Compromising Positions by Selena Kitt Page A

red hair and red eyes. He’s our first descendent. Asher raised ’im alone but they say Asher visited the spring e’ery full moon, and wept fer ’is lost love.”
    She was glad the story was over, because she couldn’t possibly think anymore. Something inside her was growing, taking control. It felt a little like the tension she experienced just before she changed from human to wulver form. Except this was more intense. Every nerve ending felt alive, her senses keen. The smell of the man beside her, even to her human nose, was intoxicating. She wanted to devour him.
    “’Tis a sad story.” Donal’s whole hand, not just his fingers this time, slipped behind her head, cradling it against his shoulder.
    “Aye,” she whispered, but she wasn’t thinking about the story, or Asher and his lost Ardis, even if the feelings coursing through her were so similar, bred into her, generations of matings just like the first.
    “I ken Asher’s tears,” Donal said softly, the briefest of creases appearing on his brow. “You can’na find fault wit’ a man who weeps when all he loves is taken from ’im.”
    “’Tis always a risk t’love.”
    Oh, what a risk it was. Kirstin had heard it said her whole life, had listened to wulver women lament their inescapable love for their mate, had seen Sibyl’s pain at the thought of losing Raife, and still, she had never fully understood, not until this moment.
    To love this man would mean risking losing him. And that would mean losing everything.
    “Aye, ’tis a risk.” Donal nodded slowly, “But when a man finds what he wants more than anything; else, there’s nothin’ can quiet the fire inside him.”
    Kirstin saw that fire in his eyes, felt it in her own loins, in the heat of his body as he leaned in toward her, so close she was dizzy with him.
    “Not e’en the spring water of Asher and Ardis,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.
    His kiss was everything she had dreamed it would be.
    Her mouth opened under his, letting him guide her head, slanting his so he could press his tongue deeper, probing the soft recesses of her mouth. She let out a soft moan when his hand moved to the small of her back and he pressed himself fully to her, the hard, ridged planes of his torso against the yielding softness of her breasts.
    Her body responded instantly to his touch, as if a fire had been lit inside of her. Kirstin wasn’t inexperienced—her kind didn’t have any qualms about doing what came naturally. But the act, to her, had always been one of comfort and warmth, nothing more than a closeness that felt, well, pleasant. And that was all. The male wulvers she’d been with—just two, in her pack, who she had a particular affection for—had seemed to enjoy it far more than she ever had.
    “Kirstin, yer so beautiful,” Donal whispered as they parted, his gaze moving from her eyes down to her mouth, as if he wanted to capture it again. “So vera sweet. I’m afeared we should’na be ’ere, doin’ this... but I can’na help meself when I’m ’round ye.”
    “Aye.” She touched his cheek, feeling a day’s stubble there, the roughness of it thrilling her. “I feel the same.”
    “I’ve been dreamin’ of kissing ye since I met ye in the woods yesterday.” He slowly traced the outline of her lips with one finger. “I’m surprised I held meself back this long.”
    “Is that all ye wanna do?” The disappointment in her voice was obvious, maybe too obvious. “Jus’ kiss me?”
    “Nuh.” He chuckled, moving his hand down to her shoulder, running one finger over her collarbone, spreading gooseflesh over her skin. “But I’m afeared I can’na do everything I want. Not unless ye wanna come wit’ me now to the vicar t’say yer vows. And I thought, mayhaps, you’d like a lil longer courtship than one day.”
    “Why?” Kirstin shook her head, smiling, bemused. “I’m a wulver, Donal. I know me own nature better than most men e’er will. I know who