Calling Caralisa Read online

  “Come in,” she called, before focusing on the book in front of her. She wasn’t sure why she was ashamed of not getting work done, but she was unwilling to be caught slacking regardless.

  The door opened and closed and she gave a halfhearted wave in that general direction, assuming her late-night visitor would identify themselves soon enough. Instead, the door closed only moments later. The sound of the lock clicking captured her attention and her head snapped up.

  Jackson and Bentley stood illuminated by the various candles she’d lit to light her workspace. Once she saw them, she chided herself for not realizing it was them even as their combined scents—like fresh-cut grass and the snap of a summer storm—washed over her. Who else could it have been? “Gentlemen. How can I help you?”

  Neither closed the distance, but Jackson leaned back against the door and pretended nonchalance. She knew it was faked due to the tightness of his neck muscles, as if he braced himself for some invisible competitor.

  Neither man answered her. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, the restless edginess seeming to build within her at their continued attention. “Jackson, Bentley…did you need something?”

  “I asked you to run, Cara…do you remember?” Jackson’s voice seemed to reach across the room and stroke across her senses.

  She shivered in response, appalled to see her flesh begin a betraying glow. “Yes, I remember, but it hardly seems appropriate conversation…” She wasn’t sure where to go with her train of thought—not sure if she could make a coherent train of thought with them both so close and the knowledge that they’d locked her in.

  “I also asked you to race,” Bentley reminded her.

  She cleared her throat again, her fingertips trailing up to fan her shirt away from her heated flesh. “Yes, you did.”

  “Are you going to run for us, Cara?”

  Her thoughts, or what remained of them, scattered like dust motes disturbed by an unwary gust of wind. “I—yes, well—um, I’ve been considering it, anyway, and—er…”

  Both men moved closer and she stood awkwardly, almost stumbling over her chair.

  “So, run.” Jackson offered up the solution as if it was simple, as if she could just do it.

  “Now?” she squeaked out the word while backing farther away. Their scents were stronger now, calling to primal parts of her that awakened in eager response. Her body, it seemed, had only waited for a moment such as this.

  “Now.” As if united in their decision, both men launched themselves at her and she scampered over her desk, knocking her precious books willy-nilly around the floor. Ignoring the books was hard, but she knew she only had seconds. Hitting the door with her body, she fumbled with the locks, sensing them both closing in on her.

  Part of her wanted to stop, to spin and face them. A more carnal part urged her onward. She’d not be captured quite that easily. Freeing the lock, she slammed the door open and spun into the hallway. Sprinting down the dark passage, she risked a glance behind her. If they didn’t follow—if this was some sort of joke to be played on the mousy bookworm—she might have to kill them.

  Instead, she found them both in hot pursuit. Jackson’s skin had taken on an almost blue color, glowing silver against the stone walls. In a surprisingly complementary shine, Bentley emitted a clearly green shade. Her own skin felt electrified, too hot and too ready for their touch, and a glance showed an almost brown glow… Figured, even her power was raisin brown. No time for her insecurities, she focused on speeding away from them, but she wasn’t sure of where to go. Perhaps her rooms?

  Only somewhat decided, she launched herself that direction and figured she’d lock them out—maybe until sense kicked in and they realized that chasing her was a folly and that they could catch a far more suitable mate.

  It seemed instinct carried her feet, fleeter than she would have imagined she could be, and in no time, she’d made it to her door.

  Only to have Jackson pin her to it with his powerful warrior body. The snapping scent of the storm rolled her under, making her sag against the wood in a last feeble attempt not to melt into him. Bentley wasn’t far behind, since his voice boomed nearby. “Do you yield?” he demanded.

  To both of them? “I—”

  “Do you yield, Caralisa?”

  Chapter Three

  Swallowing hard, she nodded jerkily.

  “You have to say it,” Jackson reminded her. He couldn’t hide his smile, not with her scent so very close and her nerves so very obvious, so very Cara.

