to go back and hurt his brother in arms, Arngrim, for daring to try and maim his beloved had him quaking to restrain himself. His fists clenched, blunt nails dug into his blistered palms, anger vibrated in his wire-taut body. His fear had all but swallowed him whole as he had stood watching Arngrim attack, aiming his battle-axe with such violent intent.

  Oblivious to the wetness glistening on his bronze cheeks he swiped at them, pushing back the locks of hair falling into his face. The hair falling into my eyes is the only explanation as to why my eyes are stinging, surely?

  He discredited the niggling voice at the back of his head, calling him a liar. Instead, he gave another internal shout for the one voice he wanted in his mind, Maximillian. Breathing deeply, he held himself still, willing a response; his nerves frayed the same as the cloth of his kyrtill when he fought too hard as seconds passed without an answer.

  Thinking back to his earlier worry for Maximillian’s safety, Óláfr had hunted for him, wasting time and energy he could ill afford to search the castle, the barracks, and the stockades but gaining nothing. Well, that was if he discounted his run-in with his red-haired beauty, whom he had ensured was removed from harm’s way before escaping himself, only to run into him while searching for Maximillian and the main reason he was now hiding out.

  Óláfr sighed in disgust when it hit that Maximillian would be able to hear his shouts regardless of where he was, but for some reason he could not fathom, he was not responding.

  His arms lifted before flopping back and slapping loudly against his sides. The noise seemed louder in the quiet of his chamber. He prowled back to the door, his leather-wrapped feet hitting against the stone floor, his mind in turmoil.

  He grunted to himself when his head continued to argue with his heart and soul. The fact they seemed perfectly happy with their choice of soul mate only made his mind scream louder. He still failed to see how Maximillian knew that Magnus belonged to him, that he was perfect for him in every way. How was that even possible when he is a man? He purposely pushed aside the part inside him that explicitly acknowledged the rightness of his soul mate.

  Gripping his hair tightly, he pulled, hoping the pain would distract from his tumbled confusion.

  Am I not supposed to handfast with a woman, have heirs to carry on the traditions, fight, and be the ruler, their King?

  How could he do that with a man, a pale, red-haired, lithe man with a tight, firm body and a cock? Growling, he yanked at his hair harder when his body responded as it always tended to do with thoughts of Magnus.

  He’d debated at length with the bishop about many things, but he couldn’t find it in him to talk about this, seeking guidance. He already kept secrets, not sure that the people wouldn’t turn on him if they knew he had the power to communicate with his cat, understand his thoughts, and have conversations.

  If the bloody cat was about, that was!

  He’d learnt from a small boy that what he had with Maximillian was a gift from the King of the Otherworld, and he had treasured the bond. Nevermore so than when his father had died. Maximilian had helped to keep him sane when his brother had turned against him. That same brother who had ensured his imprisonment on the Isle of Lewis for several years when he had gone seeking help to regain his throne.

  Maximillian had somehow managed to find a way to free him so that he could seek his vengeance. Now he was ready to unleash his revenge. He’d found himself planning the attack earlier than he’d wanted, but his need to escape from his desires was forcing his hand.

  The driving urges of his body had him fighting daily against his mind, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. The months of wanting, of needing Magnus in a way he couldn’t even describe to Maximillian, were making him weak. The scent of lemongrass taunted him, the feel of work-roughed hands touching his skin as they undressed him, caressing. Sky-blue eyes that begged for more, lips that called for him to do improper things to them, had him feeling bewitched, and it was making him doubt his sanity.

  He’d argued with Maximillian that he thought the King of the Otherworld was making him pay the price for the privilege of having a guardian. He was using his desires against him. Óláfr cursed Odin’s Ravens when he was not sure that he could pay the debt. Even if his body craved Magnus, his mind fought against it. The battle made him suffer. He had to end this and soon before he lost his sanity and acted on his urges.

  A loud knocking on his wooden chamber door resounded through the room, causing him to pause mid-stride. He cursed under his breath when he knew who was on this other side of the wood. He pushed back his shoulders, firming his spine before moving. His feet slapped loudly on the stone floor. Bracing himself, he pulled open the door, his nostrils flaring at the delicious scent filling his nose. Forcing himself to stand still and not retreat away, Óláfr breathed through his open mouth.

  He glared down at the smaller man, whose head barely came to the centre of his chest. His eyes noted the fading light in the hallway didn’t diminish the bright red hair flopping over Magnus’s delicate forehead and into his eyes. Óláfr felt a sliver of disappointment pierce his heart that the long red lashes lying against Magnus’s slashing cheekbones shielded his eyes from his gaze; eyes he knew if they had been looking up would be as blue as the sky.

  The smaller man’s rigid stance seemed braced for Óláfr’s anger or worse, his strike. His tiny hands fluttered at his sides as if unsure what they should be doing.

  Óláfr’s emotions battled with each other, just like they had earlier in the battlement when Arngrim had attacked his beloved. The word floated through his mind, not letting go. His chest heaved as he strived to contain his distress, choking back the emotions. He coughed past the ball, gathering in his throat. Ignoring his burning eyes, he forced himself to speak.

