Axeviathon - Son of Dragons: A Pantheon of Dragons Novel

by Tessa Dawn

  He lifted the hem of Amber’s knee-length T-shirt and dragged it upward, grasping and kneading her skin, her muscles, and her ribs as he went along, until her stomach was both quivering and exposed. Whether from fear…or something else…Amber couldn’t pinpoint.

  Axe dipped his head once more and nuzzled her stomach, laved her belly button with his tongue, then fisted the roundness of her abdomen like a basketball player palming a ball. His large, muscular back arched subtly, and his muscles contracted, then released…

  And then the dragyri rolled on top of Amber, forcing her onto her back.

  She pressed her inner thighs together—there was no way she was opening her legs.

  The dragyri snarled, slid both hands down her sides to her hips, then raked his fingers over her outer thighs, and traced the concave hollow above and around her lower stomach, until he gained access to her inner muscles. He dug his fingers into her flesh, spread both legs apart, and nestled his body against her pelvis…

  Holy shit.

  Amber’s legs fell open—he was just too powerful—and he spread them even wider.

  What the fuck…

  His hand went back to her throat, and once again, he curled his fingers inward—grasping, kneading, and pressing down ever so slightly, before rotating his thumb over the open puncture wounds. And then he planted his palms on either side of Amber, splayed his fingers against the couch, and pushed up on his arms to raise his massive torso above her.

  His sapphire eyes looked wild.

  The barely banked flames were both sparkling and dancing—shimmering like wildfire, blazing in his pupils—and his features were stamped with both savagery and lust. He shifted all his weight onto one strong arm—onto one bulging bicep—and placed the other hand, once again, along her throat; only this time, he slid the heel of his hand against the slope beneath her chin, until the pressure under her jaw forced her head backward.

  Amber arced her neck like she was exposing her jugular to a predator, her head being placed exactly where Axeviathon wanted it, and all the while, she was helpless to do anything about it—the severe male had completely overwhelmed her.

  Dominated her body and her will…

  And then his wild eyes grew feral; he threw back his head; his jaw snapped open; and a blazing stream of pure silver fire shot out of the dragyri’s throat. Instinctively, Amber jerked back, but there was no escape—nowhere to go—as the blaze found her jugular with unerring precision, snaked around her throat, and seemed to enter the oozing puncture holes.

  The sensation was both searing and cooling at once.

  The fire felt like a hundred volts of electricity, entering her body through her throat.

  But it wasn’t painful.

  Not at all…

  It was soothing, invigorating, surreal…

  As the fire began to travel through her anatomy, following the network of arteries and veins, her body heated from the inside out, and her nerve endings were set on fire. Not literally, but maybe literal would have been best, because Amber’s stomach clenched, her thighs began to tremble, and her breasts felt suddenly heavy and agitated.

  Oh…oh, no…she was burning with desire.

  She was every bit as aroused as Axe…

  As if it had a mind of its own, Amber’s pelvis rocked beneath the dragyri, seeking deeper and more intense contact, and Axe groaned in response to the invitation, gyrating his hips against her.

  She jackknifed on the couch.

  He shuddered.

  She tried to press her thighs together, to quell the rising ache in her belly, but she forgot that Axe was lodged between her legs, and she ended up caressing—and stroking—his hips.

  His arousal swelled instantaneously, filling his jeans and blatantly pressing against her.

  Amber moaned…

  No, no, no…oh, shit…

  He strained against her core, and she unwittingly arched her back.

  The flames from his throat retreated, swirling back down his throat, but Amber had an entirely different problem to contend with, next—she wanted this male inside her more than she wanted her next breath.

  And he knew it.

  His mouth, his lips, his tongue now free, he began to devour her body: first, returning to her jugular, where he kissed, laved, sucked, and bit her, then dragging his teeth down her throat…

  Axeviathon feasted on Amber’s body: her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, and then her quivering stomach…

  Her ribs.

  Her belly.