  “Say what?” She blinked up at him, chestnut eyes glazed with a need he longed to answer.

  “Say you yield,” Bentley answered before he could.

  “To both of you?” She stumbled over the question, a blush touching the gold of her glowing flesh. Her breath sped, signaling she wasn’t appalled by the answer and her scent, like spring flowers being crushed in a storm, increased.

  Jackson leaned down, growling softly near the shell of her ear. “Do you want both of us, my Cara?”

  A shudder rippled through her and she sagged against the door. “Yes.” Her whisper was so soft, he had to strain to hear it, even this close.

  “Then yield to us, Cara,” Jackson whispered.

  “I yield.” The words freed him and he jerked into motion, turning the knob to open the door behind her. She started to move with the door and he snaked an arm around her waist to support her weight.

  Bentley moved closer, hesitating as Jackson claimed first touch. When Jackson spun her, offering her to him, Bentley’s voice shivered through his mind. Thank you.

  My pleasure, or rather it will be soon. Take her to the bed.

  Not willing to risk missing a moment of their mating, Jackson took the time to light lanterns, lock the door, and prepare the room so he could see her every gasp and sigh, while Bentley led her to the bed. It only took him seconds, since he felt fired with adrenaline and passion.

  Spinning to face the bed, he saw Bentley guiding her to sit, one hand stroking her hair and down her shoulder. The green of his light twined with the brownish gold of her color, mating tattoos skating across their skin like writhing serpents of light.

  Mates. His soul accepted them as his partners for life, accepted their bond, before his mind caught up and agreed with the assessment.

  Moving to join them, he climbed up behind her, framing her as Bentley moved closer to the edge of the bed. Unwilling, or perhaps unable, to resist her touch any longer, Jackson captured her chin, tilting her face up so he could claim her lips. Power surged at the contact and he realized she tasted like vanilla—perhaps the flowers he scented on her. One taste wasn’t enough and she twisted her waist, moving closer to his touch. He might have planned to rise above her, but when she pushed him to his back, rising above him like a slender goddess glowing with her passion, he couldn’t resist allowing her the liberty.

  Once above him, she hesitated. “Cara?” he whispered, needing her flesh. His flesh burned, heated by the beginning of the centuries-old ceremony of claiming, yet her body stilling sent chills through him. Biological imperative or not, he’d not force her if she didn’t want this as much as he did.

  Yes, agreed. Bentley’s mental voice held an edgy undertone, the emotions riding with his thought a combination of need and iron control.

  Didn’t realize I was projecting, sorry. Jackson glanced at the other man to see him pulling off his shirt. He scowled at Bentley in censure. Why are you stripping when she’s hesitating?

  I don’t know about you, but I’m burning up. I’m happy to stop, wait, whatever will make her comfortable…but I’d rather not roast in the meantime.

  Jackson grunted. He couldn’t disagree with that logic. He returned his attention to his lapful of perfect woman. “Cara, it’s just us. Mating ritual or not, we’re the same men you see every single day. The same guys you’ve spent a lifetime around. I want you, I’ve wanted you for a long time, but if you’re not ready…” He trailed off, unable to resist dragging one fingert
ip down her arm to watch the blue of his power skate across her flesh in swirling tattoos of color.

  “No,” she whispered the word before meeting his gaze. “No,” she repeated more firmly. “You’re not the same men because those men don’t notice me, don’t want me. This is…an aberration. Although Tabitha—”

  “We’ve always wanted you,” Bentley interrupted before running his hand down her other arm.

  “I think what Bentley means is that Tabitha didn’t change the core facts—we’ve always wanted you and I think the feeling has been entirely mutual on your part. If I’m wrong, now is the time to chime in, Caralisa, but I don’t think I am.” Tossing out the challenge, he shifted his hips, dragging her with him as he moved since he wasn’t willing to break contact with her. The movement allowed more room for Bentley to join them and the other man leaned on the headboard next to Jackson, both focused on the woman who held their future in her delicate and lovely hands.