  “Yes, Magnus, what is it you require?” The husky quality of his voice had him quickly searching the corridor to ensure no one was within hearing distance. Exhaling, he breathed in quickly, forgetting he was trying not to take in the rich scent that now seemed to surround Magnus. Mentally slapping himself for his stupidity, he growled at Magnus. “Well, boy, what do you want? I’m busy and have plans to finish before I—”

  Shocked sky-blue eyes leapt to his face, making him pause.

  “So it’s true, Sir. You’re leaving for Scotland to reclaim your heritage?”

  The softly spoken words held a world of worry, but it didn’t stop the shudder of pleasure from running down Óláfr’s naked skin, making his body react. Magnus’s pale pink tongue came out of his mouth, licking his ripe lips that made him think of sweet, lush berries. He couldn’t stop his gaze from travelling the same path as Magnus’s tongue. The slicked track left in Magnus’s tongue’s wake had his groin tighten and gave Óláfr the insatiable urge to bend and taste their lushness.

  Óláfr all but felt the tether on his control snap. Before he could stop or reason with himself, he’d yanked Magnus into his chamber. Slamming the wood door and locking it behind them, he lifted the smaller man, feeling the warm, firm muscles flex under the rough linen he held in his large palms. The strength he could sense was arousing as Magnus clasped his thighs around his waist as he climbed up his body, as someone would a tree.

  The months of holding back, of not acknowledging the one thi
ng he truly wanted more than to be King, more than life itself, had him rushing to take. Óláfr slammed his mouth against those tempting lips, letting the world fade away. It ceased to exist outside of the room, outside of the feelings rushing through him.

  Unsure which way was up, Óláfr arched into Magnus, his sturdy body bowing under the driving urges and feelings trying to escape. Sharp, snapping teeth seemed to be ripping at his body and soul, tearing him apart, leaving him in tatters on the floor. He stumbled forward, aiming for his sleeping chamber, unsure how much longer he’d be able to stand. His legs wobbled as they landed in a heap amongst the fur pelts, Óláfr quickly turned at the last minute to ensure he didn’t crush Magnus’s dainty body beneath his. Though how he could think at all was beyond him, when all he felt were his insides trying to crawl out of his body and into Magnus’s.

  Slowly easing back, he let the world settle in the rightness of the moment. His gaze riveted to Magnus’s puffy and bruised, wet-glistening lips that gapped open as he gasped, sucking in big gulps of air. Magnus’s usual sky-blue eyes were dark pools of want; his pale, freckled skin now flushed a deep rose pink like the roses that grew in the castle grounds.

  Magnus’s small, lean chest heaved under the weight of his body, drawing Óláfr’s attention to the difference between the solidness of flesh under his lower body. He was so used to feminine curves, the difference a stark reminder he tried not to think about right then. The hardness of his desire chose to show him how affected he was, regardless of the lack of soft womanly curves. It would seem one look or feel of Magnus’s firm, warm body, had him needing to fight with the swords duelling in their lower clothing.

  Unaware of his actions, he bent forward, slowly tracing the seam of Magnus’s berry-red, puffy lips. Sucking the lower lip between his teeth, he nibbled. Hot breath burst into his mouth. The hint of herbs and the distinct scent of Magnus mixed in his mouth as he opened his teeth, releasing his plump lip. Óláfr lathed his lip, hoping to ease the sting the sharp nip would have caused as desire-glazed pupils watched his every move.

  Teasing them both, he licked a path to Magnus’s small ear, enjoying the slight rasp of facial hair against his lips and tongue, making them tingle before he nibbled on the lobe. Blowing on the damp skin, he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face with the reward of a full-body shudder and erupting goosebumps.

  He carried on tormenting them both, exploring and feeling the differences in skin texture. He drank in the beautiful sounds Magnus made when he found a sensitive spot, which seemed to be all of his neck and face. Reality seemed to fade away. The crackle of burning logs spitting into the hearth and their mingled moans were the only sounds as he explored the treasure beneath him.

  The glowing firelight cast shadows over their bodies as Óláfr slowly removed Magnus’s clothing. He tried his best to steady his shaking fingers as they came into contact with the smooth, pale skin that coated the rigid firmness beneath.

  He impatiently removed their remaining clothes, gasping in pleasure at the feel of Magnus’s warm flesh moving under him as if he was seeking as much body contact as possible. Not wanting to disappoint, Óláfr surrounded Magnus with his body, enjoying how they fit together. He let his doubts and worries slide away to the back of his mind as the desire he’d been fighting for months took hold.

  He eased into another kiss while trying to keep himself in check, not wanting to scare Magnus with the beast that wanted out of him.

  Magnus’s small work-roughened hands gently cupped the back of his neck, sliding into his hair and rubbing his scalp, offering reassurance even as they aroused. Rough fingertips scraped over his sensitive neck, causing tiny shivers to rack his bulky frame. His body grew impossibly hard, forcing him to lower his body, pushing Magnus’s legs wider to accommodate him. At Magnus’s quiet acceptance and submission, Óláfr felt his need to dominate rise when the urge to claim his soul mate overtook his common sense.

