in a blatant invitation. He didn’t move. Her brows drew tighter. Why? She didn’t know how to go about this or what she attempted to get herself into. But at this moment all she could think of was his firm lips traveling along hers as she tasted his warmth. Would he taste of cinnamon as well as smell of it? She assessed his face; warmth burned across her skin. His gaze locked on her lips. “Martin?”
“If I touch you at this moment, Jane…” He groaned and shifted his stance. “I had better not.” He nodded his head, turned, and strode from the room, water trickling off his greatcoat, leaving a trail on the hardwood floor.
Sweet mother! She had practically thrown herself at him. What good did bolting the door do when he commanded that effect on her? Besides, even with them all thrown, he had entered last night.
She sat back on the pillows, staring at the shut door, and shivered. He said they all were endowed with different powers. Did that mean only he possessed the ability to unlock doors? Well, the locks surely did something. She scrambled to her feet and slid each one closed.
5
Arousal burned Martin’s skin; he couldn’t let her leave. If only she hadn’t squirmed so much when he’d caught her up; every rub against his body had pushed the mating ritual of Orsse closer to beginning. Would she accept him? She’d arrived at Tremarctos because she’d loved and given herself to another. If Orsse started and she denied his body that magnitude of release…Pain ripped through his groin, and his eyes squeezed shut.
He would convince her. She was not indifferent to him. The smell of her arousal in his arms couldn’t be faked. However, he wanted more than access to her body—he wanted her mind and soul.
He pulled off his thick leather gloves as he strode back down the hall toward his father’s study. Where the hell was Mac? His hair rose in agitation on his neck.
Mac would know how Jane truly felt about him, about everything. His ability to read emotions surpassed all the family members. Unfortunately Mac never could read Martin. He wished in this one moment Mac could. If Mac knew his interest involved more than a conquest, he may back down. Or he would taunt him.
He turned into his father’s study and closed the thick wood door. Many a shout had happened in this room, and that door, thick as the oak was, never stopped one whit of it. Everyone in the family always knew what happened in this room.
“Sit, Martin.” His father gazed up at him from behind his large wooden desk, his sanctuary; his face was pale and twisted with worry.
“Father.” He settled into the tiny wooden chair across from him.
“Is she well?” His father glanced up at him from beneath his lashes and scowled.
“Quite.” He worried about her welfare? Something was not right. His gut twisted with unease.
“You did not touch her, did you?” His father’s fist clenched, making his knuckles turn white.
“Pardon?” Why the hell did he care if he touched her? He had a mouse-sized amount of control over this, and his father damn well knew it.
“Your brother said she is a possible mate.”
“Mac?” Where the hell was he? Martin shifted in the small wooden chair. He always felt like a child sitting here, but this was not a matter of childhood punishment. This was his future, his happiness.
His father stood and paced to the shelves behind the desk. The energy pouring off him darkened. Martin’s blood shifted, eyes slowly sliding from pale brown to crimson. This wasn’t good.
His father turned back toward him. “Devon.”
Devon…. Martin’s blood raged through his ears. Devon had lied to him. No…none of Devon’s actions betrayed any effect that Jane inflicted on him. Yet Devon did have amazing control of his instincts, his nature.
Martin’s teeth clenched. “Miss Milton is a possible mate for Devon?” His claws slowly unsheathed themselves from the backs of his hands.
“Control, Martin.” His father paced back to the desk, and he placed his palms on the wood surface, leaning toward Martin. “Devon sensed Miss Milton was a mate for you…and Mac.”
Where was this conversation headed? He knew. He needed to get back to Jane. He wished he could slide into his father’s mind and speed this along. He had tried several times while young, only to be instantly blocked and checked.
“Why did you want to know if I touched her?” Opposition crackled the air between them. He wasn’t going to like this answer. His muscles locked, and he held his breath in an attempt to calm himself. The sound of rain, the smell of must and moss in the woods. Damnit. The calming elements were failing him. He didn’t want to switch. If he did, changing back may take hours, and he needed that time to convince Jane to accept him.
“You will not touch her,” his father stated calmly, his gaze boring into him. “She will be removed from this house as soon as the rain lifts. I will not allow a woman to come between this family. I will not allow this family to relive my mistakes.”
He wished Martin to turn and walk away from her? Martin’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t. He’d used all his strength, all the power of his mind to move the earth and stop her from leaving. No easy task. His father no doubt felt that energy pull. His father was not naive in this matter. Had his father learned nothing from his own mistake?
“If you had resisted…if you possessed the ability to resist, none of us would exist,” Martin hissed as his fists clenched to the point of pain, claws extending fully through the bone of his knuckles.
“Control, Martin!”
He couldn’t control this; none of them truly could. He squeezed his eyes shut. The rain, the water rushing down the stream, the smell of lavender in summer. His eyes fluttered back open, hazy. He changed to the shape of the Ursus. Damn him! Rage burned though his every pore, like fire to the fall grass, the powers and emotions flaming through his veins. His height and breath expanded; his teeth developed sharp points for puncture.
His father sat back in his chair and sighed. “I see your instincts are as powerful as mine, my boar. Be wise with them, Martin, and lock yourself deep in this house. For if you come to blows with your brother, you may regret it.”
“And what of Mac? Have you given him this speech? Or are you telling me to let him have her?” His voice was a roar to his ears. He surged up from his chair and loomed over his father in full Ursus height.
His father’s eyes flashed, and his fist hit the desk. “Don’t you bare your teeth at me, boar. I am not your competition for your mate. I am watching out for this family. She will not be one of us.”
“No!” Martin reached across the desk and snagged his father by the cravat, lifting him out of his seat and up into the air. “You are trying to interfere with instincts I have no control over, desires older than time. Something you told us always to trust and obey.”
His father tore from his claws. The linen about his neck was crushed and torn; he leered at Martin. “I will have you locked up, Martin. If you cannot stay away from her, I will make you.”
“Try.” His father had never been able to match his strength. He turned away from his father. What happened to all you taught