  “I’ve read books—tons of books—searching for situations like Tabitha’s and there just aren’t any. Triads aren’t something our people form—we mate in pairs. This is wrong, according to the books.” Even as she said it, Caralisa shifted, rubbing herself against Jackson’s cock and he sucked in a breath, unable to form words past the pleasure her touch caused.

  Bentley reached out and stilled her motion with a hand at her wrist, understanding that although the contact brought pleasure, they apparently needed more words before they completed their vows to each other. “I’ve studied by your side for years, Caralisa. It’s what we do—you and I record the histories and we study the past. Which means you know as well as I do that the world is a constantly changing place and only the species that bend and adapt survive.”

  “Not to mention,” Jackson managed to grit out finally, “you both spend far too much time with your noses buried in books and not nearly enough time in action. Do you want me, Cara?” He teetered on the edge of begging her and silenced himself before he said something that might sway her decision to what he wanted.

  She closed her eyes, head tilted back. Her breathing was harsh and her fingers clenched at his shirt. “I—”

  “Do you want us?” Bentley added the question and her head snapped down, brown eyes bright with desire as she looked at his bared chest with hunger clear in her expression.

  “I want you both, but I fear I won’t be enough—that this is a mistake and I might bind us all to a future none of us will be happy with.”

  Her honesty meant a lot to Jackson. He was a guard. He understood responsibility, making choices for the greater good, even if they were trumped by personal needs. “You’re all I need for happiness. I’ve accepted that we’re to be a triad. I want us to be together.”

  “I want us to be together. We’ve shared dreams—Jackson and I—of what we can be. I want our dreams to become a reality.” Bentley moved closer, framing her face with his hand and a flame of need shook Jackson at his core. Seeing them together—it shouldn’t be something that drove him to ravaging passion, but it was. He wanted Bentley to bow her spine and lick his way from her breasts to chin. Jackson wanted to delve his fingertips under the soft white fabric of her skirt, searching for the heat of her core…

  “Let us be all that we can be, Cara.” This time he didn’t care if he begged. “Forget your books, what you think you know. What do you feel, my love? What do you want?”

  Her clenching fingertips stilled and then moved into frantic motion, unbuttoning and shoving his shirt back. “I want us.”

  It was all the agreement he’d needed. He lurched up, capturing her face away from Bentley and sealing their lips in a kiss that scorched him to the marrow. Nibbling on her lip, he paused his invasion long enough to meet her dark eyes and whisper, “Then let us claim you, my sweet bookworm.”

  Her world shredded, and was replaced by power and fire. Everywhere Jackson touched ignited with drugged languor while becoming overly sensitized all at once. She melted into his hands, his mouth—the dance of their magics combining. When Bentley helped her out of her dress, she moved with him, turning to rain kisses from his shoulder to his neck before biting down on his ear.

  Instinct, it seemed, knew more than her logical mind because her lover gasped for her, pulling her closer as he glowed brighter green, the cut-grass smell of him enchanting her.

  Like a bolt of lightning in a summer storm, Jackson captured her waist, pulling her spine up hard against his chest. The skin-to-skin contact—when had he stripped off the rest of his clothes?—shot liquefied fire down her every nerve ending to collect between her legs in a throbbing need she’d not long be able to ignore. Rubbing back against him, she stopped caring about how she looked, about whether or not she was enough, and got lost in the raging inferno that was these two Hunters claiming every inch of her flesh.

  Bentley bent to worship her breasts, which somehow didn’t look too small when he sucked a nipple into his mouth while fondling the other. Writhing for him, she couldn’t contain the wild, animalistic sounds of her own pleasure that seemed too much to hold without giving it sound. Unwilling to be a passive receiver of their torment, she reached between Bentley’s legs, finding his hard cock—so much bigger than in pictures and yet smoother than she’d imagined all at one time.

