With Everything I Am

  She leaned forward and her face was even paler, her eyes betraying her fear but her voice was angry. “No one in my territory would dream of moving on the queen.”

  “They would and they did. We received word eleven hours ago they were taking her tonight. That’s why we’re here,” Ryon informed her.

  “That’s impossible,” she snapped.

  Ryon’s head suddenly tilted to the side and he took in a breath through his nose.

  Cal was there.

  As were his warriors.

  He also had his queen with him.

  He wouldn’t have her if she hadn’t been under threat.

  The mating ceremony wasn’t to commence until a year in the future. Cal was supposed to begin their regular, human courtship in a few weeks at her annual Christmas party. He was to pose as the guest of a neighbor, a wolf who’d been planted in a house across from hers years ago.

  This was something Ryon had talked him into doing. Cal wanted just to grab her, as was his due. Ryon, on the other hand, had been reading reports on her as well as watching her himself for thirty-one years.

  Sonia Arlington needed to be courted. As a human, she’d expect it.

  But being all she was, she deserved it.

  It took Ryon a while to talk Cal around most especially since his father’s death Cal had been reading the reports on her as well as getting the pictures. And, because of this, not to mention the simple fact that she was his mate, Cal was growing impatient.

  Very impatient.

  But, apparently, Cal’s hand had been forced and the treaty broken.

  This meant war.

  Desdemona’s head jerked toward the door. She sensed it too.

  “Impossible, Mona?” Ryon asked quietly and he watched as she slowly turned to face him, her throat moving convulsively.

  Yes, Mona, you… are… fucked, Ryon thought as he rose from the throne and stepped to its right side.

  The next second, Cal came through the door.

  Ryon felt his jaw get tight again upon seeing Sonia, wrapped in a blanket, held unconscious in Cal’s arms.

  The guard and Desdemona, without delay, dropped to their knee, forward on their hand but, in the presence of their king, they bowed their heads toward the floor.

  Ryon didn’t drop to his knee.

  He was not only a duke. He was not only Cal’s cousin. He was not only born precisely one year after Cal (to the very hour, a significant happenstance in the brotherhood). But his blood had mingled with Cal’s on too many battlefields for Ryon to take a knee.

  He’d done it once, after the king had fallen.

  Cal had forbidden him ever to do it again.

  Without looking at anyone but Ryon, Cal made his way to the throne.

  Ryon felt a muscle jump in his jaw at the look of fury on his cousin’s face.

  Cal sat on the throne, gently arranging Sonia in his lap so she was close, her forehead tucked into his neck, her hand resting on his chest, her knees cocked and tucked into his side. His arms, finally, settled protectively around her.

  Ryon had seen her many times since that night her mother and father were murdered. She was a pretty child.

  She was a fucking amazing woman. If she wasn’t destined queen, Ryon would have taken her to his bed.

  And kept her there.

  Until the day she died.

  Cal was a lucky bastard.

  “Rise,” Cal ordered, his voice an angry rumble.

  Desdemona rose slowly, her eyes carefully not looking at Sonia but also not looking at Cal.

  Ryon didn’t have time for Mona.

  “Is she okay?” he asked his cousin, his eyes on Sonia.

  “Ellington threw her across the room. She cracked her head, went unconscious. She was coming to but I sedated her for the drive to the cabin,” Cal replied, his eyes never leaving Mona.

  Ryon’s eyes never left Sonia but his hands clenched into fists.

  At this news that their soon-to-be queen had been manhandled, the air in the room again went thick. Or, Ryon could say, thicker.

  Mona drew in breath.

  Then she said something immensely stupid.

  “She’s human.”

  “She’s your queen,” Cal ground out and Mona took a step back, bowing her head while Cal went on. “Jesus, I will never fucking understand my father’s decision about you,” Cal gritted out and Mona’s head bowed further as her shoulders drooped. “Tell me, Mona, how in the fuck could you let the treaty get broken in your territory?”

  Mona lifted her head. “I had no –”

  Cal cut her off, “It happened.”

  Mona leaned forward. “But, your grace, I had no –”

  Cal interrupted her again, biting off every word. “In these tense times, it’s your fucking job to monitor every goddamned wolf.”

  “But, Cal –” she started plaintively and, without hesitation at her familiarity with her sovereign, Ryon started forward.

  “Leave it, Ry,” Cal clipped and Ryon stopped and looked back.

  “I’m interrogating her personally,” Ryon demanded and without looking at him Cal nodded.

  “Interrogating me?” Desdemona asked, a tremor of fear shifting through her voice.

  “Warriors are coming, Mona. Can’t you hear them? For fuck’s sake, do you ever pay attention?” Cal told her. Mona’s head tilted and Ryon listened to the sounds of the takeover of the mansion. “The plot was hatched in these walls, Governor,” Cal clipped. “By tomorrow night, we’ll know who was involved.”

  The guard was shifting uncomfortably and Mona’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish but Cal just rose from his throne, cradling Sonia. He started to stride from the room seconds before the doors opened and twenty warrior wolves, all of whom were chosen specifically by Cal as Cal’s royal guard, advanced through.