  Using his hands and mouth, he set about ensuring that Magnus would be ready for what was to come. The wetness pooling in the defined dips and grooves of Magnus’s toned stomach showed him he was ready.

  Óláfr used his strength to hold back, quivering with the strain of going slowly. He penetrated Magnus. Stilling, he exhaled when Magnus wheezed out a painful breath, his brow scrunched while his muscles clenched tightly. Sweat beaded on their skin, making it gleam under the flickering light from the dying fire. He watched Magnus closely, pleased when he could see the desire for more in the depth of his eyes.

  Óláfr felt compelled to ease his suffering. Leaning forward, he gently touched their mouths together. He caressed Magnus’s lips with his tongue, seeking entry. Warm lips parted, allowing the hot, wet breath to kiss his lips before he slowly dipped in to taste. Sweetness burst across his tongue as he swallowed the soft moans floating into his mouth.

  Moving with care, he distracted them both by deepening the kiss while he eased into Magnus’s body. The heat was all-encompassing. It spread through his system like the lightning that lit the sky when the storms came. His eyes all but crossed as they rolled into the back of his head. Gently easing out, he pushed back in, letting the heat invade him as the tightness stole his breath, forcing him to still. The sensations consumed his mind, making the world disappear with one exception, his life force, his soul mate, Magnus.

  His body slid sinuously against the slick, smooth skin under his, rocking them both, creating friction on Magnus’s pulsing desire. Moving faster when the cries from Magnus’s lips filled his mouth, he felt the strength of his body, pushing them both to where they needed to go. His lips didn’t release Magnus’s, and he felt liquid heat pooling between their bodies as Magnus’s body became unbearably tight, making Óláfr’s body respond to Magnus. The overwhelming urge to mark his territory became too much to resist, and Óláfr spilt his seed inside of Magnus. The scent of their combined essence coated the thickening air as it sparked with the flames of their desire. Óláfr was sure he could hear it crackling louder than the wood burning on the fire.

  Sparks ignited in his chest. Something all-powerful pulled him into the bright flames of the fire raging through him, consuming him. In its wake, something strong and powerful dug deep inside him, feeling their influence take hold, surrounding him. He felt as mighty as the oak and fir trees that covered the Isle. The roots of his feelings took hold and planted firmly into his soul. As the emotions settled, Óláfr was overcome with a sense of calm as his body accepted the inevitability of the connection he had somehow created with Magnus, even against his will.

  Óláfr eased back. Flopping onto the pile of furs, he let his mind blank while his body attempted to settle. His fast-beating heart kept tempo with Magnus’s who planted his body partly on top of Óláfr’s. Unsure if he liked the sensation now the passion had faded, he struggled for a moment before pulling him closer. He enjoyed the feeling of warm, naked skin plastered to his side, regardless of the lack of soft curves.

  His mind registered that they hadn’t spoken a word or resolved what this was between them or where it could lead. Óláfr’s pleasantly subdued mind told him not to worry as he sensed sleep pull at him. He trusted it and drifted off.

  Maximillian

  Maximillian’s eyes flicked open, landing on the sleeping form of Christina hidden under a pile of furs in the corner of the room. He looked about trying to determine what had roused him from his doze. The dying fire scarcely offered enough light to highlight the small room, but his cat eyes quickly adjusted to the dark.

  A sliver of disappointment filled him that it was not Christina that had roused him. Taking a moment to watch her sleep, he enjoyed the unfettered view. The glowing embers cast shadows over her pale skin showing its perfection; her dark lashes lay on her high cheekbones while her plump lips parted as if in invitation. Again, he wished to be human and have an opportunity to kiss those lips.

  Lost in his dreams, it took a moment to register the pull on his soul. Startled, he blinked owlishly. Well,
I never. A broad predatory cat grin flashed across his face. His whiskers twitched, and his sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light, looking like tiny macabre daggers. His eyes glowed with satisfaction as he rubbed his paws together in glee.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. Magnus had taken the bait after his pushing some questions into his mind, and it would appear it had worked because he’d gone to Óláfr to get answers. He’d not spoken to Christina about what he had done after she had chastised him for interfering. It isn’t my fault if a situation presented itself and I took it, surely?

  When he had stopped Arngrim earlier, he had used the opportunity to push a few thoughts into Magnus’s mind. Though technically he hadn’t broken the rules, he had bent them he supposed, shrugging it off.

  Those who were forever watching what he did, all started talking at once. Okay, okay, maybe I broke them just a little by pushing thoughts that wouldn’t typically be there. He scratched his head. What harm could come from a few ideas, hmmm? The sinister laughter echoing through his mind told him something was off.

  He pushed the negative ninnies out of his head. The fact he’d secretly hoped it might spark something was neither here nor there.

  Maximillian paused mid-thought, feeling the air tremble around him. Quivering, he felt his body arch, fur rising as a spark of connection simmered and slid through his own body, locking his soul with Óláfr’s and Magnus’s forever. He had no time to enjoy the familiar sensation when other perceptions bombarded him. Unaccustomed to these sensations, Maximillian tried to assimilate the difference he felt flowing through him. Tensing, unsure why it felt unusual, he searched inside himself for the answers.