  He gave a shout as she cupped him in her palm, arching into her touch as she squeezed gently and began to rock her hand up and down his length. “I want to taste you,” she told him.

  “Gods, yes, taste me. Take me. Do what you will with me, my Caralisa.”

  Jackson’s hands slid down the outside of her thighs, dragging her back toward him. “If you’re tasting him, I shall taste your sweetness, my Cara. You’re so wet for me. Your glow is shimmering and look how our colors combine…” A glance back showed Jackson’s face unusually open and vulnerable. He seemed fascinated with her flesh and the play of light and color swirling across her skin.

  Arching her ass closer to him, figuring that was agreement enough, she bent at the waist while Jackson kept her on her knees with his hands braced on her hips. Bentley cooperated, kneeling in front of her, the hardness of him glowing with his power as he stroked back her hair so he could see her.

  At first, she tried to be gentle, licking carefully at his length and stroking with her palm from the root of his cock to the tip. But when Jackson’s tongue slid between her legs, she opened her mouth to moan and took Bentley deep on her exhale. Sucking on him as if it would somehow guide Jackson’s efforts between her own legs, she pushed back against his face, seeking more.

  He cooperated, spreading her legs farther and sucking hard on her clit, but it wasn’t enough. It only made the tension snap tighter, making her want more, rather than alleviating her grating need. “Claim me!” she begged as she continued to stroke Bentley with her hand. “Gods, Jackson, please claim me.”

  The bed shifted as he moved, then she felt him rub his cock in the wet heat of her slit. Closing her eyes, needing to focus, she sucked Bentley deep as Jackson’s slow torture raked her decadent delight to new heights.

  He shoved inside her, one long thrust, and she sucked Bentley deep into her throat, swallowing around his hard length as her body accommodated the thick weight of a man. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t enough either. She shoved back, pulling him deeper as she released Bentley’s cock.

  Then she sucked Bentley deep again and Jackson moved and she got lost, swaying between them as cut grass blended with the crushed flowers of her own scent, all of it more somehow with the spring storm scent of Jackson riding them as his body rode hers.

  The harder she sucked, the faster Jackson moved. He began to chant, his voice soft at first, “Mate, my mate.” After a second, Bentley joined him even as he buried his fingertips in her hair, guiding her motions. “Mate, my mate.”

  All of it spiraled inside her, like a clock being wound too tightly, and she shuddered with it. Before she could back away from Bentley’s dick in her mouth, before she could try to find words to ask for
more, Jackson’s fingertips found her clit and his strokes sent her raging into the storm.

  She lost her ability to suck, clutching Bentley between slack lips. She crooned as sound and light exploded behind her closed eyelids. Power shoved out of her, like a stream of magic she could feel and smell and sense. One final suck, a good hard one, followed by another stroke to her clit and another thrust into her waiting heat and she shattered into a billion fragments of light, orgasming in spasms. Hot jets of salty fluid, which somehow tasted more of herbs than anything else, signified Bentley also lost his battle with passion and she swallowed his release.

  Behind her, Jackson shuddered and stroked her in long, soothing motions signifying his release. “Cara, my mate.”

  “Our mate,” Bentley corrected, and both men moved to reposition her between them. Finally opening her eyes, she looked up at the swirling colors around them like some cocoon of power and she tried to find the words to describe what she’d just felt.

  The vision came out of nowhere, sucking her away from the sensation of being sandwiched between her men and instead tossing her onto the ramparts of the castle on a cold, starless night. A night more sinister than any night should be. In the inky murk, a violet light shone from one of the pillars of the castle and she recognized it and her location as home—here, in the City, the last pinnacle of their dying people.

  The violet light was joined by a silvery glow, layering colors into a watercolor wash across the sky. In the unnatural stillness, cold and bleak, the glows were a comfort, a balm, and she knew somehow their queen protected them.

  But then the colors were overwhelmed by a darkness, as if the night itself swallowed them and she was tossed unceremoniously back into her body.