Dragon Fate (13 page)

Spreading her legs wide to let him in, she curved her hands around her breasts, pinching her nipples. He whispered something in a language she didn’t know, and when his pubic bone met her throbbing clit, she went off again.

Silently this time, so she heard his every harsh breath as he stroked himself into her core. She clamped her heels at his ass, urging him faster, harder. When he came with only a broken groan, his eyes burned incandescent.

She didn’t look away as he spurted inside her.

Power and protection, he’d said. And passion.

She’d be worse than the greediest dragon to want more.

Chapter 12

“We drifted,” Anjali murmured.

He hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe just passed out for a second from the force of his orgasm. Or maybe she meant they’d gotten pretty far off topic considering they’d started down this path discussing ways to destroy a warlock.

Torch lifted his head to peer over the side of the boat and grunted. Their vigorous activity had caused the longship to make its way to the center of the pool. That kind of drifted.

He’d managed to hold himself up enough to keep from crushing her but he gently eased out of her body. She caught her breath a little, an echo of his own inadvertent gasp when a tiny spark arced the gap between them.

He shot a disbelieving look at her, but she was lying back and hadn’t seen it. Just felt it obviously. His cock tingled at the shock, though it faded quickly.

Dangling one hand over the side of the boat, he ladled up a handful of mineral water and trickled it over the swollen lips of her pussy.

“It’s warm,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Fed by a hot spring in the mountain behind us. Has restorative powers, according to the people who lived here long ago.” He dried her with his t-shirt and kissed the dark curls.

She feathered her fingers through his hair. “How do we get back?”

He thought of all the ways they’d gone too far… But he knew she just meant to shore.

Without jostling the boat, he slipped over the side.

And shifted.

The displacement of water by his suddenly bigger body nudged the boat toward the edge of the pool. Anjali jolted upright, clutching the side of the boat, her hazel eyes wide. Not startled by the sudden motion, he suspected, but by the reminder of what he was.

It was one thing to keep saying he wasn’t a man…

The pool was too deep for him to touch bottom even in this shape, but he unfurled his wings and swept them in a slow, deep arc. He bumped his chest against the side of the boat, forcing it along.

In the shallows, he stood, which put him higher than the Viking’s dragon. Anjali looked up at him, and he noted the bob of her throat as she swallowed.

He should shift back and lift her out since he’d carried her in. But the dragon resisted him.

And he found he didn’t want to push it as he’d pushed the boat.

He positioned himself beside the boat and angled his foreleg between the hull and the sandy poolside. Folding one wing tight to his side, he made a little path with handhold from ship to shore.

If she was brave enough to touch him willingly in this shape.

He snaked his head over her, making her duck, and grabbed their clothes in his jaws. He deposited those on the widespread wings of the carved Welsh dragon near the water’s edge and then gave her a meaningful look. If she wanted her clothes back…

She narrowed her eyes and stood. Stepping carefully over the side, she placed her bare sole in the crook of his elbow. She reached up to grasp the outer rim of his wing.

His wings were made to feel the invisible changes of temperature and air pressure that would keep him aloft, so he had no trouble feeling the quiver in her fingers. But she walked delicately along his foreleg which he kept rock steady under her.

“Thank you,” she said, haughty as a princess alighting from her carriage.

He’d always wanted a princess of his own.

He followed her up onto the beach, the sand hissing under his scales. Turning, he half spread a wing to protect her and then loosed a scorching but not ignited breath across their damp clothes.

He tucked his wing back and Anjali edged around him to touch the fabric spread on the stone. She pulled her hand back with a small sound of surprise. “Cool trick,” she said. “Or I guess, hot one.”

The dragon rumbled.

She tilted her head. “Is that a laugh?”

He tilted his head at her the other direction, and she smiled.

“Since we’re here, you might as well go.” She gestured toward the canyon view, the one he could never take his gaze off when he came up here and which he’d never glanced at even once since he’d let her inside.

“Fly,” she said. “Be free.”

To his surprise, the dragon hesitated, as if it—like he—didn’t want to leave her. But he’d brought her here with the idea that he’d let her go if she wanted. Best for him to walk away—fly away—now if she was only awaiting her chance to escape.

