Wolf Song (Wolf Singer Prophecies Book 1)

to. Her parents are another story, which is only weird because we're in the same Society. People who are all right with being mercenaries and killers-for-hire should also be okay with a daughter who prefers women to men.
Especially the types of men they want her to be with.
Oh well. Saoirse will always be welcome in my house. My parents practically guaranteed it when they suspected her home life wasn’t ideal.
At any rate, ours isn't a sappy love story or anything. Just another night of finding a moment of privacy so I can get my clit licked and return the favor.
Speaking of, she licks me some more, knowing that I like to ride a little bit longer into another orgasm. I want her to go on, but instead, tangle my fingers into her purple mohawk, adding a little bit of pull to it that’s more urgent rather than sexy, so that she knows I’m not trying to feed some other kink at the moment. I hold my finger to my lips, silencing her before she can open her mouth and prove that her tongue was quick in more ways than one.
She wipes her mouth and sits back on her ankles, her legs spread apart. Poor girl is dripping wet. All I want to do is rub my fingers there and relieve whatever ache she must be feeling.
Fuck it, I still need to get off some more, too. Whoever interrupted us are in for a skinning.
I kneel, mirroring her pose, and dig deep into my memories, trying to follow the premonition that flashed for me. All I see is darkness. When I come back from my trance, I find her looking around every now and again as if the danger could be visible around us.
As she turns that gaze toward me, I can tell she's a little worried. I scooch close to her, just slightly taller than her on my knees, and angle my mouth over hers, kissing her deep. She moans against my lips. I run my fingers up her inner thigh until they settle between her legs. I slide them inside of her, rubbing them up and down against her opening. Her moans become insistent as she clings to me.
Maybe I imagined the vision I had.
I flick my finger faster, spurned on by how wet she gets and how fast she rocks her hips back and forth. She must have gotten so hot while licking me. I wonder if she touched herself a little, too, she’s so turned on now.
She chants a yes yes yes against my mouth and she cries out, clinging onto me and convulsing against me.
Then, another flash of purple blanks out my vision accompanied by my hamsa tattoos burning in the middle of my palms.
Dammit.
It must be important for me to get two flashes of warning so close together.
She is still pleasuring herself, riding my fingers. I let her. "There's something trying to get into the house," I say between breaths. I burst her bubble with my news since she stops moving immediately. "I should probably go check it out soon."
When I try for another kiss, she pushes me away. "Dude! You're on watch tonight. Your parents are gonna kill us." She rolls off the bed, and snatches up her clothes from the floor. She's already half dressed in the span of time it takes me to roll my eyes.
"Saoirse, nothing will break the wards. And if they do, the people would have nowhere to run. They are always caught. Always. I swear, you worry over the littlest things." I huff, but know that she isn’t interested in anything I have to say.
"You have the luxury not to worry about the littlest things." She finds her combat boots, and stomps into them.
With a sigh, I toss my dress on. Might as well be clothed, too. "Fine. We'll check out the warning, and when you see there's nothing to be worried about, we can come back here and pick up where we left off, yeah?"
She snorts then reaches for the door.
I pin her against it, holding her tight little body against mine. "I'm serious. I'm far from done." I let my fingers go under her plaid skirt and between her legs, pressing against her damp panties. "And I know you are too. You want to grind a little tonight, don'tcha? And by a little, you know I mean a lot?"
A fine tremble courses over her delicate body. She always seems so gruff and prickly, but between the both of us? I may look like the innocent angel next to her tattoos and wild hair, but we both know that I'm the one more likely to skin people and laugh while they scream.
Hell, I can even make them apologize for bloodying up the room while we were at it.
"Yes, I do," Saoirse says in that breathless way that makes me hot and wet all over again.
This better be a false alarm.
And, if I find any intruders, I will make sure they die screaming in agony.
Either way, win-win.
We take the private elevators downstairs.
The manor house is a sprawling monstrosity of genteel old money. It looks like a quaint Victorian from the outside with its overgrown romantic garden full of poisonous herbs and potent salves alike. But the inside is an elaborate maze of rooms meant to bewitch any intruders. Wards and other magicks have been shellacked over each other so often it reminds me of curling wallpaper that has yellowed along its edges. The walls always feel heavy and worn to me, as if the dull patina of magicks were a heavy weight to bear.
Everything in the house--the architecture, wood, art, whatever--has a history. Some artifacts are so old, they have a life all their own. I usually enjoy a snarky tete-a-tete with the bust of Napoleon in the main hallway, but since we're going for stealth, avoiding the chatty sculptures and paintings seems the wiser course of action.
The foyer is dark, a pitch black that isn't