  They parted for Cal and Sonia as if they’d practiced it hundreds of times. Cal walked through the stream of warriors and exited the room.

  Ryon looked at Magnum, the leader, and jerked his head to a visibly trembling Mona.

  “She’s mine,” he ordered.

  Then he left the room much like Cal in search of his lieutenant.

  Chapter Three

  The Cabin

  Even though Sonia felt awake, she knew she couldn’t be.

  She was ultra warm and it felt like she was lying on one of those down mattress top thingies and Sonia didn’t have one of those down mattress top thingies. But she was going to get one, it felt lush.

  She also felt like she had a soft, fluffy but snugly, down comforter covering her as well as the softest sheets in the history of mankind shrouding her. Sonia owned a quilt, not a comforter and her sheets were soft but not this soft.

  And lastly, she wasn’t holding her stuffed wolf close to her chest and Sonia never slept without her stuffed wolf much to the chagrin of the very few lovers she’d had in her life.

  She opened her eyes to assess her dream state and found she was definitely dreaming.

  This she knew because she saw from her vantage point of head on a fluffy, down pillow (also not hers) that she was in her family’s cabin and, as that cabin had been burnt to a cinder years and years ago, she had to be dreaming.

  This was proved irrevocably when she heard a door open.

  She tensed as she heard booted footsteps hit the floor. And she stared, not moving, as she watched an unbelievably tall man walk into the room.

  All she saw was his back but she also saw that his hair was dark, thick and overlong. He was wearing one of those quilted, flannel shirts, his was a brown, gray and yellow plaid on a cream background. He also had on jeans and boots. She could see the tight, bulky muscle of his thigh through his jeans when he crouched by the fireplace and quietly arranged some logs with gloved hands on top of an already big pile there.

  “I know you’re awake,” his deep voice sounded and she blinked.

  She knew that voice and its strange accent. Not American, not Scottish, not English, not Fr
ench, a beautiful mixture of all of them.

  Her handsome wolf.

  Yes, definitely dreaming.

  But this one was new.

  She’d never had it in her cabin before. It was always either in her bedroom or some dream room lit by firelight, a room she’d never been in but sensed, strangely, was home.

  And it had never been this vivid.

  She dreamed vivid dreams her whole life. It was another gift she had that she knew others didn’t. Her dreams weren’t weird or disjointed. They were clear, they told stories and she always remembered every second.

  She liked this new dream.

  “No, I’m not,” she told his back as he laid down the last log. “I’m dreaming.”

  He rose, turned and she sucked in dream breath.

  God, he was handsome.

  She loved every plane and angle on his face and there were lots of them and there was lots to love. He was, put simply, beautiful.

  Dark eyebrows, sky blue eyes, strong jaw, interesting nose, full bottom lip.

  He could, she noted with surprise, use a shave. He’d never been stubbly in any of her other dreams. With the thick, dark growth on his face, he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.

  She’d never been one for facial hair but on him she liked it.

  She tore her eyes from his face and noticed he had on a dark gray, thermal henley under the flannel.

  And he had on a great, black belt with a heavy buckle.

  His outdoorsy outfit, not usually Sonia’s thing, was delicious, especially on that big, muscular, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged body.

  Hell, if he was real and lived in a real cabin in the mountains and one woman caught sight of him, it would be all over. Word would get out and women would be crawling all over this place like ants on the remains of a melted, fallen snow cone.

  He was watching her enquiringly, so she got up on an elbow and called softly, “Why are you all the way over there, my handsome wolf?”

  At her words, his brows drew together and it was a decidedly ominous look.

  Sonia stared at him.

  He’d never looked even close to ominous in any of her other dreams.

  “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice strangely low and not-so-strangely (given the look) ominous.

  She decided to go with it. He was always somewhat teasing and often even playful in her dreams.

  “You heard me, wolf.”

  He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a chair as he strode toward her.

  Sonia watched him.

  His grace was astonishing. He’d always been close to her bed when she dreamed of him. She’d only ever felt him join her there. She’d never seen him move.

  He looked good when he moved.

  Boy, she loved this new dream.

  He stopped to tower over the bed and she dropped to her back to look up at him.

  “I’m liking this dream,” she informed him on a grin.

  He sat beside her on the bed, his brows still drawn.

  “Sonia, you aren’t dreaming,” he told her.

  She put her hand to his forearm and tugged it toward her while saying through her grin, “Right.”

  He leaned forward so both of his hands were in the bed at her sides and he replied gently, “Right, little one. You’re awake, this isn’t a dream.” His blue eyes moved over her face before he asked, “Do you feel okay?”

  “I feel great,” she answered. Though she had to admit, even though it was weird in a dream, that her head hurt a little and she felt kind of groggy, like she’d slept a bit too long.

  His hand came up and he placed it at the side of her head. It was so big it nearly covered the entire area.

  His thumb smoothed over her eyebrow but his eyes never left hers.

  “You called me ‘wolf’,” he stated softly.