He twisted on his tail and out through the big double doors. Refusing to look back, he launched from the cliff on a furious downbeat.

The afternoon wind caught him hard, a punishing blow for his inattention. The torrent ripped at his wings, and he slapped it back with more force than was necessary. The stroke sent him soaring upward, and for a heartbeat he was weightless in the wind’s embrace.

He rolled to one side, tucked his wings, and dropped.

Anjali was too far away, not to mention separated by the crystal panes, but he
felt
her gasp. It was the ichor’s doing, he knew, binding them, if only temporarily.

The dragon flashed its wings wide, soaring higher again, circling the threads of desert air as he’d spun one fingertip around her areola, binding her with pleasure.

He tried to send that sensation through their link, to let her feel what it was to fly.

Although he couldn’t be sure she got it, he let himself glory for a few minutes in the wildness that was the dragon before he wheeled back toward the oasis.

Toward Anjali.

Unless she’d left.

But she hadn’t, and he had to throttle the dragon from roaring out its triumph. She was dressed, including his leather jacket, and standing on the leeside of the ship’s-prow window, out of the wind that snatched greedily at his wings, as if it could hold him back from her.

Not a chance.

He slid sideways through the gusts and alighted on the edge of the cliff, careful not to buffet her with his backwash.

She angled her head to look up at him and then took a sidling step forward to touch his wing.

The dragon shivered at the delicate caress and arched his neck. With his muzzle close enough, she stroked her hand on the underside of his jaw.

He shifted and came to himself kneeling naked at her feet, her hand cupping his cheek.

She blinked at him. “I felt it,” she murmured. “As you changed, I felt it. It hurts.”

“Muscle and bone and soul have to shrink to fit again,” he said. He peered up at her. “But you felt the flipside too, right? There’s pleasure in the ache.”

She shuddered but didn’t answer, and he rose smoothly to his feet to take her hand.

She seemed a little uneasy so he knew he shouldn’t push her anymore. But for some reason he couldn’t help himself. “Since you didn’t take the car and cash, I guess we’re a team.”

“I don’t know why,” she muttered.

He frowned. “Because we’re trusting each other with our lives?”

“No, I mean why didn’t I take the car and cash?” She shook her head, dreadlocks lashing in her agitation. “I’m not naïve like Piper or nice like Esme. I don’t have Piper’s family or Esme’s funds. I’ve always known I was going to be on my own.”

He stopped and turned to face her. She eyed the sheer drop-off on their side, but he caught her chin and made her look at him.

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re not on your own. You’re with me.”

She gazed up at him. Witch hazel eyes shimmered wistfully in the desert light. “Was it a very nice car?”

“Late model convertible coupe,” he admitted. “Sweet V8 engine. I’ll take you for a ride someday.”

She snorted under her breath. “You’ve already taken me for a ride, thanks anyway.”

He grinned. “C’mon. I need to get dressed. I’m starting to feel a little exposed here.”

“Starting to?” She followed him back into the oasis.

He pulled on his dried jeans—stiff around the knees from their mineral-water dunking—and boots, but he stuffed the t-shirt he’d used to bathe her in his back pocket and retrieved a fresh one from a cabinet built into the back wall.

“Shifters keep a lot of spare clothes around,” he said when he noted her arched eyebrow. “You never know where you going to end up naked.”

“So true,” she mused.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her mood. He’d never had to read the more unfathomable emotions of human females. The bored rich women he’d taken to bed had wanted only a jackpot orgasm from a man they could send away after. There weren’t many win-win scenarios in a Vegas casino, but that was one.

Now though, he realized not exercising the feeeeeelings skill had left him dangerously weak.

And being weak around a witch was probably a bad idea.

He covered his uncertainty—and his bare chest—with the shirt. The new cotton was almost as stiff as his dried jeans, and he grimaced. When was the last time any of the dragonkin had been out here? What was the point of hiding the secret of their existence in the Keep if they lost what they were? If they all turned to stone like Bale.

He prowled around the edge of the pool and plucked a blood orange from the nearest tree. He tossed it to her and took another for himself. Piercing the red-dappled skin released a bright citrus scent.

Anjali tossed the orange lightly in her hand. “Now that you believe I won’t run off, shouldn’t we get going?”

