The Hunter's Husband Part 02

Phoebe didn't ask permission. Her hand wrapped around Matt's upper arm, thick with muscle, and she simply pulled, her larger frame imposing as she yanked him away from Zoë's embrace and into her own orbit. The redhead's blue eyes burned wild and desperate, her undercut revealing the tension in her jaw as she studied him for one heartbeat, two, then crushed her mouth against his without preamble.

This was nothing like Zoë's kiss. Where the lieutenant had been curious, exploring, Phoebe was ravenous, her lips forcing his apart with a desperation that spoke of years of denial suddenly unleashed, her tongue invading without invitation to claim territory she'd decided belonged to her. Her muscular body pressed against him, the white tank top straining against her curves as she used her size to pin him in place, and Matt felt small against her, overwhelmed by the sheer physical presence of her until strong arms trapped him completely. One hand gripped the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair with enough force to sting while the other slid down to his hip, pulling him flush against her as her denim-clad pelvis began to roll against his with frantic, desperate need, seeking friction and relief from the ache she'd carried since waking up transformed.

She deepened the kiss, swallowing his gasp, her tongue stroking against his with a rhythm that matched the roll of her hips, and Matt could feel her heat through the fabric, could feel the power in her thighs as she rode against him, using his body to chase something she'd never been allowed to want before. The smell of her filled his senses, sweat and pine and something uniquely female, her strength surrounding him, her larger body enveloping his until there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but surrender to her assault.

When she finally broke for air, it came as a ragged gasp against his swollen lips, her forehead resting against his, chest heaving beneath the tank top, her whole body trembling with the effort of restraint. Her eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, blue irises barely visible.

"I want you," she growled, voice raw and broken, nothing like the cold killer from yesterday. "I want you so badly I can't think straight. I need to feel you inside me, husband. I need it now."

The word seemed to confuse even her, Phoebe's brow furrowing as if she couldn't quite believe she'd spoken it, couldn't believe this need existed inside her. Trembling now, her whole muscular frame shook with the force of emotions she'd never been allowed to feel. Three thousand years of sworn chastity, of cold discipline, and now she burned alive with desire she couldn't name or understand, desperate and in love and terrified by how completely he'd conquered her.

No waiting for an answer. Phoebe dove back in, and this kiss was worse than the first, more violent, more claiming. Teeth grazed his lip hard enough to bruise, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a rhythm that mimicked what she wanted to do to him. Hands moved to cup his ass, rough and possessive, yanking him against her with a strength that lifted him slightly off his feet. She ground against him with abandon now, no longer seeking just friction but trying to fuse them together through fabric, hips rolling with desperate, hungry strokes that made her whimper into his mouth.

But this time, the others had waited long enough.

"Phoebe!" Pisidice's voice was sharp, cracking with her own need. "You can't keep him to yourself!"

"Enough!" Another voice rose from the crowd, thick with desire and frustration. "We all woke up wanting him!"

The hands that reached for him this time were numerous, pulling at his arms, his waist, voices rising in a chorus of demand. Phoebe snarled against his lips, her grip tightening, her kiss becoming almost punishing as she tried to stake her claim through sheer force, her body shielding his from the others.

Panic cleared his head, cutting through the haze of arousal. If they fought over him, someone would die. Probably him, ripped limb from limb by accident in their enthusiasm.

Something stirred in the back of his mind, that half-formed suspicion that his words had been shaping reality all along. He didn't understand it, didn't know if it was real, but he had to try something now or die.

"Wait," he gasped, pulling back from Phoebe's assault with an effort that made her snarl in frustration. Hands raised, palms out, he addressed all of them. "You all need to share. I know... I know sharing your man is not something any woman would ever want to do. It's not natural. You'd all rather have me to yourselves."

The words felt strange in his mouth, heavy with weight they shouldn't carry. He pressed on, hoping, testing.

"But I'm not just one Hunter's husband. I'm the Hunters of Artemis' husband. All of you. Not just Phoebe, not just Zoë. The Hunters. All of you."

Silence fell like a blanket. The protests died on their lips. Phoebe's grip loosened, expression shifting from possessive rage to grudging acceptance, then to something deeper, more profound. She stepped back, just a half step, but enough.

"Of course," Zoë said slowly, her voice carrying a new weight, as if remembering something she'd always known but forgotten until this moment. "You belong to all of us."

But somewhere in the back of his mind, a warning bell rang, too late. He'd said "the Hunters of Artemis," not just the group before him. He'd said "all of you" while standing in the center of their camp, surrounded by the entire Hunt.

The silence spread outward like ripples in a pond. Beyond the immediate circle, the rest of the Hunters had been watching the confrontation. Dozens of women, some ancient as Zoë, some newly recruited, all sworn to Artemis for years or decades or centuries.

Every one of them had heard him.

Matt watched the realization settle over the crowd. A young Hunter near the back, barely sixteen, touched her chest with a confused expression. An older woman with scarred arms lowered her bow, her mouth falling open. One by one, they stepped forward, emerging from tents and from the tree line, dozens of pairs of eyes fixing on him with the same dawning recognition, the same hunger, the same possessive devotion.

He'd claimed them all.

Zoë looked around at her sisters, her fellow warriors, and instead of anger or jealousy, her expression shifted to simple acceptance. "Of course," she said, her voice carrying across the silent camp. "We are the Hunters of Artemis. And he is our husband."

The cheer that rose up was terrifying in its intensity. Matt stood frozen as the crowd surged forward, as dozens of immortal warriors closed in on him, all of them suddenly, irrevocably his.

The realization of what he'd just done settled in his gut like a stone.