  Her sensitive waist and hips…

  And he raked his hands along all three zones, even as he covered them with his tongue…lavished them, devoured them…explored them with his mouth.

  And then he grasped her by the waist and shoved her forward, sliding her up and along the couch, and latched on to the nucleus—the center of her need—covering the juncture between her thighs with his warm, seeking mouth.

  Oh, gods…

  He nuzzled her through her panties, and then he engaged his teeth…

  “Axe!” Amber cried out, almost in a panic. She wasn’t sure if she was begging him to stop or pleading with him to go further.

  The dragyri shuddered again.

  He crawled up her body, taking what was left of her T-shirt with him as he stretched it over both breasts; cupped both mounds in his kneading palms; and began to do wickedly tantalizing things to her nipples before sucking the right apex into his mouth.

  Amber’s whimper became a cry, and tears filled her eyes.

  She had never felt anything like this in her lifetime: the hunger, the sensation, the yearning ache in her body. The fire that was still consuming her.

  And then all at once, Axeviathon jerked back.

  He released her breast from his warm, moist suckling and shoved his body upward, his entire upper torso trembling as he slowly leaned back, shifted his weight onto his knees, and ambled off the couch. He swept a large, powerful hand through his dirty-blond locks and panted, trying to catch his breath, and then he took three generous steps backward, away from the temptation.

  “Amber girl,” he grunted, his voice like raw, gritty sandpaper, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…just give me a minute.”

  Amber’s eyes grew wide as she watched him like a hawk.

  Her nipples were hard, her panties were damp, and her thighs were still trembling and aching with want—yet he had said he was sorry, like he had done this by himself.

  Like she hadn’t egged him on.

  He placed his hands on his hips and paced across the sitting room, and then he slowly shook his head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, Amber girl. I would never take advantage of you like that.”

  Amber sat up slowly, pulled the T-shirt back down to her knees, and swung her legs over the side of the sofa. Then she just sat there, feeling both lost and confused. She had never reacted to a man’s touch like that before—and she had never felt more exposed.

  “You all right?” Axe murmured.

  She licked her lips, then pursed them together and nodded. “It wasn’t just you,” she croaked, feeling mortified. “I kind of—”

  “Stop,” Axe interrupted, holding one hand up. “You didn’t do anything, Amber. The fire…the heat…the passion and intensity…it all streamed into you when I bathed your wounds in the flames. It wasn’t intentional, sweetness; it’s just—some of my essence was bound to leak through, and I didn’t anticipate that happening, like I should have.” He paused and glanced away. “My bad.”

  Amber gulped.

  Some of his essence leaked through?

  Some.

  Not all?

  So that was just the tip of the iceberg?

  Holy. Hell.

  “Then the passion…the arousal”—she cringed at the second word—“that was yours, not mine?”

  Axe nodded, reestablished eye contact, and flashed a sly, wolfish smile. “Yep. That was all me, pretty lady.”

  Amber shuddered inwardly. “But…but it was th
e fire, the transference that made you do that—that made you feel that—right?”

  He laughed, and the sound was deep, wicked, and utterly masculine. “Nah, Amber girl; like I said: all me. It just happened to leak into the fire.”

  Amber hugged her midriff in a self-protective gesture.

  She didn’t know what to say…

  So all this time, while Axe was talking to her, teaching her, asking and answering questions, the male was actually horny as hell…

  “I see,” she whispered, and then she crossed her legs, careful to make sure the T-shirt didn’t ride up her thighs. Her body was still feeling achy; her mind was still spinning from his touch; and she was doing her best to process what he was telling her, but she felt like a fish suddenly thrust onto the beach.

  Water, please?

  She needed to get out of there…

  To go clear her head.

  As if he sensed her dilemma and understood her stress, he pointed toward the master bathroom at the back of the suite. “Why don’t you take the blue duffle bag that Jordan brought for you, go take a shower, and chill out for a bit. Come back when you’ve had a chance to regroup…collect your thoughts.” He lowered his mass onto an ottoman, placed his elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on his fist. “I’m not going anywhere, sweet angel—I can wait. Besides, I could use a minute, myself.”