  She didn’t reply. She sat up, dislodging his hand, her body getting closer to his, her face getting closer to his. His body, she felt, went solid but she ignored that too and placed her hand on the side of his face.

  “I get to do the touching,” she told him, as if he didn’t know.

  She touched his face in her dream.

  Always.

  She did it again, fingertips in his thick hair, thumb gliding along his brow, down across his sharp cheekbone then over his full lower lip.

  “Sonia.” His mouth moved against her thumb. She lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes, which were searching but had not gone tawny (alas). “Does this mean you feel it?”

  She nodded.

  Oh, she felt it all right. She always felt it in her dream.

  And she hoped this dream, which was not only sharper, clearer and more vivid than any of her other dreams but was also lasting a lot longer, would not end in her reaching toward the nightstand.

  He smiled.

  She sucked in breath.

  God, she loved, loved, loved his smile.

  “You feel it,” he murmured, his deep voice deeper, so much so it was almost a physical thing and he looked really, really, really pleased about something.

  It was a good look.

  And the depth of his voice was an excellent depth.

  She got closer and placed her hands on his broad shoulders, put her mouth to his and, her eyes never leaving his own, demanded, “Are you going to kiss me, wolf, or what?”

  She watched with great anticipation as the tiger’s eye shot from his pupils and erased the blue of the iris.

  She’d never seen the gold obliterate the blue so fast.

  But she knew what that meant.

  Then his arm sliced around her, his hips and legs shifted and his heat and colossal weight were pinning her to the bed.

  Finally!

  Then something weird happened.

  He didn’t tease her.

  He didn’t let her wrap her limbs around him.

  He didn’t wait for her invitation.

  He slanted his head and he kissed her.

  Ho.

  Lee.

  Cow!

  Sonia absolutely loved this dream!

  Her mouth opened under his and that was it.

  Explosion.

  Not gentle.

  Huge.

  And consuming.

  She was wrong. He didn’t need just to be there for her to be ready for him.

  His kiss, his unbelievably amazing kiss, sent her from aroused at his presence to burning for his invasion.

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, hoping to all that was holy that he felt the same beautiful explosion.

  He had to, for the minute her tongue sparred with his, his growl filled her mouth and was so intense it traveled down her throat.

  That felt even better.

  She arched against him and moaned right back.

  His arms circled her and he rolled, taking her with him, her on top, his hands going into her hair at the sides of her head, holding it away from their faces but there was so much of it, it tumbled down all around them.

  And he kept kissing her and Sonia hoped this dream and his kiss never ended.

  Ever.

  His knee came up, her legs parted, one thigh falling between his and his cocked leg landed tight against the heat of her.

  Sonia’s head jerked back, her mouth slowly opening in a silent moan as she felt it. The tight, hard muscle pressing powerfully against her most sensitive part.

  Good goodness, she nearly came.

  Just with that.

  She heard another growl, it seemed far away (but was very close) and he rolled again, this time into her. She took that opportunity to kiss him again and slide herself against his hard, jeans clad thigh.

  Shivers of fire shafted through her and she clutched onto his shirt like she was never letting go.

  His arms tightened around her but his mouth tore from hers and he growled, “Fucking hell, baby doll.”

  “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice sounding desperate because she was desperate, the dr
eam could end at any minute. Her hand went into his hair to force his lips back to hers. “Please, don’t stop or the dream will end.”

  She felt his body still and her insistent hand in his hair was getting her nowhere.

  She opened her eyes and saw he was watching her.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  “Sonia –”

  The hand not at his head roamed, down, down, to drift over his behind. “I don’t want the dream to –”

  She didn’t finish speaking because she heard a cell phone ringing just as she felt it vibrate against her hand.

  Dreams didn’t have phones ringing.

  Or, they did, but only to wake you up.

  She waited.

  It kept ringing.

  It kept vibrating.

  Sunlight, his warm hard body, his tight, strong arms, his heavy weight and that damn phone vibrating against her hand all intruded.

  She wasn’t dreaming.

  Sonia’s eyes, still locked with his, widened.

  Memories flooded.

  The intruders the night before.

  Then he was there.

  Then, her puppy.

  No, that couldn’t be right, she was hallucinating.

  But something had happened because he was right there.

  How could she forget last night?

  With a fearful noise escaping her throat, violently she tore from his arms and jumped from the bed.

  Stopping several feet away, she whirled to stare at him.

  Her dream man.

  Now up on a forearm watching her closely from a bed in her parents’ cabin.

  “This isn’t a dream,” she whispered.

  But…

  It had to be. This wasn’t possible.

  “Come here, baby doll,” he murmured gently.

  He called her “baby doll”.

  She closed her eyes. Then she opened them.

  “This isn’t a dream,” she repeated wanting him to tell her it was.

  But he didn’t. He moved and her arm darted up, palm out but the rest of her body grew paralyzed with fear.

  At this reaction, he stopped but her head jerked around.

  This was her parents’ cabin. She knew it.

  But it was different.

  The kitchen was newer, grander. It had a huge KitchenAid refrigerator and range. The countertops were nicer. The cabinets were better.