He leaned one shoulder against a nearby palm. “We have to wait until Rave and Piper come up with their part of the trick.”

After a moment, she gave a soundless sigh and perched herself on the Chinese dragon’s head. She peeled her orange in one long strip.

He looked at the chunks in his palm. “I should’ve let you do mine.”

“My mom always peeled them this way.” She coiled the peel in her lap so it looked almost untouched, if empty. “She used the skins to make love sachets. An infusion of lemon invokes lust, you know.”

“I had no idea.” He twisted to look above him. “There’s a lemon tree in here somewhere…” When she gave him a smile—faint, but real; it made his dragon preen—he asked, “What are oranges used for?”

Her brow furrowed as she squinted as if she was peering back into the past. “Lucky amulets?”

“That’s appropriate in Vegas.”

“And love rituals,” she added.

The word hung in the dreamy air for a moment, like a tiny but especially fiery dragon, and her eyes widened abruptly. Color bloomed in her cheeks.

“I’m surprised I remember,” she said hastily. “Mom always shooed me away when she was doing her thing, said I’d have time to learn her business when I was older. But then…” She dropped her gaze to the orange peel and flattened it in her fist.

He pushed away from the palm tree and joined her on the other side of the Chinese dragon, leaning his hip against the white marble. As another excuse to be close to her, he handed her his partly mangled orange. “What else do you remember about your mother?”

Concentrating on the fruit in her hand, she started working on one edge. “She wouldn’t let me straighten my hair until I could pay for it myself out of my chore money.”

Ooh, another excuse to touch her too… He gave a light tug at the end of one red dreadlock. “I see you took her words to heart.”

She leaned toward him. “I didn’t, not at the time, but whenever I’d get some money in my piggy bank, I’d buy crayons or tempuras or comic books instead. After her death…well, Uncle Gwain wasn’t taking me to get my hair done, and he didn’t pay for chores anyway. When we left town, he broke my piggy bank to take the last of the money…” She frowned, her eyes going hazy. “It wasn’t a piggy bank. It was a papier-mâché dragon. Mom told me that’s where I could keep my hoard.” Her gaze sharpened when she handed the naked orange to Torch. “Do you think she might’ve known the dragon-shifter that killed her?”

He studied her ferocious expression. “I don’t know the southern clans, but after you told me about the attack and that Ashcraft targeted your uncle because of his experience with a dragon, I asked a wolf-shifter I’ve worked with before to see if he could make contact. I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

She looked up at him. “You’re looking for my mother’s killer?”

He didn’t drop his gaze. “I’ll be straight with you. I’m not convinced your uncle was telling the truth. I don’t believe a dragon-shifter would serve as a human’s leashed assassin.”

He half expected her to jump his shit, but she nibbled at her orange before saying, “Uncle Gwain has never met a truth he wouldn’t cheat on, but…” She rinsed her fingers in the fountaining water beside her. “Saying a dragon killed Mom? That’s a pretty fantastical lie when he could have told me literally anything else.”

Torch lifted a piece of his orange in acknowledgment. “That’s why I sent my associate down there. And to see if Ashcraft might be making a play on another front.”

“Warning the other dragons,” she murmured.

“Ashcraft failed with you, but I imagine he’ll try again. Alchemists are famous for not giving up.”

“We’ll make him,” she said darkly. She stuffed another slice of orange into her mouth and chewed with more vigor than a fruit really needed. After she swallowed, she glanced at him. “What about your mother? I’ve met your cave cousin, so I know you have crazy family too.”

He found himself studying his orange as closely as she had. “I am…the only one left of my family.”

Hazel eyes narrowing, she touched his hand. “Not other dragonslayers like Ashcraft?”

He shook his head. “My line was banished. By my cave cousin.”

Her fingers tensed around his, holding fast. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, Torch.”

As tight as her grip was, it seemed to loosen an old knot he hadn’t known was there, a forgotten wound the ichor hadn’t healed. “It was a failed coup a very long time ago. I didn’t even have full mastery of my dragon so I couldn’t fly with them. They left me behind.” He shrugged. “Is it better that your uncle lied to you but took you, or to be abandoned?”