  Amber eyed the blue duffle bag still sitting on the kitchen island—he didn’t have to tell her twice. She jumped up from the couch, scrambled to the kitchen, reached out to snatch the bag off the counter, and paused. Her eyes swept inadvertently across the floor and the mess she had made a bit earlier: the silver tray, the plate, and what was left of the fruit and the bagel…not to mention the weaponized fork.

  “I’ll clean it up while you shower,” Axe said, following her gaze unerringly. “And by the way, your chemistry is…it’s set, sweet angel. The trauma bonds are gone.”

  Amber felt like a weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders, and she knew that the right thing to say—the polite thing to do—was to just whisper, Thank you, and move on. After all, the male was actually being a fairly decent person, or dragon—whatever. He was doing his best to be kind and respectful, even when he could have taken her, or raped her…had his way with Amber on the couch.

  And she would have been none the wiser.

  Yet and still, the male had pulled away—Axe had held back.

  So why then was she about to push the envelope?

  “Axe?” She spoke timidly.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “What is supposed to happen in the temple with me and you? What is the manner in which the Seven will welcome me into your world?” She placed the last five words in air quotes to let him know she remembered his confession, verbatim.

  Axe narrowed his gaze on Amber, and he didn’t look away or blink. “The dragon lords will change you to my species—convert you—in order to make you immortal; and all seven will do it, at once, with fire.”

  She swallowed her fear and pressed on. “But it doesn’t really hurt or anything, right? I mean, it’ll be like what happened here, just minus the sexual tension?” Her voice faltered on those last three words.

  Axe hesitated, but only for the space of a couple heartbeats. “No, Amber girl, it won’t be anything like what happened here. It’ll be loud, fearsome, overpowering, and terrifying. That said, you won’t feel much of anything for the first twenty-seven seconds, and that’s because I will take the brunt of the Seven’s fire for you…the burning. There will be three seconds when the flames will break through, when I will no longer be able to shield you from the heat. And after that, the next thirty seconds—the last thirty seconds—will be pure nirvana and bliss for you, not so much for me. That’s the whole of it, sweetness, the entire truth.”

  Amber closed her eyes as Axe’s words sank in…

  But no way, no how, was she going to try to process their meaning—not right here, and not right now. Her mind could only grasp so much.

  Not being one to push her luck, and too afraid to test the hands of fate, she reopened her eyes, stared at the duffle bag beneath her fingers, and focused her full attention on the present moment. As it stood, there was another elephant in the living room to contend with, and this time, the secret was Amber’s: Axe was dead wrong about something he had said.

  That passion—it wasn’t all him.

  Yes, the healing flames and the curative fire had sparked the desire, meaning most of that arousal had come from Axe, but there was something else—something buried just below the surface that Amber had also felt—a connection, a recognition, like coming home from a long vacation.

  And that hadn’t come from the fire at all.

  It had awakened inside of Amber.

  As bizarre and impossible as it seemed, there really was some kind of invisible thread linking her heart to his—if only for a moment, she had felt it, sensed the inescapable tug, and the connection had been incredibly powerful. And frankly—in this stark, unguarded moment—that truth terrified Amber more than the temple…

  It frightened her far more than Axe’s savage lust.

  She slid the duffle off the counter, anchored the strap over her shoulder, and walked quietly across the apartment to the bathroom, never speaking a word and never looking back at her dragyri.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tony Rossi sank deep into the clear, swirling water in the large master-bath jetted tub. The water was way too hot, scalding really—in truth, it should’ve been too hot for comfort—yet Tony shivered all the way to his bones.

  Amber was gone.

  That demon bastard Trader Vice had taken up residence at 318 Syracuse Lane for the duration—yeah, he had moved into the Denver house until Axeviathon Saphyrius, or whatever male had taken Amber, showed his cocky dragyri face again, earthside.

  And to make matters worse, Tony’s association with his roomies, his longstanding friendship with Zeik and Grunge, was anything but amiable and usual: It was a shit-show of extraordinary magnitude…

  Lord Drakkar had all but referred to Tony as lazy—as a human, Tony meant nothing to the powerful, dark deity—and Zeik had made it abundantly clear: Tony’s days on this earth were as good as numbered. As long as he did the demons’ bidding, they would allow him to live, but the second he displeased them—or got on their nerves—it was lights out for the insignificant mortal.

  You’re chattel, prey, dinner…

  You will live or die at our whim.

  Tony slid beneath the waterline, soaking his short blond hair and allowing the scalding liquid to wash away his fear. If he got too caught up on Zeik’s cryptic words, if he went too deep into his head, the fear and the anger would get the best of him. He might say or do something he couldn’t take back, forget his newfound position on the bottom of the food chain, and Antonio Rossi wanted to live…

  As long as he could.

  As long as his demon roommates would let him.

  He emerged from the water, ran his palm through his crop, and shook off the feeling of hopelessness and dread. All wasn’t lost. At least not yet. There was still a chance he could please the lord of the underworld—there was still a chance he could get Amber back. Zeik and Grunge had finally heard back from Trader, they finally had their “word” from their sovereign, and they knew how Lord Drak wanted them to proceed. According to Trader, Lord Drakkar Hades and his chief sorcerer, Requiem Pyre, were hell-bent on seeking revenge for the loss of their comrades during the Monday-night raid, and they were definitely planning on using Tony as live, human bait.

  The way Zeik had explained it: The portal—and the Pantheon—was like traveling through a hidden tunnel and emerging inside a virtual vault. Amber may as well have been locked away in an impenetrable chamber, absent of any doors or windows, with guards so fierce and deadly, not even a gnat could get through to her. But there was also some strange prehistoric kinship between Lord Drakkar and the dragon lords that ruled the Temple of Seven, the
dragyris’ sovereign rulers. And while nothing got in or out of that pantheon—not a note, not a thought, not a telephone call, email, instant message, or missive—Lord Drakkar had fashioned a small, temporary workaround…

  Something about spherical objects or paperweights…

  Something about enhancing transmissions with the use of jewels…

  Something about creating a globe that would allow a cell phone signal to get through.

  The long and short of it was this: Trader had given Zeik and Grunge a multicolored paperweight about the size of Tony’s fist, with a flat, level base on the bottom. The moment Tony placed his hand over the top of the sphere and grasped it, the seven gemstones would heat up, and the circle would start to glow. Once that happened, Tony was good to go—he could text Amber to his heart’s content, and the messages would go through to the Pantheon. Of course, according to the demons, the dragon lords would know—they would feel it—but so-the-fuck-what.

  There was nothing the Seven could do about it.

  Sure, they could manufacture a whole new system of transmitting and allowing radio waves and such to move in and out of the Pantheon; they could take Amber’s cell phone and bar her from reading—or responding to—her messages; or they could send some of their mercenaries to Earth to destroy Drak’s clever creation. But Requiem and Trader, as well as Zeik and Grunge, were banking on the fact that Axeviathon—or whatever male had taken Amber—was as eager as they were to receive the transmissions. The Dragyr wanted to get to Tony as badly as Tony wanted to get to Amber. In short, they would allow the texts to go through, even if they were the ones who were reading them. However, the first few texts—the first time it happened—Amber was as likely as not to see them. The Dragyr would not be expecting it, and thus, they would be reactive as opposed to proactive—they might take her phone after it happened, but they wouldn’t think to take it before…

  Tony sighed.

  What-the-hell-ever…

  The details were beyond his comprehension—or his pay grade.

  His job was to send a slew of texts to Amber, hope they got through, then wait along with his demon cohorts for the Dragyr to take the bait: